Open My Eyes - buggachat (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

Insignificant.

Small.

Adrien had always felt himself inwardly shrink beneath the suffocating shadow of his father, completely eclipsed by the man’s presence. Firm and prodigious, Gabriel Agreste was immovable, his face never needing to betray his thoughts to communicate the inarguable truth:

You are beneath me.

And in some, sick and twisted way, it was almost comical, now.

Blanketed beneath the shadow of his father’s form, Chat Noir craned his head back to look skyward towards his face. The silver of the thoughtful hand at his father’s chin nearly sparkling, reflecting the haloed sun behind him just as the expression permanently fixed to his face seemed to reflect in thought.

I really am, Chat Noir thought, the corner of his lip twitching from an emotion that couldn’t quite be placed. Somewhere between bitter amusem*nt and a twinge of nausea, he raised a clawed hand to idly brush a strand of hair out of his face.

Father always hated stray locks. If only he could see him now, Chat Noir supposed, he’d scoff in disappointment. There was far more astray about him now than merely a hair.

His ears burned, twitching atop his head as he tried to tune out the whispers and mutterings of civilians around the park. Chat Noir standing alone, in broad daylight, staring up at a monument of Gabriel Agreste was sure to catch people’s attention.

Some had been brave enough to approach him before, the many times he had visited the statue since its erection. Forcing his smile taut to answer their questions, to pose for photographs or sign their autographs certainly took a toll on him. It certainly acted to discourage him from coming, to make the thought of idling beneath his father’s shadow even less appealing than it already was.

And yet, he was drawn to him. He was drawn to the shining silver, to the last remnant of his father. To the closest thing he had to a truly positive depiction of his father.

He didn’t have so many photos of his father smiling as he did of his mother. He didn’t have so many photos of his father holding him tight or with love in his eyes, being a family. Not ones taken after Mother’s passing. Not ones that he hadn’t already mourned while he was still alive.

So he had to come. The statue was all he had, after all, and well, he’d take signing autographs and posing for photos as Chat Noir over the alternative any day.

“Oh my gosh. I heard about your father on the news,” somebody, a complete stranger, would say, approaching Adrien with nary a hesitation, “I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Hey,” an unfamiliar voice would call out, “It’s the hero’s son!”

“Your father was such a great man,” many would say, unprompted, as Adrien attempted to take a much needed walk to clear his head, “You must be so proud.”

The words were well-intentioned, often spoken with a degree of kindness that knocked the wind out of him. But he hated it. He hated the kind words, the pitying looks, the words of affirmation said to him again, and again, and again—

Your father was a hero.

He was. Wasn’t he?

Chat Noir’s eyes drifted down to the placard, imprinted into the base of the statue.

Gabriel Agreste

Inspired designer, husband, father, hero

May your genius live on

Hero. Hero, hero, hero, hero. Hero. His father was a hero.

Chanting the word in his head, hoping to drill the concept in, to will the truth to make sense amidst the onslaught of thoughts and feelings pumping through his veins, never felt quite enough. It was never enough to settle the upset in his stomach, to quell the tears that often sprang to the surface at the most innocuous and inopportune times.

Chat Noir may have been superpowered, but Gabriel Agreste, standing tall and firm and strong, shimmering beneath the sunlight, was the true hero. Chat Noir was merely an insignificant speck— a disappointment at every turn, left to cower in the darkness beneath his towering shadow.

If you had been there—

Wasn’t it your job to prevent this? To save civilian lives?

He would still be alive today, if only you had been there. If only you had been stronger—

But isn’t it his own fault, for locking you away?

No. No, no, no. How could he think that? How could he blame his father, a dead man, for his own demise, when he had died to save the city? When he was a hero?

“You must be so proud,” so many had said to him. And here he was, a bitter spat in his mind trying to justify the tragedy as something unnecessary and self-made. As if his father could’ve understood the implications of locking his son away when he hadn’t known his secret identity. As if his demise were anything other than his fault, Chat Noir’s fault, Adrien’s fault—

What if his father had known? What if Adrien had told him his secret, that he was Chat Noir? Would his father have allowed him to stay in Paris, to assist the fight against Monarch? Would he still be alive today?

Could Adrien have taken his place?

Would his father be proud, then? Would he think him a hero?

Father’s the hero, a voice in the back of his mind harshly reminded. Not you. You’re just an insolent child in a leather suit. If only you could have controlled your emotions, your father wouldn’t be dead. You’re just a disappointment. If he could see you today—

He should leave. Now. Before the tears began to spring to the surface, before civilians could witness Chat Noir crying beneath a monument to Gabriel Agreste.

He turned to leave, pointedly choosing to face away from Tom & Sabine’s— he didn’t know if Marinette was on her balcony today. He didn’t want to know. He wasn’t sure he could bear the gentle, nonjudgmental eyes of Marinette watching him. That would absolutely push him over the edge.

Baton in hand, he moved to press the button—

“Why are you always here?”

He nearly leapt out of his suit and whipped around to face the voice. For a split second, he had expected Marinette.

Instead, Ladybug stood beside him, a curious look on her face.

Chat Noir made sure to school his.

He plastered a smile on his face, giving his baton a quick twirl with his fingertips before re-depositing it at his back. He smiled at her as easy and natural as he could, hoping that the casual look on his face could make up for the fact he didn’t speak, no words coming to mind as his brain wracked for what Chat Noir could say.

Should he crack a pun? Was that disrespectful to do before his father’s monument? Would it be strange if he didn’t? Would Ladybug become suspicious if he seemed too mournful, would she be offended if he seemed too cheerful, would she—

“Um… why are you always here?” she repeated as if she thought he hadn’t heard, her brow twisting further in what could have been concern.

“‘Always’?” he finally managed to speak, his eyes leaving hers to instead stare directly at his father’s sculpted shoelaces. “What gave you that idea?”

“Oh… you know,” she murmured, “People take pictures of you and it winds up on the internet for, um, anyone to see and… well…” A pause. “Why do you come here so often?”

His gaze fell back down to the plaque, and any semblance of a smile fell from his lips

“That’s what monuments are for, right?” he muttered, “To look at and… honor them?”

He didn’t dare look at her, and she didn’t say anything for a moment. A moment of silence, his mind remarked— but he could almost feel the way her eyes bore into him, and he figured the silence was more of the awkward variety than the mournful.

“I… yeah, I suppose,” she finally said, her presence shifting uncomfortably beside him, “I just… didn’t expect you to…” she trailed, her thought left unfinished.

He wondered what she was going to say. Some variation of ‘I didn’t expect you to care so much,’ he figured.

His eyes fell to the shrine at the base of the statue— to the flowers and drawings and candles and messages of ‘thank you’s laid before his father. The bouquet that he himself had offered, placed there by his bare hands, had begun to wither.

That wouldn’t do. He needed to replace it. Quickly. His father would hate such filth at his feet. Should he offer the replacement as Adrien again, or as Chat Noir? Should he get two, one to honor his father’s life, and one to apologize for his death?

“He was a hero,” he said simply, eyes locked on the brown rot creeping along the white petals. “A better one than me.”

Ladybug choked, startling him enough for his gaze to finally snap to her. She coughed, her fist slamming into her chest.

“My lady?”

“Oh my g—” A clear of her throat and one final cough seemed to be enough to settle whatever she had inhaled. She turned to him, eyes wide and brow twisted in discomfort. “Don’t say that. That is not tru—”

“What?” he asked— and perhaps he would have spat in offense, if only he weren’t too exhausted to. He gestured to the plaque. “He gave his life to help take down Monarch. He saved Paris. You and him. I wasn’t even there—”

“You—” she began, before her words died on her tongue. She hesitated. “It’s… it’s not like that. You were with me— us, in… spirit.”

“You mean to say Plagg was with you?” he scoffed.

“Ye— well…”

“I wasn’t there,” he repeated, his eyes boring holes into the word ‘hero’. “Maybe if I was, I could’ve…”

“No!” she gasped, her tight grip snatching up his wrist, forcing his attention back on her. “Chat Noir, it wasn’t like that. You being there or not wouldn’t have made a difference—”

His expression must have betrayed his agony, because horror flashed across her features.

“No! I didn’t mean— of course you would have been helpful, I would’ve loved to have you there too, but it was—” Her gaze flicked away from his, briefly. Her expression softened, and she continued, “It was… a really complicated situation. I don’t think…” She turned her gaze up to his father, her expression pained. “... I don’t think anyone could have saved him.”

His heart dropped to his stomach, the nausea returning full-force even as his lady gathered both of his hands in hers. He followed her gaze back up to the face of his father.

“... What happened?” he nearly whispered.

It wasn’t as though Ladybug had never told him. She’d parroted the same story to him in both identities and to the press. But the story had been so vague. He didn’t know the exact events, didn’t know how it had occurred, didn’t know the cause of death. Adrien had been too overwhelmed and despaired to ask, Chat Noir had been trying too desperately to school his reaction to ask, and Ladybug never offered more information than necessary to the press when asked.

Her expression blanked, her eyes falling down to his father’s silver lapel.

“How…” he continued, stopping to swallow back the impending quiver to his voice, “... how did he…”

“It— it doesn’t matter, Chat Noir,” she said solemnly, avoiding his gaze as she instead opted to stare at the grass, “It’s… there’s just no reason to dwell on it—”

“Was he in pain?” he found himself asking.

She grimaced. A subtle grimace, nearly imperceptible, but he saw it. He saw it.

And then she hesitated. “It… it was a painless deat—”

“I have to go,” he croaked, knowing himself well enough to know that he could absolutely, under no circ*mstances, stand to be in this conversation any longer.

He turned away from her, baton already in hand—

“Wait!” she gasped, her hand grasping his elbow. “Chat Noir, trust me, I— it’s not worth worrying about. Monarch is gone. That’s what’s important—”

And yet, his father was still dead.

He gave a small nod of faux acknowledgement, not trusting himself to speak, and vaulted away.

*****

Nathalie’s pancakes were better than his father’s.

Not that it was a very high bar, admittedly. Nathalie was in no way a chef, but she was at the very least precise and attentive. She had a far better sense for Adrien’s tastes than his father had, and he had caught her researching recipes before.

He picked at his plain pancake, thankful that he’d managed to clean up his appearance enough to mask the fact he’d spent the night crying.

Imagine if Father saw him like that, his hair a complete mess and his clothes rumpled?

Doesn’t matter. He’ll never see you again.

“Adrien,” Nathalie spoke, startling him from his thoughts. She turned to him, looking so un-Nathalie in her apron and a gentleness in her gaze that had him wondering if she somehow knew. “Are they not to your liking?”

Though, perhaps ‘somehow’ wasn’t much of a mystery. Everyone tended to treat him gently as of late. Apparently, being recently orphaned made that happen.

“No, it’s okay,” he quickly said, pointedly cutting off a piece and shoving it in his mouth to prove a point.

She hummed, and he felt her eyes on him even as his attention stayed on the food. “Will you be having lunch at school today?”

He nodded as he swallowed, willing himself to look back up at her. He tried to commit the sight of her to memory— standing on her own two feet without the need of any assistance, her once-sunken cheeks filled full again. Even her style betrayed a renewed sense for life, with comfortable shoes and a few strands of hair allowed to rest free of her bun, not enough to seem unintentional, just enough to be something his father would never have approved.

She had managed to overcome her illness, she’d said. A cure had finally been invented (a cure for what exactly, he didn’t know), and she’d managed to make it out the other side. When he asked her, she assured that she would absolutely not relapse— that she would be fine. For sure.

( Did he believe her? )

( They’d told him his mother would survive, too. In fact, they’d refused to blatantly acknowledge her death as a death at all, no matter how obvious it was. )

( Then again, his mother had never bounced back like this. Nathalie may have been willing to try to hide her illness from him, but even she couldn’t pretend to be able to walk when she couldn’t. )

( Surely, it’d be fine. Surely, he wouldn’t be orphaned all over again. Surely, he wouldn’t manage to lose three parents in the span of two years— )

( ... He was still going to commit her to memory. Just in case. )

She nodded in acknowledgement, grabbing her phone and swiping at the screen, her eyes focused on the action. “Alright. Please text me if you plan on coming home late.”

“I will,” he promised, before hesitating, “... May I… walk to school today?”

“Of course,” she agreed easily, just as Father likely would’ve, in those uncharacteristic weeks before he’d shipped him off to a box in London. “But you should leave early. You don’t want to be late.”

He smiled. After shoving the rest of his pancake into his mouth, he threw his bag over his shoulder and rushed for the door.

“Oh, and Adrien?” Nathalie called, causing him to still in the doorway and glance back over his shoulder. She hesitated, and then offered an affectionate smile— another thing to commit to memory. “Have a good day.”

“You too, Nathalie,” he said with a smile of his own and left out the door.

*****

“Hey, dude!” Nino called, his grin unabashed as he threw his arm around Adrien’s shoulders, their steps falling easily in line as they made their way through the entrance hall. “Whatcha plannin’ on focusing on today?”

The new lycée, a collaborative effort made possible by Mayor Bustier’s action plans, didn’t have strict schedules or classes. The students were encouraged to move between subjects as they pleased, focusing their attention on whatever caught their interest.

It was nice, of course, and all the students loved it. Adrien especially benefited from the lack of a strict curriculum. He didn’t have to force himself to commit to anything. He was free to explore and choose what he wanted to do.

… At least, that was the idea. But Adrien still felt so lost, just as before, wandering the halls of the lycée day to day and bouncing between subjects that never seemed to quite match his interests. He almost longed for the structure, for someone to just make him do something. He wasn’t used to such lax schedules. He didn’t know how to handle making decisions for himself.

“Oh, I don’t know…” Adrien managed a nervous chuckle, wracking his brain for what he could possibly focus on. But he felt too exhausted to make a choice, his night’s rest fitful. He decided to opt for his default. “I guess I’ll find something to do in the crafts room.”

“Oh, yeah, again?” Nino chuckled. “You’ve gotta show me the stuff you’re working on sometime.”

Adrien wasn’t so sure. He wasn’t much of an arts or crafts person, he really just spent his time there reading instead of taking advantage of all the materials offered.

But the crafts room was where Marinette usually was.

“What about you?” Adrien asked.

“I’m gonna check out the robotics room! Apparently, Max and the others made some kind of camera with all kinds of crazy features. They want me to test it out. Might stop by the drama room and recruit some thespians for a quick short film.”

Adrien’s eyes widened, as the two slowed to a stop at the crossroads between their destinations. “Oh, wow. That sounds really cool.” He meant it. “Have fun.”

“You too!” Nino beamed, his enthusiasm almost contagious as he finally pried himself off of Adrien’s shoulders. Adrien returned Nino’s two-fingered salute with a small wave of his own, and Nino disappeared down the hall.

Adrien took a deep breath, secured his school bag on his shoulder, and set course down the hall.

A quick stop at the library, and then he was slipping into the crafts room.

His eyes trailed over the heads of students— some huddled around the pottery wheels, some sitting at easels. He saw Nathaniel and Marc in the corner, Alix with a spraycan at the wall, and finally—

Marinette, her tongue stuck out and her nose scrunched in concentration as she scratched a pencil to her sketchbook.

He made his way over, eyes catching on her sketch. It looked like a dress of some kind. He sat himself right next to her, and she audibly squeaked and slammed the sketchbook closed.

“Oh— Adrien!” Her face lit up, eyes practically sparkling, the corners of her wonderful lips tugged at her rosy cheeks. “Hi!”

“Hi,” he returned with a soft smile. He hadn’t even realized how tense he’d been until he began to feel his muscles finally relax. He leaned forward, pressing a kiss to her cheek that she happily accepted. “Whatcha working on today?”

“Oh, um— I’m not sure yet,” she let out a nervous laugh, flipping her sketchbook back open to a different page than before. This time, he saw hats. “I figured I’d just work on some sketches today. You?”

He shrugged, placing the book he’d picked up from the library on the table. He figured he’d try reading up on some linguistics today. It was probably interesting enough to keep his attention, and academic enough that any wandering teachers wouldn’t give him a second worry.

“Oh…” Marinette eyed the book for a moment, then smiled at him. “Fun!”

He chuckled, and she pressed a big kiss to his cheek, injecting warmth directly into his skin. She turned back to her sketchbook, grabbing a red marker from the table and testing the color on the page.

He held his book open, propped up just enough to comfortably read, but his eyes stayed locked on her creative hand and intentional strokes. She made everything seem so effortless.

“Oh, Adrien!” a voice chirped up, and Adrien’s attention was forcibly torn away from his girlfriend’s lovely work. “And Mari-nette! How are you two doing?”

Adrien smiled. “Hey, Cerise.”

“Hey, Cerise!” Marinette greeted cheerfully, though her eyes didn’t lift from the sketchbook. “Watercolors again?”

“Don’t you know it!” Cerise laughed, dumping her watercolor paper and supplies out of her bag and onto the table. She pushed the papers and brushes around until they were properly organized and then seated herself down carefully. “I’ve just been so inspired lately. I don’t know if I’m exactly good, but…”

“Your paintings are beautiful,” Adrien offered with a smile. It was true. Everyone who hung around the crafts room was so talented. Everyone aside from him, at least.

“Aw!” Cerise cooed, clapping her hands together, her eyes crinkling. “You’re such a sweetheart, Adrien! No wonder Marinette likes you so much. Such a keeper!”

He gave a small chuckle, feeling his cheeks heat just a tad as he allowed his eyes to fall back to the book.

Marinette nodded. “He is, isn’t he? But he’s right. Your work’s great, and it just keeps getting better every piece! You’ve improved so much.”

“You’re both so sweet…” Cerise sighed happily, leaning her cheek against her hand as she eyed the two of them. “I can’t imagine anything could ever get between you two! You’re just… sooo nice, and so understanding, and so honest with each other… I mean, right?” Marinette’s marker stilled, and Cerise giggled. “I can’t even imagine you two having a fight!”

Adrien couldn’t imagine it, either. Couldn’t because he wouldn’t. Even considering the possibility of losing Marinette, the one thing keeping him so grounded as of late, had him feeling a tad sick.

“Admittedly…” Cerise continued, tone noticeably quieter as she brushed a wet brush against her paper, “... I’m a little jealous of how strong you two are. My ex and I… well…”

An uncomfortable silence hung over the three of them.

“... let’s just say…” she continued after a moment, turning her gaze back up to them with pained eyes, “... thinking that you know a person and… realizing you never really did…?” She sighed. “Well…”

Adrien swallowed. Marinette stiffened beside him.

“... it hurts so much,” she continued, her eyes misting. “And… all the things he made me believe… all the lies he told me and I just— it made me feel like such a fool! And how could I even look him in the eyes after everything? Knowing he’d been lying to me so much? Th-That he respected me that little to not tell me the truth? Gosh. You two are so lucky that you’d never lie to each oth—”

Snap!

Marinette shrieked, red ink exploding out of her marker. Adrien snatched his library book from the table, holding it up and away from the splash zone as Marinette leapt back and dropped the offending plastic, which proceeded to bounce and roll off of the table and to the floor.

“Oh my gosh!” Cerise gasped, scrambling to snatch her watercolor papers from the scene. But it was too late. Red splatter marks lined her work, which was to say nothing of Marinette’s sketchbook— her work completely destroyed beneath a sinking puddle of red ink.

“Oh— Oh my god, Cerise, I’m so sorry!” Marinette cried out.

“I’ll get some towels,” Adrien quickly said, launching to his feet and rushing past some spectators to the nearby sink. He ripped off sheets from the paper towel roll and grabbed some rubbing alcohol from the cabinet.

“Oh no…” Cerise whimpered, assessing the damage to her paintings as Adrien rushed back to the table. “It’s— It’s okay, Marinette, it was an accident!” He wet a towel with the alcohol and started wiping away the ink from the table top. “A-and, I mean… it’s not so bad, is it? Art is subjective! Mixing marker with watercolor can work, so… I mean… I wouldn’t personally choose splatters, not really my style, but maybe this is a sign that I should try mixed media!”

“Cerise,” Marinette choked out, and Adrien noted with a pang in his heart that she wasn’t even attempting to save her own sketchbook, the puddle of ink still soaking into the pages. He grabbed the book from in front of her, and she didn’t stop him as he attempted to dry it. “I am. So. Sorry. I am such a disaster, as always, and I just—”

“What even happened?” she asked, cutting Marinette off from her spiral before Adrien could. Once Marinette’s sketchbook was about as close to ‘saved’ as he could manage, he returned to cleaning the table. Cerise ducked under the surface for a moment, returning back to her seat with the offending marker between her fingertips. She placed it carefully atop one of the many paper towels that Adrien had brought to the table. “Wow… your grip must’ve been so tight!”

Adrien glanced to the marker. It was completely crushed, the plastic tube that held the ink capsule completely warped in what could only have been an iron-jawed grip.

“Aaaahhh…” Marinette whined out, dragging her hands harshly down her cheeks, “I’m sorry, I’m just so— I’m just so— you know me, I’m always so— so…”

“OH MY GOSH!” Cerise gasped in horror. “Marinette! Your face!”

Marinette gasped and tore her hands off of her face— her completely red-stained face, with clear handprints dragging down the skin.

“Oh no,” Adrien gasped, grabbing a wetted sheet with one hand and Marinette’s chin with the other, turning her to face him so he could begin wiping the ink off of her left cheek.

“I’m so sorry, Marinette!” she cried, “I was so selfish, just going on and on about myself and my troubles, talking your ear off and not even noticing how tense you apparently were!” He moved onto her right cheek. “I’m so sorry if something I said hit a nerve of some kind…”

“Wh-what?” Marinette gasped, her eyes wide as saucers as she snapped her gaze back to Cerise. “A nerve? What nerve?” With her face cleaned, he grabbed ahold of her hands and held them palm-up. “Why— why would anything you said—”

“Caught you red-handed.”

Marinette blanched, her gaze immediately snapping to his, horror flashing across her features.

“I— red-handed?” He cleared his throat, figuring that his own burning cheeks probably looked pretty red right now. He began to scrub the ink from her palms. “Sorry. Bad pun.”

“Oh— Oooh! Ooooh!” Marinette forced out a laugh, “R-red-handed! Yes! Of— of course! Hahaha! Red-handed, yes…”

Cerise giggled. “Oh, Adrien, you’re sooo funny!”

“Well,” he cleared his throat again, focusing on the task of cleaning his girlfriend’s hands, “Anyway. We’ve had some… bad experiences with liars in the past, Cerise,” he attempted to explain, “So, uh… I think she just related to your story a bit. Correct me if I’m wrong, Marinette?”

“Oh. Oh!” Marinette swallowed. “Yes! That’s… that’s it.” She chuckled. “It just, ah… brought back some bad memories! Haha…”

“Oh my gosh… I should’ve known! I think I’ve heard of that… That one boy from your collège, who’s always at the pool? Kim, I think? He told me some crazy stories about a girl at your old school… Lola, was it?”

“Lila,” he corrected, releasing Marinette’s ink-free hands, which she quickly held to her chest.

“Lila! That was it.” Cerise sighed. “I’m so sorry you had to deal with someone like that, Marinette. Liars are just… so, so terrible… do you think they even realize how much hurt they cause?”

Marinette swallowed, squeezing her hands together. “I… I don’t know… it depends, I guess? I…”

“I can’t stand them, either,” Cerise continued, as he began to gather up the used paper towels from the mostly-salvaged table. “We’re so alike like that, Marinette. What about you, Adrien?”

“Hm?” He tossed the towels into the nearest bin.

“Don’t you just hate liars?”

“Oh.” He retrieved his book from a nearby table that he had set it on, returning back to his seat. “Yeah.”

Cerise smiled at him. Marinette stood beside the table, stiff, not sitting back down.

“... Anyways,” Cerise said, breaking a long-stretching silence, “the reason I was thinking about my ex at all was because… well… I’ve been using him as a sort of inspiration for my work lately. Turning pain into art… there’s something kind of beautiful about that, right? And cathartic!”

Adrien hummed in noncommittal agreement. He wasn’t much of an artist, so he couldn’t say for certain, but it sounded correct.

“And I was thinking— oh my gosh! Marinette!” Cerise giggled, “Sit back down, silly! Are you going to stand there all day?”

“I—” Marinette squeaked. She plopped back down on her seat, and Adrien offered her a smile, unable to hide his amusem*nt. She was so charming.

“Anyway! I was just thinking— Adrien! Maybe that’s what you need!”

His eyes widened and snapped back to Cerise, startled by his name. “What?”

“You’re always hanging around the craft room, watching all of us do art but never really doing any yourself…” she explained, hopefully not noticing his cringe, “... I just feel so bad for you! You know, art block can be so hard to get past… but if you’ve got a creative itch you need to scratch deep down, channeling your pain can be a great way to do that!”

“Er…” He rubbed at the back of his neck. “I’m not sure I have a creative itch—”

“Of course you do!” she gasped, “Why else would you be here? Just to cling to your girlfriend?” He frowned. Cling? “Don’t be silly! I can tell you want to do more here, but something’s holding you back! And…” Her expression softened into a familiar look— one that everyone seemed to wear around him as of late. “... I know you’ve had a really hard time as of late. Of course you would need to channel that.”

He swallowed, a familiar rock dropping into the pit of his stomach, his muscles re-tensing as he was forced to remember all that Marinette and the marker situation had helped him forget—

“And I— Oh my god, please feel free to tell me if I’m overstepping!” she exclaimed, reeling back and holding one hand up and the other to her heart, “I’m not trying to get in your business, or make you uncomfortable, or make you sad! I just want to help! But… I was just thinking… and again, oh my gosh, feel free to shut me up! Just say ‘Cerise, shut your trap’ and I will!”

There was absolutely no way he was going to say that.

“But… losing your father… that has to take a toll on you,” she said, placing both hands over her heart as she looked at him with all the pity he had come to expect, “And you’ve been so strong, Adrien, always coming to school despite it all and doing your hardest… but… art could really help you, I think! Imagine if you channeled your father into your art somehow… like—” She gasped. “Oh my gosh! Wait! I just thought of something!”

“Huh?”

“Your father was such an incredible man…” Cerise mused, and Adrien felt himself tense further. “A genius and— and a designer! So what better way to channel the memory of your father and honor his legacy than to pick up the very same craft that he did? It could make you feel so much closer to him! And Marinette can help you!”

“Hu— Wha?” Marinette gasped, seemingly startled by her name.

“You know so much about fashion design!” Cerise emphasized, practically bouncing in her seat with an excitement that Adrien did not share. “You’re amazing at it! And you know what the teachers always say, about us helping each other learn and grow… you can help Adrien learn and grow to be more like his father!”

“What?” Marinette shrieked, “I— Why would I— A-Adrien doesn’t need to be more like his father, he just needs to be himself—”

“Oh, of course!” Cerise gasped, “Oh my gosh, of course! I’m not saying Adrien shouldn’t be himself, not at all! I’m just saying that I think learning fashion design could help him connect with his father… and, I mean, there’s nothing wrong with Adrien looking up to his father for inspiration, is there? Especially when he feels so lost? Considering he was such a great man…”

“I…” Marinette choked.

“... and a hero,” Cerise finished with a happy sigh, and Adrien’s grip on his book tightened to a vice. “Such a hero… even the Chat Noir seems to think so! Have you seen all those pictures of him in front of the statue on the internet? He’s always there, like he’s trying to honor him…” Adrien felt a little sick. “... and if even Chat Noir looks up to him, then surely he truly was something special. I mean… Chat Noir would know, right, Marinette?”

“H—How would I— I mean— I guess?” Marinette sputtered, “S-sure? I don’t know!”

“So, what do you think, Adrien?” Cerise turned to him with a smile, and he tried to school his expression under her sparkling gaze. “Doesn’t giving a try at your late father’s craft sound… cathartic? Healing?”

Not really.

“I…” he hesitated, wracking his brain for a way out beyond ‘I do not want to do that’, “I don’t know… I’m… I’m not much of an artist, and I’m sure my designs would be terrible—”

“No!” Cerise gasped, “Don’t put yourself down like that! Art is for anyone! Nobody would be judging you here, and you can’t improve without practice! Marinette, tell him!”

“What? Oh!” Marinette gasped, spinning in her chair to face him, “No, she— she’s right, Adrien, you can make any art you want! You shouldn’t worry about things like that, and you always pick up skills so fast anyway! I’m sure you’d do great!”

He shrunk in on himself, feeling a bit lost. “... Um…”

“Oh, Adrien… Is that why you haven’t been doing art with us all this time?” Cerise held her hands to her heart. “You’ve been scared of being judged?”

No, that wasn’t—

Wait. Was it?

Adrien used to love drawing, when he was little. His mother used to buy him bundles of crayons and pencils and pens, and he would draw and color his days away. He would watch his father slave away at his designs, pen meeting tablet with careful, practiced strokes— and Adrien would mimic the action, crayon meeting paper with random, clumsy swipes of his own.

They were scribbles, really. Pointless, meaningless nonsense that his mother would gasp and coo at and tack on the fridge.

His father hadn’t been so supportive. He would scoff at the pieces presented to him. He would pinch his nose and ask, exasperated, ‘What is this supposed to be?’ He would try to steady Adrien’s hand, to explain color theory, to criticize the composition and—

Well. Adrien didn’t draw anymore. He hadn’t in a long time. He often forgot that he ever had, in fact— the only reminder being a piece his mother had framed. A clumsy attempt at a family photo.

A family that no longer was. And he hadn’t drawn since.

“Wait, really?” Marinette gasped, and only then did Adrien tune back into the present— where he had, apparently, blanked out at the question. “We’re not going to judge you!”

“Especially if it’s to process your grief!” Cerise continued, “I mean, not under any circ*mstances but— geez! How cold would we have to be to judge you for that?”

“I…” he swallowed. Maybe it would be worth a shot? But, still, he wasn’t sure he wanted Marinette to see his awful first-attempts. She was so talented, and he was just… …

“I’ll grab you some supplies!” Cerise announced, jumping to her feet, “I’m sure Marinette would love to help you channel your father.” She turned to Marinette with a smile. “Right, Marinette?”

Marinette swallowed, and Adrien resigned himself to close his book.

*****

It turned out, Adrien absolutely could not design. In fact, in terms of ’making art’, Adrien was the absolute worst a person could conceivably be.

Because he couldn’t make art at all.

Pencil to paper, and Adrien’s mind was blank. Pencil to paper, and panic had set in. Pencil to paper, and Cerise and Marinette were watching him expectantly. Pencil to paper, and he was bound to disappoint. Pencil to paper, and he couldn’t bring himself to make a single stroke.

“Um… speaking from experience?” Marinette offered, “You might want to loosen your grip a bit…”

Dear god. He couldn’t even hold the pencil right.

They were both so sweet. So encouraging. Marinette talked about making loose shapes, gesture drawing, getting a general shape of what was in your mind down and then refining it later.

He made a straight line.

“Just think of your father!” Cerise chirped.

No. Not straight. Crooked.

He imagined if his father were here. If he were alive, if Adrien had been enough to have saved him, if he had kept the interest in his son’s life that he had suddenly gained in the weeks before his passing.

His father, the hero. His father, the designer. His father, the genius, above him, looming over his shoulder, casting Adrien in shadow and scoffing at his stupid crooked line—

He stopped drawing.

He kept his gaze low. He didn’t need to look up to feel the eyes on him. Mixtures of disappointment and pity from Cerise, Marinette, his father—

( Well. Not so much pity from that last one. )

At some point, Cerise had corralled the two of them to the sewing station. Instead of drawing, Marinette began instructing him on the ways around a sewing machine, anxiety wafting off of her the way she stumbled over her words, the ways her fingers twitched as she showed him the buttons and mechanisms.

He excused himself to the restroom.

“You know,” Plagg drawled, flitting out of his schoolbag as Adrien washed his hands in the sink. Adrien whipped around to double check that all the stalls were empty. “You don’t need to be like your father.”

“And why not?” Adrien huffed, pumping soap into his palm.

“The whole ‘dying like a martyr’ thing is soooo overrated,” Plagg sighed, “You and I both know that he was a hunk of odorless—”

“He was a hero,” Adrien spat, scrubbing harshly at his hands.

“You’re the hero,” Plagg argued, and Adrien pumped another shot of soap into his hand. “Not him—”

“Heroes don’t take naps while civilians die.” He scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed.

“Adrien,” Plagg said, uncharacteristically serious in a way that had Adrien wanting to puke. “You couldn’t have done anything—”

“GAH!” Adrien shouted, an unbearable itching pumping through his veins as he fisted the hair at the scalp. He wanted to leave, to run, to get this awful feeling out of his system before he broke down crying in the middle of school, and then everyone would know he was even more pitiable than he already was, and then— “You don’t KNOW that!”

“I do! I was there!”

“Glad to know you think so highly of me,” he spat. Real heroes could have saved his father. Real heroes didn’t feel so nasty, either. Real heroes didn’t fly into a rage the moment they were alone with their clearly well-intentioned kwami. “What a hero I am!”

He pumped another shot of soap into his hands and scraped his skin together beneath the water, pointedly ignoring the pitying look in his kwami’s eyes.

“That’s not what I meant.”

Adrien just scrubbed. And scrubbed.

“You are a hero! And you don’t need to— why are you still washing your hands?”

“I’m stalling,” he grit out.

He didn’t want to go back to the arts room. He didn’t want to go back out there, to plaster a smile on his face and pretend like he wasn’t withering beneath their gazes—

“Or you could just do something else?” Plagg scoffed, “You don’t have to go back th—”

Suddenly, Plagg was disappearing back into his schoolbag as the bathroom door swung open. A fellow student, not anyone that Adrien recognized, entered and gasped.

“Oh my gosh, Adrien Agreste!” Their eyes brightened. “I’m so sorry for your loss. Gabriel Agreste was my hero—”

“Thank you,” Adrien said, plastering on a smile and turning off the faucet. With a quiet dip of his head, he pushed past them and out the door.

He kept his head hung, hoping to minimize anyone recognizing him as padded down the hall and back to the crafts room—

“Oof!”

Adrien stumbled back from the body he’d run into. Pattern recognition concluded that he’d found Marinette out of the crafts room, but his eyes were quick to correct him.

“Oh, Adrien!” Alya laughed, stepping back from him, “Who are we, Marinette?”

Adrien chuckled, finding himself smiling. “I’m sorry, Alya. I wasn’t looking where I was going—”

“Oh, don’t sweat it, me neither!” she spoke quickly, nearly bouncing where she stood in excitement, her phone in hand, “I was just reading this article about a new galaxy they found, which got me thinking about how crazy it is that our understanding of space just keeps evolving and how cool it is, and then I remembered that old astronomy blog I had that desperately needs an update, and then I remembered that Max’s mom is an astronaut and—” She interrupted herself with a deep breath, steadying herself before she laughed, “Anyway. I just got so excited! I’m looking for Max.”

“Oh. That’s cool! Good luck.”

“What about you?” She appraised him. “What’re you up to today?”

He shrugged noncommittally, shoving his hands into his pockets. But she kept eyeing him, and he realized that Alya was not someone that would accept a non-answer. “I’m, uh… trying to be more like my father.”

Her smile fell. “What?”

“Um…” He rubbed at the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at her face, “Marinette’s… helping me… channel my fath—”

He spared a quick glance back at her face, and the icy look in her eyes shut his trap.

Her gaze bore into him. “She’s. Doing. What?”

“Um… she’s trying to teach me fashion design, so I can, uh, better understand—”

“Why would she— I mean— surely this wasn’t her idea?”

He shook his head, and the tautness of her expression relaxed. She sighed, crossing her arms over her chest with an exhausted look. “You don’t need to be like your dad.”

Why did everyone keep telling him that? Why did everyone keep telling him how great and amazing and heroic his father was, only to tell him to not be like him? Did they just not believe he could?

He understood that ‘be yourself’ was a generally well-accepted sentiment to say to a person. But what did ‘be yourself’ even mean in this context, when all Adrien had ever been all his life was a coward who did whatever his father told him to? When Adrien’s entire existence had always been, and likely always would be, standing in his father’s shadow?

He must have taken too long to respond, because she added, “I didn’t know you were interested in fashion design.”

He swallowed. “I’m not.”

“Then…?”

“It was… Cerise’s idea,” he muttered, and she hummed. “She thought it’d be…” he hesitated, “... therapeutic, I guess?”

Alya lifted a brow. “Is it?”

He frowned. And considering the sympathetic smile she shot him, he figured that was answer enough.

“You want an out?” Alya offered, and his eyebrows shot up in interest. “I can recruit you to help me find Max. I checked the robotics room, but he wasn’t there, or the computer room, or the math room—”

“He’s testing a camera out with Nino,” he supplied, “They were going to stop by the drama room to pick up actors. And then find a nice place to shoot, I guess.”

“Oh, of cooouuurrrse!” Alya laughed, “Why didn’t I think to look for Max in the drama room?”

He chuckled.

“Well, my dear Watson,” she cooed, tapping away at her phone, “Your clue finding skills are truly next-level. Would you like to continue assisting me on this missing person’s case? I’m texting Marinette right now aaannnnnd…” One final tap, and she shoved her phone back into her pocket with a grin. “... She has been officially informed that I’m kidnapping you.”

He couldn’t hold his smirk. “Kidnapping? I thought you solved cases, Holmes, not created them.”

“You know what they say,” Alya chuckled, grabbing ahold of his arm and leading him towards the drama room, “It’s always who you least expect.”

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

[ I’ll be coming home late today. ]

Chatter and footsteps carried out as students spilled out of the lycée doors. Adrien lingered in the corner by the entrance, finger hovering over the ‘send’ button and head hung low, hoping he was inconspicuous enough for no acquaintances to approach him, but conspicuous enough for his friends to.

“Adrien!” Nino called, answering the latter as he waved wide and bounded towards him. He threw his arm over his shoulders— just as he often used to, and just as he always did as of late. “Got any plans?”

“Not in particular,” he answered with a small smile, his shoulders relaxing beneath Nino’s warmth, “... I was thinking of asking Marinette.”

Nino tsked, shaking his head. “Aww, dude. When’s my turn? You’re always picking Marinette…”

Wait. Was he?

Nino laughed, startling Adrien out of his stricken expression. “Dude, I’m kidding. I get it. You guys are so cute, you know how long I’d been rooting for you guys?”

“Oh…” he laughed nervously. “Right.”

“Besides, I know you’ll make it up to me later.” Nino grinned. “Right?”

Adrien softened. “Right.” He mentally filed the note away, under ‘promises to fulfill’. “How’s the film going? Did you fix that plothole?”

Nino regaled Adrien with the tale of what had happened after Adrien and Alya kidnapped Max from the creative writing room they’d found the group in.

“... and then Rose chimed in— and we didn’t even know she was there— with ‘oh, what if the main character was secretly a fairy the whole time’? And we laughed it off at first, but then we started thinking…”

Adrien listened closely, nodding along, his eyes trailing down the hall for any signs of Marinette.

“... what’s wrong with a little whimsy? And I was thinking, hey, some of the filters Max put on that camera are next level, like, we could totally do some stuff with fairy dust and wings and special effects, and we could get the animation kids on board too for some extra flair…”

What was taking her so long? Was she upset at him for ditching, maybe? Had she taken the back entrance out?

“... and then we got Marinette to agree to make us costumes and…” Nino trailed, his eyes following Adrien’s out over the hall, “... Hey, speaking of, what’s taking the girls so long?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien muttered, adjusting the strap of his school bag on his shoulder, “I was just asking myself that.”

“Huh. Let’s look for ‘em.”

Adrien nodded and began to walk as Nino did, their steps falling in line, Nino’s arm still securely around his shoulders. The two turned a corner, and at the end of the hall, tucked away in a corner from everyone else, stood Marinette and Alya, engaged in what looked like a heated conversation.

Marinette was gesturing chaotically with her hands, eyes wild, more than a few strands of black hair sticking out of her pigtails. Alya was gesturing as well, her brow furrowed. Her mouth moved, and she must have said something upsetting, because Marinette responded with a frustrated cry, throwing her head back and tugging down on her pigtails.

Their volume was in stark contrast to their boisterous motions. Even as Nino and Adrien approached, they couldn’t quite make out what they were saying— their voices merely hisses as they continued their animated debate.

“...onger you wait, the worse it’ll be,” Alya seemed to be saying, as the boys closed in.

“Good thing we’re not waiting!” Marinette hissed back, finally releasing her pigtails, now even more disheveled than before, “We’re never going to tell—”

“You guys talking about us?” Nino chuckled, startling the two girls out of their skin. They physically jumped, whipping their heads to face the boys, eyes wide and stricken. A moment passed, and Adrien could feel Nino’s shoulder stiffen as he continued, “Uhh… that was a joke?”

“HA!” Marinette forced out a laugh, eyes wild as she clapped her hands together. Alya offered a nervous smile. “Ha! Ha ha HA! Yes! So funny! Well, we weren’t talking about either of you— we were, um—”

“We were just talking about—”

“Butterflies!” Marinette blurted, and then gasped in horror. “NO! Wait. Not butterflies, why did I say that—”

“Entomology!” Alya supplied.

Marinette nodded enthusiastically. “YES! Entomology! Alya was— um— thinking of starting a blog about—”

“Oh, totally,” Alya sighed, “You know me… big ladybug fan.”

“Okaaay…” Nino drawled, and Alya shot him an apologetic smile, stepping forward and pressing a big kiss to his cheek.

Adrien tried a smile at Marinette, his selfish heart hoping for one of those, too. Marinette didn’t look his way, her eyes instead locked on Alya and Nino before her gaze finally met his.

She startled, for a moment, and then offered him a nervous smile. She must have sensed his hope, because she stepped forward, tilting her head up and pressing a small kiss just above his jaw.

“Are you busy today?” he asked, slotting his hand into hers, their fingers intertwining.

“Hm? Oh! No…” She shook her head, raising her free hand to tuck a long strand of hair behind her ear. “I’m free. Why?”

“Is it okay if I come over?” He hoped he didn’t sound too desperately hopeful. The word ‘cling’ echoed in his mind. Was he clingy? “Just for a bit, doesn’t have to be long…”

She smiled. “Of course.”

He smiled back, and finally hit ‘send’ on the text to Nathalie.

*****

This.

This was bliss.

Adrien sighed, tucking his face further into the crook of Marinette’s neck. He inhaled her scent, so distinctly Marinette (a mixture of bread, floral shampoo, and nervous sweat), as he snaked his arms around her shoulders. Eyes closed and muscles laxed, he figured that there was absolutely nothing that could ruin this for him— not even the stray strand of her hair, loose from her ruined pigtails, tickling his nose.

He wondered if he could remove her ties for her— she was always so radiant with her hair down— but he didn’t want to push his luck, clinging further onto her as the sounds of whatever show was playing on her TV rang out.

He felt her legs tuck up onto the couch and her arms wrap around his waist.

And it was bliss.

Sometimes, Adrien wondered how he had ever made it through life without somebody to cuddle. Now that he had a taste of it, he was an addict. He found himself craving her touch at every odd hour of the day, the warmth of her arms, the rhythmic sound of her thumping heart.

“How, um…” Marinette began, pulling him out of his blissed-out state, “How’ve you been?”

That was the worst question. He hated it, really, because he never was quite sure how he was meant to answer it.

‘I’m good’? Was that even true? Who would believe him, mere months after he’d been orphaned? How disrespectful would that be to his father’s memory?

“Fine,” he murmured instead, tucking his body further against hers, chasing the high of feeling loved and secure. He’d never felt like that when father was alive. Not after Mother’s passing, anyway. Father wouldn’t have allowed him to.

If Father were still alive today, he’d be locking Adrien alone in a room in London. He’d be ensuring that he never saw Marinette again, he’d be trying to forcibly pry this happiness away from him—

“And you’re… happy,” Marinette spoke carefully, a nervous tilt to her voice, “... right?”

You’re happy that your father is dead.

The thought struck him like a bat. He stiffened, eyes wide as he stared, unfocused, into Marinette’s shoulder.

He opened his mouth to respond. Nothing came out.

Your father died because of your failure.

Your father was a hero. A martyr. He sacrificed himself for the good of the world.

And you’re glad that he’s dead.

That wasn’t true. Was it? He wasn’t glad that his father was dead. He missed him. He still missed him every day, wished he had been there to save him, wished he were still alive today to make him those stale pancakes, wished he were still there to stand at the top of the stairwell and lay his disappointment into him—

You’re glad that he’s dead.

“... Right?” Marinette repeated fearfully, and Adrien startled.

“Huh?”

“You’re happy?” Marinette whispered, her fingers twitching against him before they gripped into the back of his shirt.

“I…” he tried, the words dying on his tongue.

“I mean—” she floundered, “You— so much happened to you! Of course you’re going through a lot right now, but I mean, in the grand scheme of things, you’re the happiest you could conceivably be given the… everything? Like, you could absolutely be less happy than you are right now, so the happiness level that you’re currently at is— it’s good and it’s worth it! I mean— something! It’s worth something? Sorry, oh my god, forget what I’m saying, this is so inconsiderate, you know me and my awful tongue, blah blah blah—”

“Are you happy?” he muttered against her, hoping to shift the topic away from himself.

“How I feel doesn’t matter,” she answered instantly, the words striking him.

“What?” He finally lifted his head from her shoulder. “Of course it does. You matter.”

“No, I… I mean…” Her eyes locked on the TV, pointedly refusing to look at him. She chewed her lip. “I’m the rock! You know?”

“The rock?”

“You know, like…” She peeled her hands away from him, and he found himself missing the warmth of her arms as she fiddled with the hem of her pant leg. “... The… steady, immovable one! I… I stay grounded, to help you stay grounded. You know? Your shield! Like… Chat Noir is to Ladybug, or…”

He frowned. “I…” He hesitated. “You’re… allowed to not be happy.”

“No.” She shook her head, squeezing the fabric. “I’m… I’m the strong one. I can bear the burden—”

“Burden?” he whispered, heart twisting—

“I mean— the burden of— you know!” She reeled back, eyes wide and hands gesturing vaguely. “Nothing! I— Oh my god, I just mean— I am totally happy to hold everything in for you—”

He pulled away from her, unable to hide his hurt. “I make you feel like you have to hold everything in?”

“NO!” She gasped, “YOU don’t— Adrien, you’re perfect, you don’t have to worry about— I don’t even know what I’m saying!”

“I… don’t want you to feel that way,” he murmured. Had he really been so obviously pathetic that Marinette felt like she couldn’t be vulnerable with him? He hated the thought of her holding in her feelings out of some feeling of obligation. “You can be honest with me. I can take it. I want to be your rock, too.”

She shook her head again, her gaze blank as it settled to the rug. He watched her, a pain in his heart, wondering what he had done to make her feel such a way, and what he could possibly do to convince her that he meant everything he’d said.

A long-stretching silence filled the room, and he nearly felt himself suffocated. He stared at her, trailing his eyes down her hair to her messed up pigtails.

His hesitant hand raised towards one of the ties. She made no move, or perhaps hadn’t noticed what he was doing, so he raised his second, grasping the elastic in careful hands and sliding it down her hair.

Marinette sucked in a quick breath, but made no move to stop him. He then reached for the second, releasing her dark hair from its tangled confines.

Ties tossed to the coffee table, he brushed his fingers through her locks with careful attention. Tucking her freed hair behind her ear, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek, hoping it could portray even a fraction of his love for her.

She whimpered but turned to him, snaking her arms around his shoulders. Their lips met, short and tender, breaking apart with a mutual sigh, forehead to forehead.

“I love you,” he whispered, staring into her blue, “You don’t have to hide anything from me.”

“I love you too…” she whispered, chewing her lip, her eyes dropping from his gaze. “... I just want you to be happy.”

“... I am happy,” he muttered, grasping her chin and tilting her head back up, pressing a kiss to the side of her mouth. “You make me happy.”

She nodded, something akin to a glint of determination in her eye— and he always loved that look on her. She grasped his shoulders, pulling him in close, and he allowed himself to melt back into her warmth and embrace.

*****

I miss you.

I love you.

I wish you were still here.

Chat Noir chanted the words in his head, wondering why he needed to remind himself of such unequivocally true words. His eyes trailed down his father’s silver form— from the crease in his brow to his wrinkleless vest to his towering legs— before settling down on the plaque.

Designer. Husband. Father. Hero. Genius.

The world was better with you in it.

His claws twitched at his sides, and he shuddered in the breeze, cast beneath the shadow.

I’m not glad that you’re dead.

He wasn’t. He wasn’t. Honestly and truly, he wasn’t. He had cried so many tears for his father. He missed the pancakes. He missed the occasional hug. One day, soon after his death, Adrien had walked past the doors to his father’s office and the thought ‘he’s not in there’ had struck him so hard that he’d nearly collapsed from the overwhelming ache in his heart.

I’m not glad that you’re dead.

He wondered why, then, he seemed to take so much convincing. This wasn’t his first rodeo— he’d gone through the pain of losing a parent before, and a part of him was still preparing to go through it again.

But he hadn’t felt this way with Mom. He’d never felt the need to remind himself that he missed her, never felt horror at any joy that crossed his heart, never felt guilt like this. He never felt like a smile tugging at his lips was a celebration of her death.

Mom would want me to be happy, he’d thought instead, whenever the guilt had attempted to knock at his door. She would want me to be happy despite it all.

Father never cared if I was happy, he thought now, nearly every day. He never wanted me to be happy. If he were here, he’d be trying to take it away.

He was happy despite his mother’s death. He was happy due to his father’s death.

And so, he chanted it. Mouthing it to himself, the words bouncing in his head.

I’m not happy that you’re dead.

I’m not happy that you’re dead.

I miss you. I love you. I wish you were here.

A chime forced him out of his spell. He stiffened and then tore his gaze from the plaque, ignoring the curious eyes of the park attendees as he pulled his baton off his back. He tapped the pawprint and checked his notifications.

One new message, it read. From…

His blood froze.

He nearly dropped the baton, fingers shaking as his vision closed in, staring at the icon.

He had expected Ladybug. If not her, then perhaps Rena Rouge. Carapace. Vesperia. Pegasus. Pigella, Ryuko, Viperion, Purple Tigress, Caprikid, Rooster Bold, Minotaurox, King Monkey, Miss Hound, even Argos. Literally anyone but—

Rather than a face, their icon was a symbol.

A butterfly.

Name: Unknown.

Chat Noir stumbled back, heart pounding and ears ringing. He could see the citizens staring at him, at the strange spectacle that he was— but he couldn’t pay them any mind, couldn’t place any attention into anything beyond the terror in his veins.

Hawkmoth— Shadowmoth— Monarch— his father’s murderer had never texted him before. He had never attempted direct communication like this.

Another chime. Another message.

He’d spun on his heel and was vaulting through the rooftops away from prying eyes before he even realized he’d done it. He dropped down into an isolated alleyway, pressed his back to the brick wall, and opened the messages just as another text came in.

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

Unknown: Always kept in the dark…

Unknown: And here I thought Ladybug trusted you…

He stared at the characters on the screen, their meaning not quite translating in his head through the pumping of blood in his ears. He stared and stared, hoping the words would start to make sense, as three dots began bouncing at the bottom of the screen.

Unknown: Partners in name only, huh?

He didn’t understand.

He didn’t understand.

How was Monarch contacting him at all? How did he still have a miraculous? Hadn’t he been defeated? Was this even Monarch at all?

Ladybug had mentioned that the butterfly miraculous was never properly recovered. She’d assured him that it was absolutely not in Monarch’s hands, but how did she know that? How did—

Unknown: I don’t know why she doesn’t trust you, Chat Noir. I can’t imagine why she would keep such a thing from you…

Unknown: Haven’t you earned your retribution?

What was this person talking about?

He pressed a button and held his baton in front of his face, staring intently at the screen as it began to ring, and ring, and ring…

Video call to Unknown— denied.

He hissed.

Unknown: I can’t even imagine what she told you… what lies she fed you about Monarch…

Unknown: About Gabriel Agreste’s death…

His blood ran cold.

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

This was sick.

Chat Noir: Who are you?? Monarch?

Unknown: Oh. No. I have no affiliation with that terrible man.

Unknown: Ladybug on the other hand…

Unknown: I can’t imagine why, but… it seems like she’d do anything to protect him…

Unknown: Even if it means lying to you to get what she wants…

This was more than sick.

He wasn’t an idiot. This was a clear brazen attempt, from a villain, to sow tension between him and Ladybug. But he wasn’t so easily fooled. The idea that he would trust this complete stranger, the successor to his father’s killer, over his partner was almost laughable.

But he wasn’t laughing. Because the insinuation, no matter how clearly untrue or exaggerated it was, made him sick.

He tried calling again.

Video call to Unknown— denied.

Chat Noir: You think I’d trust you over her?

Chat Noir: Quit being a coward and answer the call. Or drop your location if you’d rather settle this face-to-face

Unknown: I’m not your enemy, Chat Noir. I’m a friend.

Chat Noir: Then how about a playdate? Drop your location

Unknown: You’re so sweet. So loyal. Defending her even when she’s shown you nothing but distrust…

Chat Noir: How about a picnic?

Chat Noir: We could meet at the pool

Chat Noir: You like movies?

Unknown: You deserve to know the truth about Gabriel Agreste’s death…

Chat Noir: I’d much rather know about yours

Okay. Admittedly not his typical style of comeback. But magma was pumping through his veins, he was seeing red, his teeth were aching from the clenching of his jaw, his fingers shaking as they hovered over his buttons. And how dare they speak such words about his best friend, about his father’s killer, about his father’s death—

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

Unknown: I can feel your pain all the way over here…

Pain wasn’t the word he would use to describe it. Rage. Fury. White-hot anger—

Unknown: The guilt has been eating you alive for so long… I can feel it, every time you’re at that monument… do you feel responsible for his death?

Ice cold water doused his flames.

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

Unknown: It’s okay…

Unknown: He wasn’t who you think he was…

Unknown: Ladybug should have told you…

Unknown: It’s so cruel of her to let you suffer like this…

He moved to respond, his thumb hovering over the button, when he saw it.

Unknown has gone offline.

They’d detransformed.

He stared down at the screen for a long moment, heart racing, jaw still unpleasantly clenched. A low growl escaped his throat, but soon rational thought caught up to him.

He had to tell Ladybug. At the very least, he had to inform her that a new butterfly wielder was on the loose. He had to make sure she was prepared for a brand new villain.

Your father died for nothing, came a painful realization, as he tapped at the screen, Your father died to save Paris, and Paris is in danger again. He died for nothing.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the nausea in his gut, as he focused on the screen.

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

…

Video call to Ladybug— timed out.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

Adrien tried to go through the motions of his day, as if the one semblance of peace that he had hadn’t been ripped out from beneath him.

Your father died for nothing, spoke the venom of his mind, as he picked at the pancakes Nathalie made him.

Your father died for nothing, he thought, head hung as he watched his feet take step after step on a walk to school aimed to ‘clear his head’.

Your father died for nothing, his brain whispered, as Adrien plastered on a smile for Nino at the schoolgate.

Adrien was in a haze. He needed a distraction. His previous goal of ‘maybe be a little less clingy with Marinette’ was as good as scrapped. He beelined for the crafts room.

Unfortunately, in his itch to get moving in the morning, he’d arrived early. He didn’t see Marinette in the crafts room, but he couldn’t be certain that she wouldn’t arrive shortly. So he swallowed and took his usual seat at the table with Cerise.

She smiled at him. “Oh, Adrien! Ready to give another shot at designing again?”

“Huh?” He croaked, before swallowing. “Oh. Um…”

No, I was just going to read my book, should’ve been his excuse, but he realized, then, that he hadn’t brought a book with him. He was completely empty-handed.

“I, uhm…” He tapped his fingers nervously against the wood of the table, as if he were plucking his piano keys. “I just… wanted to… see Marinette.”

“Oh…” Her eyes crinkled as she leaned forward against her hand, elbow propped on the table. “That’s so cute!”

He nodded in noncommittal agreement, tapping away at the wood as his eyes locked on the entrance.

“Oh, Adrien, is everything okay?” She leaned forward more. “Your nervous energy is practically wafting off of you!”

“Hu— wha?” His eyes snapped to hers, and he tried his best to school his expression, to relax his shoulders and force a smile. “Oh, no. I’m alright, Cerise.”

“Are you sure?” She tilted her head. “You’re so tense!”

Rather than conspicuously tap the wood, he opted instead to hold his hands together under the table, squeezing his fingers, cracking his knuckles, and twisting his three rings. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Here!” she chirped up, spinning to the side of her seat and jumping to her feet. She made her way around the table, towards him, and his eyes flicked between her and the entrance. “Let me help you!”

“Huh? What—” he began, cut off by the feeling of her hands slipping across his shoulders.

“I’ve been told I give great shoulder rubs,” she said, and he furrowed his brow, only twisting his rings harder as his eyes stayed locked on the entrance.

Her fingers began to dig into his shoulders, and he sat stiff, hoping Marinette would hurry up and show up soon— or, at the very least, show up at all.

What if she wasn’t coming to the crafts room today?

The palms of Cerise’s hands dug into his shoulders, and his jaw clenched.

“Oh gosh, Adrien!” she laughed, “Re-lax! I’ve never felt muscles this tense before…”

“You— I don’t need a shoulder rub.” His leg shook under the table. He didn’t want one, either. “It’s okay.”

“Aww, you’re so sweet,” she cooed, her nails digging deeper into his shoulders. It kind of hurt. “You know it’s okay to be selfish and let people help you every once in a while?”

He didn’t know what to say to that. His fingernails dug into his palms, and he waited in agony, through the torture of being touched and rubbed at by someone he didn’t feel all too close to, waiting with baited breath for Marinette to come, not even sure that she ever would—

“Actually,” he said, standing up, “I need to use the restroom.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “Okay.”

“Thank you for… the shoulder rub,” he said, trying not to sound as tense as he felt as he gathered his bag from the floor. He couldn’t be certain that he would be coming back.

“Oh, no problem!” she cooed, hand to her heart.

He nodded, not trusting himself to say any more as he hurried out the room and down the hall.

Was Marinette just running late? Was she at school at all? Was she just not feeling crafts today? Where should he check first? She may usually be in the crafts room, but whenever she wasn’t, she was a complete wildcard. He’d found her in the computer room doing graphic design before, the woodworking room making a chair once, the drama room assessing their costume rack, the engineering room studying gears and mechanisms… she was so intelligent, so creative, so talented in so many ways. He couldn’t be absolutely certain that she wouldn’t find herself in any particular room.

Unfortunately, before he could decide on a first stop, he nearly ran right into Principal Damocles.

“Ahh!” Principal Damocles assessed him, and Adrien found himself shrinking. “Monsieur Agreste! What are you up to today?”

M. Agreste was my father, he almost wanted to say. My father who is dead. Because of my incompetence. Who died for nothing—

“Oh, I just…” He blanked, for a moment. “... … I was just… going to head to the library and… see if any books catch my interest.”

“Hmm!” The man nodded. “Seems about as good a start to your day as any. Now tell me, how are you adapting to the school?”

He fiddled with the strap of his school bag. “Good…”

“You know,” Principal Damocles hummed, fingers combing through the hair of his beard, “I would understand if you were to have… difficulty with the new school year, adapting to all these changes on top of your… unfortunate situation.”

Adrien sucked in a breath, deciding to look anywhere but at him, watching the students perusing around the hallway just beyond his shoulder.

“You know, we have some top-of-the-line counselors on duty, ready to see any student at a moment’s notice! For any reason!” Adrien’s eyes locked onto a head of black hair, rushing down the hall and stumbling past the crowds of students. “Though I have been informed that you’ve yet to take advantage of—”

Adrien gasped as he watched the girl— who was absolutely Marinette— trip on her own two feet and face plant to the ground.

“That’s great, Principal Damocles, I’ll definitely do that!” Adrien quickly said, scooting past the hopefully-satiated man, “Right now! Bye!”

“Oh— well, yes! Alright!”

Adrien ran to Marinette, who was on the floor groaning. She began to pull herself up to her feet and nearly startled at the sight of his hand, offered out in help.

“You okay?” he asked, as she grasped his hand and used him as leverage to climb to her feet.

“I— yeah, yeah! I’m fine. Tooootally fine!” she blurted, a wild look in her red-rimmed and deeply-bagged eyes. She scrambled to snatch her fallen backpack and purse from the floor, her hair nearly escaping her shoddily put on bun in the process.

When he’d asked, he’d been referring to the fall. But now he was really concerned.

“Marinette?” he asked carefully, watching as she pushed a stray strand out of her face with shaking fingers. “What’s wrong?”

“Noth— Nothing! Why would— why would something be wrong?” she asked quickly, securing her backpack back around her shoulders, not looking him in the eyes. “I just— oh, you know! Psshh… couldn’t… couldn’t sleep last night, no reason, happens sometimes, I’m totally fin—”

“Oh my gosh, Marinette!” Cerise gasped, startling Adrien as her hand was placed atop his shoulder. She stood just behind him, her other hand at her heart and her brows turned up in concern. When did she get there? Had she followed him? “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine!” Marinette squeaked, her eyes darting around beyond the both of them, “I-I just— I just need to—”

“Why are you so scared?” Cerise nearly whimpered, “Did something happen?”

Adrien’s heart dropped like a rock.

“Wha— What? No! I just— I just need to find Alya!” Marinette stammered, pushing past the two of them, “Where is she?”

“Oh, I wouldn’t know!” Cerise answered, “You two know her better than me… Maybe Adrien can help you?”

Adrien quickly nodded. “Yes, absolutely!” He stepped forward to Marinette, placing his hand at her back, to which she flinched. “I’ll come with you, we can look for her togeth—”

“NO!” Marinette shrieked, jumping away from him, and Adrien’s heart plummeted a second time. “No, I— I can find her myself, I— it’s okay, I just need to find and talk to her alone—”

“I know we’re not very close yet, Marinette, but anything you can tell Alya, surely you can tell Adrien?” Cerise asked with wide, hopeful eyes and her hands clutched before her heart.

“I—” Marinette sucked in a sharp breath, her red-rimmed eyes wide. “I— I… I…”

“He’s so kind and understanding…” Cerise continued, “... I can’t imagine you’d need to keep anything from him—”

“I’m NOT!” Marinette shrieked, and Adrien flinched. “I just— I just—” Her gaze flitted to Adrien’s for a split moment. “I need to go.” She pushed past the two, sprinting down the hall and turning on her heel so fast into the computer room that she nearly fell again.

Adrien watched as she disappeared from view. He gripped the strap of his schoolbag, knuckles white as his brain tried to rack for what he could possibly do now beyond stand stiff and stupid in the middle of the hallway.

“So…” Cerise spoke up, re-placing her hand at his shoulder. “... back to the crafts room, then?”

*****

School had been a nightmare. Adrien wasn’t sure he’d ever been so relieved, opening the large oak doors to the mansion and stepping back inside the halls. Home used to be the source of his stress, not his relief from it.

I’m not glad my father is dead.

“Welcome home, Adrien,” Nathalie greeted, her smile kind. “How was your day?”

He wondered when he’d get used to this kind of attention from Nathalie. And though he did appreciate it— appreciate it a lot, really— he wasn’t sure he had anything kind to say about his day.

“Okay,” he said, trying to plaster on a smile, hoping he could mask even a fraction of how exhausted he was. “I’m going to start on some homework in my room. Is it okay if I have some privacy?”

Nathalie pursed her lips, appraising him. Had he said something wrong? That excuse used to always work— “I thought your new school didn’t have homework.”

“I—” He blanked. “... … … It’s… self-assigned. I want to do some… personal research. Independent study?”

Her gaze locked on his, assessing him. He sucked in a sharp breath, hoping that he’d pass the test, hoping that he wouldn’t hear those dreaded words— ‘I’ll have to inform your father—’

No, wait. He didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

I’m not glad my father is dead.

Nathalie’s gaze softened, and she nodded. “Of course. You may have all the privacy you need.”

His smile tightened. “Thanks.”

He pushed past her, rushing up the steps and to his room. He shut the door quickly, releasing a deep breath.

“Oh, cheese cabinet, how I’ve missed you—”

“I need to talk to Ladybug,” Adrien reminded, and Plagg stilled. “Plagg, claws out.”

The magic washed over him, sending pleasant shots of electric energy coursing through his veins. Chat Noir took a deep breath, and then whipped out his baton.

The device chimed with unread messages.

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

Unknown: Will she ever let you in?

Seriously? What kind of sick game was this?

He swallowed back the bile in his throat, weighing the pros and cons in his head of blocking his new archnemesis’s contact. He decided to ignore it for now and swapped over to his Ladybug contact.

(yesterday)

Chat Noir: Need to talk! URGENT! Please message me when you’re transformed

(2 min ago)

Ladybug: hi

Good. She was online.

Chat Noir: Meet me at our spot?

Ladybug: 👍

He pushed open his window pane and leapt out, vaulting across the city until their rooftop was in sight.

Ladybug was already there, pacing back and forth with a haste that could leave tracks in the concrete. The moment his boots hit the rooftop, she shrieked, spinning to face him in a defensive stance, yo-yo in hand.

“Woah!” Chat Noir threw his hands up. “I come in peace!”

“Oh.” She swallowed, eyes wide, the anxiety wafting off of her even as she reluctantly placed her yo-yo back at her hip. She crossed her arms in front of her chest, but judging by the way her leg shook and her eyes darted around, it seemed more self-soothing than anything. “Hey, Chat Noir.”

“Hey,” he returned, eyeing her up and down, the discomfort he’d held all day only growing worse. “Everything okay?”

“Ye— Yeah! Fine. Everything’s… everything’s fine,” she answered, her gaze meeting his for a moment, “What do you want? Or— No, that sounded rude. I mean— what’s up? Something urgent, you said?”

He frowned, and though he’d hate to add to his lady’s clearly bad mood, he figured this wasn’t something he could keep from her. “... Yeah. I got bad news.”

Her brows shot up. “What?”

“Someone got a hold of the butterfly miraculous,” he said, and she stiffened. “They texted me.”

She gaped, her face paling. She tried, her voice barely above a whisper, “What?”

“There’s a new butterfly wielder—”

“They texted you, too?” she squeaked, stepping back from him.

He stared at her, the words taking a second to process—

“Wait— ‘too’?” He gaped. “They texted both of us?”

“I— Oh my god, wait, wait—” She grasped at her pigtails, looking as though she were trying to tear them from her scalp, “What did they tell you!?”

“I—” he began, barely even registering as Ladybug shot forward, snatching his baton right off his back and clicking through it. “Hey!”

Arms crossed over his chest, he huffed and watched as she scrolled through the messages, the fear in her stricken gaze only growing worse and worse by the second—

He softened. “My lady,” he assured, “I trust you. I won’t let this villain get under my skin. What they said isn’t a problem, but they’re clearly determined to try to be a problem for—”

The baton clattered to the rooftop, and Ladybug took another step back, hands over her mouth and eyes wide and to the floor, “No, no no no, nononono…”

“My lady?”

“This can’t be happening,” she croaked, fisting the hair at her scalp, hunching forward and taking deep breaths, “O-Oh my god. This can’t be happening, this can’t be happening—”

“Ladybug,” he gasped, stepping forward and kneeling before her, meeting her eyes with his hands at her shoulders, “It’s okay.”

“I— This can’t be— I can’t—”

“Ladybug.” He gripped her shoulders. “We’ll deal with it. Just like we’ve dealt with every threat before. They’re new to this, and we have a whole team this time, our powers have grown, this will be a cinch—”

“They know,” she choked out, her shaking hands grasping at his wrists, “Th-they know. How do they know—”

He frowned, staring into her watering eyes, trying to ignore the pounding of his heart, trying to hide the shot of panic he felt. “... Know… what…?”

“Oh my god,” she tore away from him, pacing the rooftop again, arms clutching around her stomach. “Oh, god. They’re— they’re going to tell you. If I don’t tell you, they will, and that’s so much worse—”

“Tell…” he tried, still kneeling, staring up at her as horror gradually dawned on him. “... me… what…?”

He knew what the texts had said. He knew the words Ladybug had just read, the words that’d caused this panic.

‘You deserve to know the truth about Gabriel Agreste’s death…’

He swallowed back bile.

“I… Oh my god,” she spun to face him, wringing her hands together, “Promise me you won’t be mad.”

He stared at her.

“Chat Noir,” she croaked, “I— Oh my god. I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I promise, I wasn’t trying to lie to you specifically, I just—” She gestured vaguely, as if she hadn’t just delivered a blow to his gut. “It’s a secret that needs to be kept. It can’t get out, under any circ*mstances, and I just— I just thought, the fewer people who know the better, and—”

“Know…” he interrupted, and she shut her trap, “... what…?”

She bit her lip, eyes wide.

He stared.

“... You…” She began, swallowing, “... know how I said… that I… never found out… Monarch’s identity?”

He stared.

“That…” she hesitated, “... was a lie. I… I know who he was.”

He stared.

She shut her mouth.

His heart was racing. “... … … And?”

“He was…” She hesitated. She squeezed her eyes tight. She took a deep breath. “... Please, promise me you won’t freak out—”

“And?” he repeated forcefully.

“Gabriel Agreste,” she blurted. “He was— Gabriel Agreste was Monarch.”

The world fell around him.

She continued to speak, if the movements of her lips and her gesticulations were any indication, but he heard nothing. The pounding of his heart in his ears turned to deafening static, the fear coursing through his veins turning to acid.

“No,” he found his voice saying, “No. He’s not. He wasn’t.”

Ladybug stilled. “... What?”

“Ga—” he tried, desperate to explain this away, to find a reason, to end her confusion, because she was clearly confused— “Gabriel Agreste died fighting Monarch.”

“No,” she said, plunging a knife into his heart.

“He’s alive?” he tried to say, no sound leaving his throat, merely mouthing.

“No,” she answered, “He… Monarch did kill him.” What? “But he— he didn’t die fighting him. He… he killed himself. Gabriel Agreste was Monarch, and he killed himsel—”

He must have risen to his feet at some point, because he found himself stumbling back, grasping the chimney behind him for stability as he grasped at his chest, his heart and lunch and stomach trying to leap out of him. “What?”

“He got our miraculouses,” Ladybug choked out, as the world lurched around her, “I— he won. He tricked me, and he beat me, and he made The Wish— and The Wish always has consequences, and the consequence was his life—”

“What?” he tried to say, gasping for breath instead.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, grasping her hands before her heart. “I know it’s awful, and I should’ve told you sooner, but it’s very important that nobody finds out and—”

“You lied to me,” he croaked, his legs quaking beneath him, and if it weren’t for the chimney’s support, he would surely collapse. “Y-you— you lied to me—”

“I’m sorry,” she cried, taking a step towards him, and he tried to back away— tried to escape her closing in on him, but he couldn’t, pressing only further into the chimney. “I— I’m so, so sorry, chaton—”

“Could I have saved him?” he choked out, the first stupid thought that came to mind— Ladybug lost the battle, she failed, his father got the miraculouses, his father died for it— “I-if— If I had been there—”

She shook her head, “No. No, chaton, he… he was going to die either way. He was…” Her lip quivered, and she avoided his gaze.

“What?” he mouthed.

“... cataclysmed,” she finished, and his legs completely gave way, his body crumpling down to the rooftop, “But it wasn’t your fault! It wasn’t! He did it to himself, remember? And it wasn’t even what ended up killing him! Everything that happened to him, he’d brought upon himself and—”

That wasn’t what he heard.

You killed him. You killed him. You killed your father. You—

“Stop,” he tried to say, but no sound left his throat, and it was a pathetic attempt at mouthing to her, curled up to his knees with his hands clutching the back of his head.

“I know you’ve been feeling s-so— so guilty about it, chaton, and I tried to tell you, but it wasn’t your fault, and no innocent died that day, and I know it’s not at all how we wanted it to end, b-but— but Monarch is the only one that died, and he can’t hurt anyone anymore, and—”

He heard the meaning. He heard the words unsaid. He heard the truth, buried beneath the crumbling tower of her lies.

I’m glad that your father is dead.

She stepped closer to him, and he scrambled across the rooftop on all fours, away from her and back up to his feet, snatching the baton up from where it lay.

“Chat Noir!” she gasped, launching forward and making a grab for his wrist, “Wait!”

He jerked away from her before she could and launched off of the rooftop.

He ran, faster than he was sure he ever had before, legs pumping and ears ringing— and Ladybug kept calling his name, apparently chasing after him, but he needed to get away—

He leapt down into an alleyway, stumbling the landing and grasping a dumpster for support. Hand slapped over his mouth to quiet his gasps for air, he pushed himself back against the wall and waited.

He saw a flash of red leap over the alleyway. She hadn’t seen him drop. She was gone.

With hands released from his mouth, he choked for air. He grasped the dumpster metal with crushing claws, hunching forward and trying to breathe, but he couldn’t, because he was dying, dying, dying—

His baton chimed.

With shaking hands, he whipped the device from his back, ready to put it on silent so Ladybug wouldn’t attempt contact again—

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

Unknown: I can feel the betrayal all the way over here… Did you finally learn the truth?

Unknown: It’s okay, kitten. At least I’D never lie to you :-)

Dear god, he couldn’t do this.

Was he about to be akumatized?

“Claws in,” he rasped, the last rational thought he had— thankful to see the horrid messages disappear with his baton in a flash of green light. And then all that was left was Adrien, the magical energy sapped from his veins, leaving his knees weak and crumpling to the ground.

Your father was Monarch.

He hunched forward on hands and knees, head tucked forward and scalp against the pavement. Behind a dumpster in a dirty alleyway, Adrien Agreste, son of Gabriel Agreste, son of Monarch, broke down crying. An ungodly sound escaped his throat, something between a whine and a choke and a wail, his shaking hands rising to clench the hair at his scalp.

You killed him.

“Adrien,” came Plagg’s uncharacteristically gentle voice, barely audible over the sounds of choked breaths and ringing in his ears. He could feel tiny paws on him. “She was right. It wasn’t your faul—”

“You,” Adrien gasped, sucking in a breath, the realization hitting him like a freight train.

Monarch got both miraculouses to use The Wish.

“You knew,” Adrien croaked, throwing his head up to look at the kwami, “You knew—”

They’d both lied to him.

Plagg’s face crumpled— in guilt or pity or shame or what, Adrien didn’t know or care. It didn’t matter. It didn’t make up for the betrayal, for the lies he’d been fed, didn’t cool the flare of lava shooting out his veins—

Adrien wrested his miraculous off his finger, scrambling to his feet as he chucked it down the alleyway. He didn’t bother to wait and see where it landed— whether it bounced and rolled off the concrete, landed in a dumpster or a puddle or what, instead turning and launching himself out of the alley mouth.

He sprinted down the sidewalk, breaths heavy and fast and vision a blur as he pushed past and bumped into startled citizens, blood pumping his ears—

You have to go back for it, the part of his brain still logical tried to reason, You can’t leave your miraculous out in the open like that. You can’t lose it. What if Monarch finds it—

Monarch isn’t after your miraculous anymore.

Monarch was your father.

And you killed him.

Turning on his heel, Adrien scrambled into a new alley, stumbling forward and throwing open a dumpster lid to promptly empty his churning stomach.

“Hey!” a familiar voice called out, as Adrien spat the remnants of bile from his mouth. “I’m sorry—”

How was he still here?

“I renounce you,” Adrien snapped, voicing what he’d apparently failed to before. He heard Plagg gasp, and the sound of a ring clinking against the concrete.

He collapsed down to his knees again, and something small rolled into his leg. With a shaking hand, he reached down and plucked the miraculous from the ground, squeezing it in his fist for a moment before tucking it into his pocket.

Finally truly alone, Adrien allowed himself to crumple fully to the ground. He laid on his side, curled in on himself, and cried.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

The fact Adrien had made it home at all was a miracle.

Lying in bed, tucked beneath his sheets, he stared up at his high ceiling, counting the divots and shadows and curves and lines.

Beep beep beep.

Was it really time already?

Adrien crumpled further against the mattress, pulling the sheets over his head as he tried to block out the sound of his alarm. He couldn’t move. The very idea of pulling himself out of bed when his muscles were so sore, when his head was pounding so much, was absurd.

How much had he even slept? He wasn’t sure— the few times that he finally managed to drift away, the world would turn to orange ash, and his father would whisper in his ear, “Ill-mannered children just can’t control their anger.”

And then he’d be awake again, memorizing the shapes and colors of the steps of his rock-climbing wall.

Not even Plagg could offer him any distraction, his ring locked away in the cabinet with his cheese.

His door opened with a click.

“Adrien,” Nathalie’s voice came through the comforter over his head, and he suppressed a whimper as he heard her footsteps approach. A click, and the alarm was turned off. “It’s time to get up.”

“I don’t feel good,” he croaked, voice barely above a whisper. That was an understatement. “C…Can I stay home today?”

A moment of silence. And then he felt her fingertips brush against his, grasping ahold of the sheet to pull it down from his head. He allowed it, forcing himself to look her in the eyes.

He must have looked pretty pathetic, if the way her face crumpled was anything to go by.

“Of course,” she said gently, seating herself on the edge of his bed. “Are you ill?”

No, he thought. But he wasn’t about to explain the situation, the way his world had been yanked out from under him, the way he’d been deceived by those he trusted most—

His blood ran cold.

“Here,” spoke his father’s lover, his best friend, his confidant, his assistant in all things. And he imagined how she’d look without her glasses— with blue skin and magenta eyes, a feathered fan clutched between the very same fingertips that were now reaching towards his forehead— “Let me see—”

“NO!” he gasped, rolling out of the other side of the bed, launching himself to his feet and scrambling to collect his schoolbag, thankful that he had never changed into his pajamas the night before. His rumpled, sweaty shirt and jeans would have to do. “Nevermind! I’m feeling better, I’m going to school—”

“What?” Mayura frowned, watching him with something he almost would’ve believed was concern as she rose to her feet. “Adrien, if you’re not feeling well, you are welcome to stay and rest—”

“I’m FINE!” he shouted, louder than he’d ever allowed himself to speak to Nathalie before. School bag tossed haphazardly over his shoulder and feet shoved mostly in his shoes, he launched past her and out the door—

“Adrien!” He leapt down the stairs four steps at a time. “At least have breakfas—”

He slammed through the large oak front doors, heart pounding in his chest as he leapt down the front steps and—

His bodyguard’s head whipped up, looking at him wide-eyed from his perch beside the car, and Adrien’s heart stuttered—

Did he know, too?

“I’M WALKING!” Adrien yelled, sprinting past the man and slamming the button at the gate, slipping through the bars as they opened and bolting down the street.

*****

Was everyone staring at him? It felt like everyone was staring at him. He could see their eyes on him as he tugged the collar of his shirt up, hoping to mask his face as he slinked down the halls, hugging the walls and sticking to the shadows.

Did they know? a silly part of him thought, Could they tell he was Monarch’s son? Could they tell something was wrong with him?

He figured no, probably not that first one. But the second?

Yeah. They probably could.

Thankfully, he hadn’t bumped into any of his friends. He’d pointedly avoided the spot he usually met with Nino at and he certainly didn’t head for the crafts room.

He didn’t care enough to even pretend to try to learn something today. All he cared about was being unnoticed.

At one point, he slipped into an empty bathroom and tried to fix his appearance in the mirror. It was no wonder that Nathalie— Mayura had seemed so concerned. Dark bags sat beneath his red-lined eyes, his hair a matted, greasy mess atop his sweaty brow.

Father never would’ve allowed him to leave the house looking like this.

He sucked in a sharp breath and tried pathetically to fix his appearance, the silence unfamiliar with no kwamis begging for cheese or offering awkward advice. He couldn’t do much— not beyond splashing his face with cold water and combing his hair with his fingertips.

After nearly half an hour of that, he still looked a mess— but then someone else entered the bathroom, so he took his leave.

“Adrien!” Kim called, right outside the door and nearly startling Adrien into dropping his schoolbag. “There you are, man! Everyone’s been looking for you!”

“Wh— huh?” Adrien blinked up at him, clenching his bag strap between his fists. Why would Kim be looking for him? They barely talked.

“HEY, GUYS!” Kim bellowed behind him, “I FOUND HIM!”

“Adrien!” Marc called, rushing up to him with a big, hopeful smile, “There you— are you okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Well… okay. We have a surprise for you!” Marc grinned, and suddenly he was at Adrien’s side, arm around his as he and Kim began leading him down the hall. “You weren’t answering any of our texts!”

People were texting him? He must’ve left his phone at home.

“I’m telling everyone we found him,” Kim informed, tapping away at his phone.

“Hey, Adrien,” came Alix’s voice, and Adrien turned to see her. She was leaning against the hallway wall as they passed. “For past, present, and future reference: I had nothing to do with this.”

Kim booed her, tongues were stuck out, and then Adrien was led out the back door to the courtyard.

A crowd of students— many of which Adrien recognized, including just about his entire collège class— was gathered in front of a wall of the school. A large white tarp was attached to the brick, with Nathaniel, Cerise, and various kids he recognized from the crafts room standing just before it.

“HEY, GUYS!” Kim bellowed, as they approached, “HE’S HERE!”

Everyone turned to look at him.

Adrien plastered on a smile as best he could despite the way his shoulders shrunk in on himself. He gave a timid wave as he was led closer, wondering what sort of ancient deity of bad luck he had crossed to put himself in a situation like this today of all days—

Probably the one locked in the cheese cabinet.

“There you are!” Nino cheered, rushing towards him and throwing his arm over his shoulder as always. He yanked Adrien to the front of the crowd, where Alya and Marinette stood. “This is so awesome, dude. You won’t believe what the art kids have been up to—”

Nathaniel shushed him.

Adrien blinked, staring up at the white tarp. He felt Marinette at his side, her clammy palm slotting into his, and he took a deep breath.

Okay. It was probably some kind of mural— one that Alix had no part in, for whatever reason— and maybe it had something to do with Mayor Bustier’s old collège class. Maybe a mural of Bustier herself? This was fine. This could be fun. He’d admire the mural, clap, and then maybe he’d be able to slip away from the crowd before anyone else noticed or commented on his wrinkled shirt and baggy eyes.

“This has been a big, collaborative project by us art kids,” Nathaniel began to explain to the crowd, smile big as he gestured to the tarp. “When M. Damocles offered us this wall to make a mural, we had so many ideas! But a simple suggestion by Cerise—” Cerise gave a timid wave, and some students in the crowd clapped. “—really resonated with us. And today, we dedicate this mural not only to the school, and to all of Paris—” Someone in the crowd whooped. “—but Adrien Agreste in particular!”

What?

His veins froze, and the crowd around him clapped— Marinette squeezed his hand, Nino’s arm tightened around his shoulders, and he could feel all the eyes on him, surrounding him, when he’d never wanted to be looked at less.

Adrien had been a professional model, so he was fully aware how terrible the smile he attempted was. His lips felt crooked, and the muscles of his face were far tenser than his photographer ever would’ve allowed.

Dear god, could they get this over with so he could go hide?

Nathaniel grabbed the edge of the fabric, and with a tug, the cover fell, revealing—

Adrien’s stomach dropped.

His father’s face, immortalized in bold, stylistic stokes— smiling in such an uncharacteristic way— splashes of color behind and around him, making him nearly pop out of the wall, the words ‘Comrade Tartar Sauce’ emblazoned in bold, graffiti-style font—

The courtyard erupted into boisterous applause— the sharp sounds of clapping stabbed his eardrums, the arm around his shoulder shaking him in excitement, people whooped and hollered their celebration—

And Adrien felt sick.

He could feel the eyes on him. He could see Nathaniel’s expectant smile, and he knew that people were looking for his reaction— for him to praise the mural of Monarch, to cheer for his nemesis, the man who’d nearly killed him so many times, who’d shipped him to a box across the English Channel, the man he’d killed—

Adrien’s lips trembled as he pulled them taut, showing his unbrushed teeth and crinkling his twitching eyes as he gave two shaking thumbs-ups to the artists.

Their smiles grew.

He was going to be sick.

His stomach lurched, and he knew in an instant he couldn’t stay a moment longer. He grabbed Nino’s arm and peeled it from his shoulder, stepping away from the crowd with his horrible attempt at a grin still plastered on his face.

“Adrien?” someone asked—

And he booked it.

He sprinted out of the courtyard, back through the building doors and down the hall. He turned on his heel, nearly twisting his ankle as he stumbled forward, just barely managing to regain his balance enough to continue his race to the nearest bathroom.

He threw open the door and launched forward, locking the stall door closed behind him before collapsing onto his knees before the toilet.

It was a good thing he hadn’t had breakfast.

He spat out the bile, his hollow gut contorting painfully. He flushed the toilet, but he hadn’t the energy to pull himself up. Instead, he turned— and with his arms crossed and pressed to the stall wall, he leaned forward and cried into them.

He heard footsteps outside the restroom door, and any hope that whoever it was would pass was ripped out from under him as the door swung open. He slammed a hand over his mouth and nose, squeezing his eyes tight and hoping whoever it was would finish their business and leave—

“Adrien?” Nino called, and Adrien would’ve swore if he weren’t so determined to stay quiet. He heard feet approach the stall and hoped he’d keep walking, that he’d pass the stall without noticing him and—

“Adrien?” he said again, his tone so horribly gentle. And he heard him move, and Adrien opened his eyes just a crack— able to make out Nino’s denim pants kneeling before the stall through the blurs of his tears. “I can see your shoes, dude.”

Ah, yes. Your Monarch-brand shoes, emblazoned with goddamn butterflies of all things—

He had always been such an idiot.

A sob broke through before he could stop it, and he slammed his second hand over the first, hoping to muffle any more that may try to escape.

“Hey, man…” Nino spoke kindly through the door, which then jostled against the lock, “Can you let me in?”

Adrien took a few deep breaths to try to steady himself.

“I-I—” he croaked, his voice betraying just how pathetic he really was, no matter how hard he tried to hide it, “I’m f-fine.”

Idiot. Idiot.

There was no talking himself out of this, so he wondered why he’d even tried. If Nino could see his shoes through the bottom of the stall, he could clearly see his knees, too— his knees that were set on the floor, because he was on the floor sobbing, and Nino obviously knew that—

He wanted to go home.

No, you don’t, a terrible voice reminded him, That’s where Mayura is.

He sobbed again.

“In retrospect? Yeah, I— that was clearly super overwhelming.” Nino swallowed. “I’m sorry, dude.”

As if it was Nino’s fault at all. As if he had anything to do with it. It wasn’t Nathaniel’s or Cerise’s faults, either— they didn’t know. Nobody knew.

Well. Ladybug and Plagg and Nathalie knew—

He hiccuped, as if this whole situation weren’t embarrassing enough as it was, and the door jostled again.

“Hey man, you know nobody… expects you to be okay, right?” Nino asked, throat sounding tight, “Dude, please let me in. Or come out?”

He shook his head, as if Nino could see.

A long stretch of horrible silence passed before he heard Nino rise to his feet.

“I’m— I’ll be right back, okay?” Nino stammered, and Adrien sniffled. “Stay right there!”

He heard the sound of footsteps leaving, and the bathroom door swinging open and shut.

And he was alone again.

Should he leave now, before Nino came back? That sounded like the most appealing option— but people would see him in the halls if he left. Maybe if he transformed, he could climb through the vent and—

He didn’t have his miraculous. Or Plagg.

Adrien sucked in a sharp breath, hands raised to his head and clenching at the hair at his scalp. He tried to breathe, to calm his racing heart, to try to stop the suffocating feeling that he was dying, dying, dying, like the walls of his stall were closing in on him, trapping him—

The bathroom door swung back open, and a train of footsteps entered in. He choked on his breath, caught between wanting to silence himself and the need to breathe, breathe, breathe—

“Adrien?” Marinette’s voice called, and his heart leapt out of his throat. “Are— are you okay?”

“No!” Nino answered for him, “He’s not!”

The stall door jostled against the lock again. “Hey, Adrien?” Alya spoke gently, “You wanna talk about it?”

No. Absolutely not.

“P-please— go awa-ay,” he choked out between gasps for air.

“Dude,” Nino said, “You don’t have to be alone right now, okay?”

“You know,” Alya said, “I’m sure if you went to the front office, you’d be allowed to leave early.”

And then where would he go? Home? He wasn’t safe there.

He heard footsteps enter the stall beside his, followed by a slam of a toilet lid—

“Nino!” Marinette demanded from the stall, “Help me up!”

“Uh— Okay?” Nino said, followed by the sounds of his footsteps to the stall.

What were they doing?

Adrien sniffled and turned his head to the wall that separated them.

“Adrien!” Marinette called from above, and Adrien’s gaze snapped upwards— to Marinette’s head, and soon arms, poking up over the stall wall.

“Marinette?” he gasped, as the realization of what she was doing dawned on him. Her hands gripped tight at the top of the wall, her height only growing as she was soon hunching her entire upper half into his stall—

Instinct took over and he scrambled to his feet, raising his arms to catch her as she toppled over into his stall with a shriek.

“OOF!” he cried, falling back, the back of his head slamming against the wall behind him as she brought him down with her.

“Oh— SORRY!” she cried out, scrambling up to her feet and clasping his hands in hers. She yanked him back up to his feet, and he dizzyingly followed.

He sucked in a sharp breath as she assessed him, her brows creased and eyes wide with concern. She didn’t look any better than she had yesterday— if anything, she looked as if she’d slept even less, the bags under her eyes deep as her hands raised to cup his cheeks.

What a terrible rock he was, crumbling right in front of her.

“What’s wrong?” she whispered, her gentle voice like honey as her thumb brushed a streak of moisture from his face.

He squeezed his eyes shut, his lip quivering as he considered how pathetic he must seem. The soft hand left his cheek, and the stall lock clicked.

The door swung open, and Marinette stepped back from him, her hands falling to his and grasping at his wrists. She led him back and out of the stall, and he stumbled after her— because no matter how much he didn’t want to be seen, he decided he wanted to be trapped even less.

“Hey, dude,” Nino greeted softly, and Adrien avoided eye-contact, his eyes instead trained on the floor in his shame. Soon, Nino’s hand was on his back, rubbing it in a comforting gesture. “You wanna talk about it?”

He sucked in a shaking breath and shook his head.

“We should take him to the counselor’s office,” Alya said, as Marinette squeezed his hands.

“I-I don’t want to be seen,” Adrien tried, his voice hoarse in his throat. He tore a hand out of Marinette’s to wipe under his nose.

“I always come prepared,” Marinette declared, tearing away from him. She hunched to the floor, backpack off her shoulders and in front of her as she tore through its contents. All kinds of items were tossed aside— antiseptics, streamers, a screwdriver— until she seemed to find what she was looking for. With a flourish, she whipped out a pair of sunglasses, brandishing them with a smile and a “Ta-daa!”

Oh. Marinette was so incredible, and yes, he would absolutely take those. He grabbed the glasses from her offering hand and put them on.

“Here,” Nino said, whipping his cap right off his head and securing it over his blonde mess. “This’ll help.”

“And this,” Alya said, releasing the arms of the hoodie tied around her waist. She stepped forward, brandishing the Majestia-branded garment, and he held an arm out so she could slide the sleeve on. He put on the other sleeve and zipped it up as she secured the hood over his head and cap.

“There we go!” Nino grinned wide, appraising him, “Who is this guy? I can’t even tell!”

“Who’s been crying in the bathroom?” Marinette smiled. “Certainly not…” She gestured to him. “... this anonymous gentleman!”

“Who do you mean?” Alya placed a hand over her brow, squinting her eyes and peering out over the bathroom. “I don’t see anyone at all! They must be blending into the background too well!”

He probably would’ve laughed, if only it weren’t for the pounding in his head, the burning of his throat, or the cramping of his stomach. Instead, he tried a smile, the corners of lips twitching.

“Come on, dude,” Nino said, arm slotting into its place over his shoulder as he began to guide him out of the bathroom. “Let’s go.”

Marinette snatched Adrien’s hand in hers, squeezing and offering her support as she walked by his side. Alya walked with them as well, as they made their way to the counselor’s office.

He wondered if it defeated the purpose of the disguise to walk together like this. Anybody who knew Adrien would undoubtedly recognize him from his place beneath Nino’s arm, or from his fingers slotted between Marinette’s. But nobody approached him on the journey.

Once they’d reached their destination, Nino crushed him in a big hug, Marinette kissed his cheek, and Alya patted his back. And then he was deposited away into one of the counseling offices.

The counselor— a bespectacled woman with graying hair and gentle brown eyes— was nice enough. But Adrien wasn’t exactly keen on talking. He didn’t have anything to say.

His father was dead, but everybody already knew that. And though it wasn’t the core of what had his world so irreparably destroyed today, that was all anyone could know. He couldn’t tell anybody, no matter how professional, about Plagg and Ladybug, about the identities of Monarch and Mayura, about the destructive power that’d coursed through his fingertips that his father and yanked to his arm and—

Instead, Adrien stole a lollipop from the counselor’s desk and popped it in his foul-tasting mouth. He sank into the comfortable armchair that he’d been provided, nodding quietly or shaking his head at questions thrown his way. But he didn’t speak.

She seemed to understand enough of the situation. His friends had apparently informed her of the events— of the mural of his recently deceased father, and Adrien’s subsequent breakdown in the bathroom. At least it seemed normal enough even without proper context. He supposed he should be thankful for how fragile everyone seemed to view him. It sure made his shattering easier to explain.

At some point, the counselor got up and excused herself from the room.

Sucking on his candy, he shoved his hands into Alya’s pockets and sank further into the cushion. Could he be released now? He wanted to go hide in the corner of the library and pretend to read a book. Maybe Marinette and Nino and Alya would let him keep their clothes to ensure nobody approached him.

He heard voices outside the door. They were talking about him, probably, the realization only making him sink further into his seat. The voices got closer, clearer, and one of them struck him as familiar—

Nathalie.

Terror shot through his veins, and he launched to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest as he whipped around in search of any possible escape routes.

A window.

He may not have Plagg right now, but he was at the very least on the first floor.

Rational thought discarded, he scrambled to the window, unlocking the pane and pushing it open. He began to hoist himself up, one knee on the sill—

The door clicked open, and two women gasped. He looked back over his shoulder to see Nathalie and the counselor, standing in wide-eyed shock at his clear escape attempt.

And he froze.

“Adrien,” Nathalie spoke, face hard and eyes a familiar frost, “Get. Down.”

He shouldn’t. He should leave, while he still had the chance. He should leap out the window and book it. Maybe live in a dumpster for the rest of his miserable life…

…

Swallowing hard, he stepped down from the sill and back onto the carpet. Hands shoved in jacket pockets, he kept his shaded eyes hung low, letting the brim of his cap protect him from her gaze.

“Come,” she said, and he could see the shadow of her hand outstretched to him. “I’m taking you home.”

He shifted awkwardly where he stood, fiddling with the two rings still on his fingers. “What—” he tried, stopping to clear his throat, wishing his voice didn’t sound so hoarse and pathetic, “What if I… want to stay at school?”

He didn’t. He just didn’t want to go home, either.

“You’re coming home to rest.” She left no room for argument. “You can come back tomorrow, if you feel better then.”

He hesitated, staring at the shadow of her still-outstretched hand. He wondered if she would give in if he stood his ground long enough, if he could make a plea to her sense of pity. That often worked on Nathalie.

But a long moment passed, and his resolve shattered first. He made his way to the door, head still hung as her hand found a place at his back.

The two walked in silence down the hall and out the front doors. He saw the shadow of his bodyguard, looming beside the car and opening the door for him.

Nathalie’s hand at his back led him to the door, and he slipped inside, quietly buckling his seatbelt as the other two made their way to their seats.

He heard the clicks of their seatbelts buckling. And then…

Nothing.

He was expecting the engine to turn on. He was expecting a quiet drive home. Not a quiet sitting on the side of the street.

“Adrien,” Nathalie spoke up, breaking the silence. He swallowed hard. “Where did you get those clothes?”

He shrugged pathetically. Was he in trouble? He knew he probably looked ridiculous. He was in no way ‘on brand’ right now—

Nathalie wasn’t the one who cared about that. Father was.

I’m not glad that my—

…

“My friends gave them to me,” he muttered, tugging at his sleeve.

Surely not to keep, though. Was he stealing from them right now? Hopefully it’d be okay if he gave it all back tomorrow.

She gave a short hum of acknowledgement. “That was… kind of them.”

Okay…?

Silence. Again. And the car still hadn’t started.

“... You’re hungry,” she stated as fact. He supposed that was fair. She knew he skipped breakfast, after all, and it was coming on lunchtime. His stomach clenched. “We can stop somewhere on the way home, if you’d like.”

He blinked and lifted his head, unable to mask his confusion, “... Somewhere…?”

“To eat,” she clarified, his jaw nearly dropped. They didn’t just… go out to eat. That wasn’t something they did. Not since Mother passed, and even then, never so casually as a mere afterthought. “... Or we could pick up some fast-food, if you’d prefer.”

He practically choked. “Fast-food?”

Where was he? What was happening right now?

“If you’d like,” she answered, as if that cleared up any of his confusion at all. She motioned to his bodyguard, and the engine started.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

On his side and curled up in his blankets, Adrien scrolled through his texts.

His friends were so wonderful, he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d ever done to deserve them. Nino, Alya, and Marinette had texted him, as expected— filling his notifications with heart emojis and ‘I’m always here if you need to talk’s. Even old friends and acquaintances from collège had sent some texts his way, asking if he was okay and what happened.

Would they still be so nice to you if they knew? a part of him wondered, Would they be disgusted to know you’re Monarch’s son?

Was it wrong of him to keep the information to himself? Was it wrong of him to force a smile and some stupid thumbs-ups when faced with a mural of Monarch? Was it wrong of him to withhold the truth—

Did he even know the truth?

He hadn’t had much of a chance to properly process everything he’d learned. Not beyond the odd emotional meltdown, anyway. But the nap he’d taken after lunch— greasy food that he’d never expected Nathalie to allow him to have— had done wonders to clear his head.

And he realized that he didn’t understand.

His father had been Monarch. But how? Why? His father finally got access to The Wish and… it killed him? That’s all, end of story?

There had to be more to it. Something Ladybug hadn’t told him. Something he still didn’t know. Because as far as he knew, The Wish didn’t work like that. If Monarch died, then it was because someone else lived— and— well…

He had a good guess of who his father would have revived.

… But his mother was still dead.

Right?

Dear god, he needed to know. His fingers twitched, and before he even realized he was doing it, he was on his feet, the cheese cabinet was open, and he was slipping his miraculous back onto his finger.

Plagg formed from the magical green electricity, uncurling from his slumber, his narrow green eyes snapping wide as he looked into Adrien’s.

“Oh, phew!” Plagg gasped, “For a second there, I was worried you’d tossed me out with the dumpster trash—”

“Would’ve been a fitting place for you,” Adrien growled low, “Besides, I thought you loved stench.”

“Eh…” Plagg glanced to the side, avoiding Adrien’s scowl. “Only if it’s edible.”

“You’re going to tell me what you know,” he spoke, slow and harsh, enunciating every word, “You’re going to tell me what happened.”

“I know a lot of things. Immortal timeless being and all that, you’ll have to be more specific,” Plagg said dismissively, his gaze flicking back to Adrien’s, and something about it must have shattered the kwami’s resolve. Plagg deflated, his ears drooping as he sighed, “Ladybug already told you everything I know.”

“No. She. Didn’t.” He jabbed his finger into Plagg’s little abdomen. “What was Monarch’s wish?”

Plagg’s tail twitched. “What?”

“What. Did my father. Wish for?” he growled.

Silence hung between the two of them for a moment. Adrien’s face twisted further the longer it took.

“Well, you see, I…” Plagg hesitated. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” Adrien nearly laughed in rage, “You are The Wish, and you expect me to believe—”

“Look, you can’t expect us to retain memory between all of our selves,” Plagg scoffed, “Bouncing between being all of reality itself and then back to my loveable humble self takes a lot out of me! Do you realize how difficult it is to even focus on cheese when the entirety of all that is, could be, once was, and isn’t is all swirling in your mind? It’s a miracle I’m able to regain my sense of self and re-focus in on the joys of camembert at all—”

Adrien groaned out in frustration, “What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying I don’t know!”

“I don’t believe you!” he snapped, “You’ve been lying to me this whole time, and now you expect me to believe—”

“I’m telling the truth! Look, here’s what I know,” Plagg said, clapping his little paws together, his brow furrowed as he looked Adrien in the eye, “You sent me to find Ladybug, so I did. I found her at your house, she used my ring to transform, she and Monarch fought, they ended up in your basem*nt—” He had a basem*nt? “—she got the upperhand, they argued over the ethics of reviving your mom, he used Pollen against her, grabbed Tikki’s and my miraculouses— and then next thing I know, it’s over and she’s telling me to return my miraculous back to you! That’s what I know!”

“So he did revive my mom?” Adrien choked, stumbling back.

“No! I mean— maybe? I don’t know!” Plagg scoffed, “But don’t you think you’d know by now if he had?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” Adrien spat, “I— I don’t know anything, apparently!”

Plagg seemed to soften at that.

“Why did you lie to me?” Adrien hissed, “Why did you— why wouldn’t you tell me—”

“I…” Plagg deflated. “... I couldn’t.”

“What?”

“You’ve had enough on your plate as it is! Look, telling a recent orphan that the father he was mourning was actually secretly his archnemesis the whole time is a lot easier said than done! I didn’t want to hurt you!”

Adrien threw his head back and sucked in a long, harsh breath. He was so sick of crying.

“Besides, Ladybug told you one thing, and I wasn’t about to be the catalyst for some civil war between you two—”

“Why did Ladybug lie?” Adrien asked, snapping back to attention. He understood, on some level, the idea of Plagg finding the situation difficult because he cared too much about Adrien to hurt him— but Ladybug? Ladybug barely knew Adrien personally, and she lied to more than just him…

… She lied to the world.

A strange look crossed Plagg’s face. He looked to the side for a moment in thought. He looked back to Adrien. He shrugged.

“Really,” Adrien growled.

“How would I know?” Plagg huffed, “I’m not her! I can’t read her mind!”

It wasn’t Ladybug’s duty to lie to all of Paris about the man who’d terrorized them. What was Ladybug trying to protect? Who was she trying to protect? Monarch? The only people who benefitted from the lie, he supposed, was his family, but why would she…

Actually, thinking back, she had seemed so terrified at the prospect of the secret getting out. She was scared of something. What was she scared of? Who was she…

Adrien saw movement in the corner of his eye, out the windows. He turned his gaze up, watching as a streak of cobalt flew over the rooftops and out of view—

He growled.

“Plagg,” he spoke low, “claws out.”

He was going to get to the bottom of this. Maybe Plagg didn’t know as much as he’d hoped, and maybe Ladybug had proven herself more than willing to lie to him…

… but they weren’t the only ones who knew something.

Chat Noir raced across the rooftops, overtaking his prey. He tucked himself behind a chimney, lying in wait.

Featherlight footsteps landed on the rooftop.

And Chat Noir pounced.

He leapt over the chimney and landed in a crouch just before Argos, steel boots slamming on concrete. He lifted to his full height, eye-to-eye with Argos’ magenta, their faces mere centimeters apart.

Argos’ eyes widened almost imperceptibly. He didn’t flinch.

“Hey, little bird,” Chat Noir drawled, stretching his lips into a wide grin. “What are you up to?”

Argos’ face scrunched. “You brush your teeth this morning?”

That was besides the point.

Argos moved to push past him, but Chat Noir grabbed his arm before he could— gripping him in an iron vice, claws digging into the fabric.

“Hey,” Chat Noir cooed with acid, “Pretty rude to leave in the middle of a conversation, isn’t it?”

Argos narrowed his eyes at him, one brow raised. “What conversation? I’m in the middle of something.”

“Oh, yeah?” He tugged Argos back in front of him, leaning even closer in, “And what could you possibly be up to?”

Argos didn’t patrol like the others. He was a ‘part of the team’, generally, in the vague sense that Ladybug made it clear to everyone that he was to be considered an ally and not a foe.

How curious, that was. That Monarch’s nephew, the one who betrayed Ladybug and gave all the miraculouses to their nemesis, would be granted the title of ‘ally’, after having done nothing to earn their trust.

“I’m meeting with someone,” Argos said with a casual shrug. “And I’d rather not be late. Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

His claws dug deeper into his arm, and Argos tilted back, face scrunching further as Chat Noir leaned into his space. Chat Noir whispered with venom, “Who could you possibly be meeting with?”

Argos rolled his eyes. “Take a wild guess.”

Gladly.

Rage flared in his veins. He grasped both of Argos’ arms, and if it weren’t for the power of the peaco*ck miraculous, surely his claws would be breaking skin. He surged forward, pushing Argos back until his back hit a chimney.

“You’re working with them?” Chat Noir hissed.

“With whom?” Argos raised an incredulous brow, only seeming bored despite the predator that’d caught him.

“Don’t play stupid,” he spat, “Who are they? What do they want? What do you want?”

“What?”

“The butterfly!” he spat, pushing him further into the chimney, “What do they want?”

Argos’ brow furrowed, the bored look in his eyes finally vanishing. “What butterfly?”

“The one you’re meeting with!” he shouted.

“I’m not meeting with a butterfly.”

“Then who—”

Argos deadpanned, “A dragon.”

Chat Noir scoffed, letting the anger coursing through his veins wash away doubt. He wouldn’t let his resolve shatter so easily, not this time. “Yeah, right. You want me to believe you have nothing to do with this?”

“I don’t know anything about a new butterfly.”

“You think I’d believe you have no affiliation with your uncle’s successor?” he hissed, and something about what he’d said must have finally struck a chord, because Argos’ eyes flew open wide. “I guess villainy runs in the family, huh?” He took full advantage of Argos’ hesitation, leaning in close and plowing on in a hiss, “So, what’s the deal? What do you want? Why did you work for Monarch? Why are you protecting a dead man, and what do you have over Ladybug?”

Argos scowled. “I don’t owe you anything. If you want to make an enemy of me, Chat Noir, so be it. If you expect me to make a plea for your forgiveness, you’ll be sorely disappointed.”

“You made an enemy of yourself!” he spat, “The moment you chose Gabriel Agreste over the safety of Paris, the moment you created Monarch. And for what? Power?” He gestured to Argos’ brooch. “Fifteen miraculouses for one? Doesn’t seem like a fair trade. What else did you get out of it?”

Argos only scowled.

“He’s gone,” Chat Noir hissed, the words bitter on his tongue and heart stuttering in his chest, “Monarch is dead. Your uncle is dead. And you’ve never tried very hard to hide your villainy before, so why hide his? If you know the truth, why are you protecting him? Why is Ladybug protecting him?”

Argos only scowled harder.

“What else do you know?” he shouted, “Tell me—”

A flash of red entered the corner of his vision. Before he could react, he was pushed back, a scarlet figure with black hair landing between the two of them.

Ryuko, his mind concluded first, as the figure rose to their feet. Of course Ryuko would come to defend Argos—

Ladybug lifted her head, her black-spotted mask twisted in upset as she looked to him.

His heart dropped.

“What are you doing?” she asked forcefully, placing her hands at his shoulders and pushing him back, away from the villain. “What’s going on here?”

“He knows,” Argos scoffed, crossing his arms and stepping away from the chimney. “And he’s upset. What did you tell him?”

A flare of rage and betrayal surged through Chat Noir. He clenched his fists tight at his sides, claws digging into his palms.

“I— Only what I had to, I—” She stopped and took a deep breath, and he saw red. “Chat Noir, I know how this probably all looks, but you never let me explain—”

“Okay,” he grit, “Explain, then.”

She stared at him, hesitating. She chewed her lip, and then said, “It’s complicated.”

He couldn’t help it— he barked out a bitter laugh. “That’s your explanation?”

“Monarch… Gabriel Agreste…” she tried, trailing for a moment before continuing, “... he has a… family. Innocent people, who would only be hurt if—”

“Innocent people?” he scoffed, gesturing to Argos, “Who? Like him? Or do you mean Mayura? Oh, how innocent!”

Ladybug frowned. “He has a son.”

He sucked in a breath.

How dare she?

How dare Ladybug look him in the eyes, her partner whom she’d lied to, and try to tell him that she was doing it all for him. For Adrien Agreste, a boy she barely knew. He’d never asked her to do that for him. He’d never asked her to lie to both of his faces, to mask his fathers deeds.

She didn’t even know him. There had to be more to it. More to it that she was hiding from him, that she wasn’t communicating. More to this twisted conspiracy than just himself.

“A son,” he growled, “you want me to believe that you’ve done all this…” He gestured towards the silver glint of his father’s statue in the distance. “... for Monarch’s son.”

That’s all he was. That’s all he’d ever been. Monarch’s son, groveling at his father’s feet, doing whatever he was told for scraps of affection. Monarch’s son, defined by his place beneath his father’s towering shadow. Monarch’s son, ignorant and oblivious to the horrors going on just beneath his nose, busying himself instead with pathetic attempts to feel loved by the very villain that terrorized Paris.

Had Father ever loved me?

Why do I still care so much?

“He’s more than just—”

“So Monarch has a family? That’s it? Big whoop! Everyone has a family!” he spat, ignoring the way the back of his mind whispered, everyone but you. “It’s not your responsibility to protect them. It’s not your choice whether or not they get to know!”

Her face hardened. “Look, Chat Noir. You don’t understand—”

“No, YOU don’t understand!” he shouted, “You don’t even KNOW him—”

“If I may?” Argos butt in with a scoff, raising a hand to get their attention. “He’s my cousin.”

As if Félix cared about him. As if Félix hadn’t lied to him before, hadn’t tricked him before into thinking he cared more about him than he did.

He was such a fool.

“I DON’T CARE!” he roared.

“Chat Noir, you need to calm down!” Ladybug threw her hands up placatingly, still positioning herself on Argos’ side. “This isn’t like you—”

“He’s unstable,” Argos muttered to Ladybug, “His emotions are all over the place—”

“Lucky for you, huh!?” he shouted, turning to Argos and closing back in on him, “Why don’t you take advantage of it and make a sentimonster to terrorize Paris? Family tradition!”

Argos’ eyes darkened. Chat Noir bumped into Ladybug’s arm, which was now jutted out in front of him, holding him back and shielding Argos.

His anger only flared brighter.

“Don’t call them that,” Argos warned, “And I have no interest in that. I’m not your enemy.”

I’m not your enemy, the butterfly successor had told him, too. I’m a friend.

Could everyone stop lying to him?

“You’re right,” Chat Noir growled low, “The only monster is you.”

Fire flashed across Argos’ eyes, his lips twitching almost imperceptibly towards a snarl.

“Chat Noir!” Ladybug scolded, placing herself completely between them, hands at his chest to hold him back, “Do not say that.”

Her allegiance was clear.

“You’re right,” he agreed again, heart slamming in his chest, stepping back from the betrayal— Ladybug and her new partner, Argos, joined together in a pact of lies. “We all know who the real monster was.”

The rage coursing through him crackled like electricity in his veins, his claws twitching at his sides. He turned his head to the distance, the silver glinting beneath the sunlight like a beacon.

“Cataclysm,” his voice whispered before he even realized he was thinking it, the bubbling power of ruination forming at his claws.

“No,” Ladybug spoke, nearly inaudible in dawning realization. Her volume grew, “No—”

Chat Noir took off.

He bounded across the rooftops, vision red and blood pumping in his ears. The shouts and cries of Argos and Ladybug simply falling to the background, drowned beneath the noise in his ears.

Chat Noir landed atop a chimney overlooking the park. He stood tall to his feet, looking down at the grandiose visage of his father. To the man he’d looked up to many times, to his puppeteer, to the source of the lies, of all the deception. To the single person who’d hurt him the most.

The entire statue was made of beautiful silver, formed from melted down Alliance Rings— the very device that his father had created to sell his vision of his son. The very same oppressive device that he used to lie to the world about Adrien’s life, to lie about his location and love and freedom while he was trapped away in a box. The very same device that was ‘somehow hacked’ by Monarch in a worldwide attack.

He spent the last fourteen years of his life making you miserable. You spent your entire life waiting for the day that he’d finally love you… only for him to leave.

He didn’t love you.

He never loved you.

So why did you ever waste your time loving him?

With a snarl, Chat Noir leapt off the chimney, narrowly dodging the yo-yo launched in his direction. He fell in an arc, destructive claw reared back and ready as he closed in on the visage.

“CHAT NOIR!” Ladybug screamed over the startled whispers of park-goers, “NO!”

Hand collided with metal, brushing past his father’s silver arm.

And Chat Noir landed on his feet.

The shadow of his father’s form cast over him, Chat Noir stepped back and stared up in awe as he began to shatter. The rot of destruction crackled out from the epicenter of his arm, the shining silver losing its sheen as it began to rust as if it were made of shoddy iron— the corrosion spreading through his father’s body, his thoughtful, poised form losing shape as he crumbled apart.

The figure shattered, its pieces plummeting to the grass in thundering cracks, and Chat Noir was doused in sunlight.

He flinched away from the glare of the sun, holding a clawed hand up to shield his eyes. Citizens gasped in horror and shouted, but one voice called out above the rest.

“NO!” Ladybug cried out, stumbling her landing as her foot met grass. She stared up in horror at the crumbled pieces of what was once her greatest lie, hands flying to her hands to cover her mouth. “No… No…”

Breaths heavy, he looked out across the park, to the audience of his spectacle. Some fled, and some held phones up, camera out, at the scene. Argos landed nearby, mouth agape in awe at the evidence of his destruction.

Chat Noir turned back to what used to be the statue, a terrible, unplaceable feeling in his chest as he looked upon what he’d done.

And then his eyes caught on the plaque, still intact.

Gabriel Agreste

Inspired designer, husband, father, hero

May your genius live on

And his fire reignited.

“Cataclysm,” he growled again.

Ladybug shrieked and launched toward him, but she was too late. Her hand grasped his wrist in a vice just as his open palm slammed into the blasted words.

“NO!” She yanked his hand back in futility, the plaque corroding and crumbling to the ground amidst the heap. She wrestled his arm uncomfortably behind his back, trying to pull him further away from the scene, and he wondered briefly what else he could even still conceivably destroy when—

His eyes fell down to the shrine at his feet.

The flowers and notes and candles. The shrine of love for his father, so carefully laid out at the base of the structure, honoring the man that he had never been.

And his eyes locked on a bouquet.

His bouquet. His bouquet of white lilies and roses that he had placed beneath the shadow of his towering father. Not the first bouquet he’d set, and not what he’d planned to be his last.

He still remembered placing it, just over a week or so ago. Marinette— the best thing in his life, the joy that his father had fought tooth and nail to take from him— had gone with him, her hand squeezing his in support as he had so delicately placed it.

Ladybug wrested Chat Noir’s hands back. But that was fine. He didn’t need his hands.

He lifted his leg.

Ladybug shouted.

The flowers crunched beneath his steel boot as he stomped down on them. And stomped. And stomped. And stompe—

Ladybug’s arms clamped around his torso, yanking him back and away from his carnage. He nearly roared, struggling in her arms, feet dragging against the dirt— but he’d done what he’d needed to.

Ladybug released him unceremoniously, nearly dropping him to the ground as she surged past him and to her knees, skidding across the dirt to inspect the stupid bouquet. He righted himself, breaths heavy as he watched her.

“Why?” someone shouted out through the awed gasps of the growing crowd. He whipped around to face the spectators.

“I’M GLAD HE’S DEAD!” he shouted to the cameras and shocked faces, heart pounding in his ears among the startled sounds of the crowd.

“Lucky Charm!” Ladybug cried out, and he whipped around to watch— her yo-yo tossed to the sky, magical ladybugs swirling in the air to form…

…

Nothing.

Her suit flashed back to its basic form, as if she’d never cast her power at all. She gasped in horror, scrambling up to her feet, the new spectacle of the crowd.

“Lucky Charm!” she cried again, tossing her yo-yo, her suit shifting to her powered version, the ladybugs swirling to form…

…

“Lucky Charm! Lucky Charm! LUCKY CHARM!” she cried out again and again, her suit flashing to and fro— but she got nothing. Her powers rendered useless, she sucked in a sharp breath, and then another, and another, her gasps shallow and fast as she grasped at the hair at her scalp. “No, no, nononono, why can’t I fix this—”

He stepped back from her, knowing that, this time, he could not be the one to offer comfort. He looked around his surroundings, to the crowd closing in, to Argos’ stunned gape.

He whipped out his baton and launched himself away.

Where was he to go? Home? Did he even have one of those?

After a set of random turns and leaps, he dropped down into an alleyway, panting. He pressed his back against the brick, hand placed over the slamming of his chest.

His baton chimed, still clenched in his hand.

Unknown: Aww…

Unknown: Did that feel good? :-)

“Claws in,” he croaked, sinking down the length of the wall and to the filthy concrete, breaths uneven.

“You know what? Good! That thing was an eyesore, and the world’s better off without it,” Plagg scoffed. He flitted to Adrien’s face, his expression suddenly dropping. “Hey. Breathe.”

He hunched forward, face in hands as he tried to breathe… and breathe…

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Buzz.

Ring ring ring…

Dear god. His civilian phone was blowing up.

With shaking hand, he went to fish the phone from his pocket. He needed to silence it, to allow himself the moment of quiet to process what he’d just done.

Incoming call— Nathalie.

Oh no. Nathalie must have noticed he was gone. She must be so worried—

Assuming she cares. Assuming she doesn’t just want to discipline you. To control you, to meld you into whatever she wants you to be, just like Father—

Has she ever loved you?

His lip quivered, and his traitorous finger answered the call before he’d even realized he’d decided to do it.

“Adrien,” Nathalie’s tense voice came through his phone, as he held it to his ear with his still-shaking hand, “Where are you?”

“I— I…” he tried, voice catching in his throat. He sniffled, wiping at the tears that had begun to spring from his eyes, “I… I went on a… a walk…”

“Come home,” she demanded, and he sucked in a sharp breath, “Right now.”

The idea of getting up and walking right now sounded herculean. He didn’t have the energy, and he didn’t have any cheese on him for Plagg. He wasn’t even sure where he was.

She must have sensed his dilemma. “Send me your location. We’re coming to pick you up.”

He muttered an ‘okay’ and hung up. He sent over his GPS location, silenced his still-buzzing phone, and curled up into himself, waiting for Nathalie and his bodyguard to find him.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Nathalie was tense.

“Stay away from the news,” she told him after she and his bodyguard had rescued him from the alley, voice stiff as she tapped at something on her tablet. He’d been seated at the kitchen island, a plate of salmon dinner in front of him. Any attempt he made to convince her that he wasn’t hungry fell on deaf ears. She wouldn’t have it.

“I already saw the news,” he muttered, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “I… I know what happened.”

She sucked in a harsh breath. “Even still.” She held the phone up to her ear and motioned to his plate. “Stay away from the news. And eat.”

She turned on her heel and exited the kitchen, leaving him… nearly alone. His bodyguard stood in the corner, watching him with soft eyes.

Did they not trust him alone? Did they not trust him to stay?

( Fair enough. He wanted to leave so bad. He wanted to be anywhere but here. )

( Actually, Paris didn’t sound particularly appealing in general right now. )

He picked at his salmon dinner. Feeling his bodyguard’s eyes on him, he raised a piece to his mouth and nibbled at the corner.

He just didn’t have much of an appetite.

Images replayed in his mind. The statue of his father, crumbling to corroded rubble. Ladybug, tears in her eyes, desperately trying to call for her lucky charm. The crowd of spectators, gawking at the mad display—

He set his fork down. If only there was something he could do with his hands, something to distract him from the terrible thoughts swirling in his mind. Something to distract him from everything that sought to overwhelm him as of late, everything that sought to beat him down—

Your father is dead, and you sort of killed him, and he was Monarch, and he’d attacked you so many times, and he died on purpose for reasons unknown, and everyone thinks he was a hero when he wasn’t, and Nathalie helped him, and she was Mayura, and she’d attacked you too, and a new butterfly user is on the loose and is messing with you, and Ladybug doesn’t trust you, and maybe she’s right not to because you made her cry, and she trusts Félix of all people more than you, and Félix is hiding something, and they’re all using you as the excuse for the lies, as if you’d asked for it, as if any of this has anything to do with you—

A grunt pulled him out of his trance, and his bodyguard stood closer, pushing the glass of water towards him.

Adrien opened his mouth to thank him, but no sound came out. Instead, he grasped the glass in his hands and forced the water down.

He was just so sick of crying.

A few minutes passed of Adrien picking at his food, wondering how he could possibly convince his bodyguard to let him leave without eating it, when the kitchen door opened.

“Adrien,” Nathalie called, one hand holding the door open and the other holding her phone to her shoulder, “Marinette is at the gate. She’d like to see y—”

“ADRIEN!” Marinette shouted, scrambling past Nathalie and into the kitchen. Adrien’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god, have you seen the news? Don’t watch the news!”

Nathalie sighed. The door clicked shut, and she was gone again.

“Marinette?” Adrien choked out, his voice barely above a gasp. And, again, he felt himself overcome with emotion.

“Are you okay?” She rushed forward, placing a large paper bag on the island. She scrambled into the seat by his. “Did you see the news?” she asked again, “Again, if you haven’t, don’t!”

“I…” He swallowed, avoiding eye-contact to stare into his lap, “... I know what… happened.”

“Oh.” He lifted his gaze back up to hers and was struck by the tears in her eyes. His heart sank. “A-Adrien, I… I’m so sorry…”

The kitchen door opened again, and only then did Adrien realize that his bodyguard had moved. The man exited the room, leaving the two privacy.

Once the door clicked closed, Adrien’s lip quivered.

Marinette slid off of her stool, standing next to his, her hands reaching forward to cup his cheeks, caressing his face with gentle hands. His fingertips brushed against her wrists as he leaned into her touch.

“I’m okay,” he whispered, wondering why he couldn’t manifest it into truth.

She shook her head and leaned forward, pressing her lips to the space between his eyes. He sucked in a shaking breath.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien, I— I don’t—” Marinette stammered, pulling away from him, her eyes darting away, “I don’t know what came over him, I— Chat Noir shouldn’t have— that was awful! Ladybug should have stopped him, I’m so sorry—”

“Did you see it?” The mortification slapped him across the face. He imagined Marinette witnessing his dreadful spectacle. “Were— were you there?”

“What?” she squeaked, reeling back, “Why— Why would you think—”

“Your balcony—”

“OH!” she gasped, “Yes! I— Yes, I saw and I— oh my gosh, Adrien, I’m so sorry…”

He shook his head, words leaving him as he turned back to stare at his food.

He wondered how he’d appeared to her. Did it look like a temper tantrum? A random act of malice? Chat Noir, in a fit of rage, destroying a monument to a dead man. It must have looked so awful to her.

Nobody there had the context. Nobody but him and Ladybug and Argos understood why he’d done it— nobody understood that it was a monument to Monarch, that his death wasn’t as wholesome as they’d been led to believe. It must have looked awful to anyone who saw it.

And by now, he figured everyone had.

He thought back to his phone— to all the notifications that’d been blowing it up even mere minutes after it’d occurred. People were probably still texting him. He wondered what they were saying. He wondered what he would even say in return.

‘Wow, Chat Noir destroyed my father’s gaudy statue? How awful! I’m beside myself!’

‘Actually, I don’t really mind that Chat Noir destroyed it. Yes, I know it was a monument to my dead father, and no, I won’t explain why I’m kind of okay with it…’

‘Yeah, it was pretty awful, but I’m sure Chat Noir feels very bad about it and is very embarrassed. I totally forgive him.’

‘Actually, I’m crossing my fingers that he’ll get to the mural next—’

“I’m sorry, were you eating?” Marinette asked, startling him out of his blank-faced stupor. “I didn’t mean to interrupt! You should eat!” She sat back down on her stool, chewing her lip and staring at him. “And then— and then maybe we can go to your room and… talk or… or not talk, and keep your mind off of things! Whatever you need!”

A distraction sounded really nice right now. Marinette being his distraction sounded really, really nice.

He shoveled his food into his mouth, slipping off his stool once he’d finished his final bite. She jumped down from hers, grasping his hand in one hand and the paper bag she’d brought with the other, and led him out of the kitchen and up to his room.

Nathalie was standing in the foyer, still on her phone. She looked up to the two of them and gave a short nod of acknowledgement. She made no move to stop them.

Father would have, if he were still here. He would have stopped them. He would have kicked Marinette out of the house, would’ve locked the gates, would’ve pulled him completely out of school for his insolence—

He tried not to think about that.

Marinette’s hand squeezed his as she practically tugged him to the couch in his room. She plopped down on the cushions, and he sat down right beside her.

“I brought pastries,” she said, fiddling with the paper bag still in her clutch. She opened the bag and presented it to him, giving him a peek of the contents inside, “My parents made them— there’s a box of macarons and some chouquettes and tarts and…” she trailed, and then began to dig through the bag, muttering to herself, “What else…?”

That sounded very nice, but he didn’t particularly care what was in it. Just the knowledge that Marinette and her parents cared about him enough to go out of their way to give him food like that was enough to have more tears threatening to prick at his eyes.

Instead of properly voicing his gratitude like a functional person, he scooted closer to her and slipped his arms around her waist, ignoring the bag completely and tucking his face into her neck.

“Oh! Yes—” She leaned away from him for a brief moment, towards the coffee table to place the bag down. And then she was right back with him, her arms enveloping him and holding him close.

He was determined not to cry again. He was so sick of crying. Multiple emotional breakdowns in the span of a couple days took a lot out of you, apparently, and he just wanted to stop. He was so exhausted.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered, her fingertips brushing through the mess atop his head. He must have looked so terrible and unattractive right now—

Imagine if Father saw you.

Well. He couldn’t. He was gone. And so was that stupid statue—

Adrien shook his head against her.

“Okay.” Her head turned towards him, her chapped lips pressing an affectionate kiss to his cheekbone. “So— distraction, then?”

He nodded.

She shuffled where she sat, repositioning herself in ways that made it distinctly difficult to keep clinging to her like he was. But he stayed determined, arms latched to her even as she leaned forward and snatched the remote from the table.

“We can— We can put on a movie!” she reasoned, “Does that sound good?”

He nodded. He didn’t care.

“O-okay. Good!” She hit a button on the remote, and his television powered on. “What kind of movie do you—”

“I was there when it happened. It was horrible!” spoke the image of a citizen on the TV, a news channel microphone held out to them. Marinette shrieked, practically launching the remote across the room with how hard she startled. “Chat Noir was like some vicious monster, Ladybug was crying, and—”

“No no nonono!” Marinette shouted, pushing herself out of Adrien’s arms and to her feet to scramble to the discarded remote.

And Adrien watched the TV.

“—he wasn’t even akumatized or anything! And you heard what Ladybug said. Sounds like Chat Noir’s defecting, and he’s gonna be the next villa—”

The monitor switched to a streaming service.

“Oh my gosh, I’m sorry, I can’t believe I—” Marinette cried, rushing back to the couch and plopping down with remote in hand. “A-anyway, forget about all that, what do you want to wat—”

“What did Ladybug say?”

She stared at him, eyes wide and mouth agape. “What?”

“What did Ladybug say?” he repeated, the denim at his knees clenched within a white-knuckled grip, his eyes glued to the screen, the words repeating in his head, you heard what Ladybug said, Ladybug said, Ladybug said…

“I— I don’t know, Adrien, it doesn’t—” she stammered, “I don’t know! And it’s not— you wanted a distraction, right? Well—”

“She said Chat Noir’s the next villain?” he whispered, his muscles tensing, a familiar nausea swirling in his gut—

“That is not what she said,” Marinette grumbled, and then stiffened. “I mean— I doubt that’s what she’d—”

“You know,” he said, turning to face her, “You know what she said. You saw it, didn’t you? What did she say?”

Her face stricken, her gaze flickered to and away from his, hesitating her answer. His hands shook, and he needed to know, hoped she wouldn’t sugarcoat it— but what would sugarcoating even be from her perspective?

“She just said it was a… a misunderstanding that would be handled internally among the heroes. It’s not worth digging into, or wondering why it happened, I—” She chewed her lip. “But I mean, obviously it was terrible! Chat Noir did a horrible thing, and you’d have every right to be so upset—”

“Did she say that?” His heart was still racing. “Did Ladybug say Chat Noir did a horrible thing?”

Ladybug knew the truth. She knew it was all a lie. She knew how terrible that statue really was, and if she were being honest, she’d be admitting to everyone that Chat Noir had every right to rid the world of Monarch’s ugly mug—

“What? I mean— I don’t know, that’s just what I’m saying—”

“Okay,” he conceded in a scoff, pulling his legs up onto the couch and hugging his knees.

A tense silence hung between them for a moment, and Adrien nearly cringed. Did he sound petty? He hated that. He didn’t want Marinette to see him like this. He hated how nasty he’d been as of late, how quick he was to turn to anger—

“You know…” Marinette muttered, scooting closer to him, her hip bumping his and her arm slotting around his shoulder, “You’re allowed to be angry.”

She didn’t know the half of it. He wondered if she’d be saying that if she knew the extent of the rage bubbling under his surface, what he was constantly trying to muffle.

He used to think he was a good person. He used to think he was someone who was pretty good at keeping a level head, at giving people the benefit of the doubt. Now he just felt bitter and terrible.

Unstable, Argos had called him. Was that true? Was he unstable? Some vicious monster, who everyone was just waiting to finally break, to become the next villain, like father like son—

His lip quivered. But he refused to cry again today. Instead, he turned his head, tucked his face back into her shoulder, and waited as she selected a movie for them.

*****

“Cha— Chat Noir doesn’t know what he’s doing!” Ladybug stammered to the camera shoved in her face, her cheeks still red from the tears she’d shed, her magically-styled hair still mussed from when she’d grasped at her scalp. “It’ll be dealt with!”

‘A misunderstanding that would be handled internally’ sure was a charitable interpretation of it. The way Marinette put it, Ladybug had sounded like she was just going to have a civil conversation with Chat Noir. But the way Ladybug put it, it could mean anything.

‘It’ll be dealt with.’ It being Chat Noir. Chat Noir would be dealt with.

He wasn’t looking forward to what being ‘dealt with’ meant.

Adrien’s finger twitched, and he clicked back on the video player’s timeline, rewatching the video.

‘Chat Noir doesn’t know what he’s doing.’ No, he had known perfectly well what he was doing.

He clicked on a related video.

“I just don’t get it,” said an influencer he didn’t recognize, “So, Chat Noir supposedly ditched Ladybug in the final battle with Monarch… Gabriel Agreste, a civilian, died for it… and then Chat Noir destroys his monument? What the hell? Is he jealous that he didn’t get the statue or something—”

“You gotta stop watching that junk,” Plagg scoffed, positioning himself in front of the computer monitor. Adrien gripped the mouse so tight it could shatter.

“Heaven forbid I know anything, right?” Adrien sneered, pushing Plagg out of the way.

Don’t watch the news, everyone had told him, because they didn’t think he could handle it, because they didn’t think he deserved to know—

“Oh, please! You’re not learning anything new! You’re just making yourself upset.”

“No, I’m not,” Adrien grumbled, clicking on a related video with a particularly upsetting title.

“That’s right, folks! You saw the title of the video! This is my top ten pieces of evidence that Chat Noir had actually been working for Monarch the. Whole. Time. Starting with the obvious, number ten… a black cat with the power of destruction? Really? Could you GET any more obviously villain-coded—”

The monitor shut off, and Adrien shot a pointed glare at the kwami.

“That one was particularly ignorant,” Plagg huffed, nose turned up as he tossed the disconnected cable aside.

“You think ‘he’s Monarch’s son’ made the list?” Adrien scoffed, kicking back from the desk and allowing his chair to spin. “I bet they’d have a field-day with that one.”

What would Adrien have done if he’d known sooner? If his father had asked— no, demanded that he join his cause— would he have? Could Chat Noir have switched sides and joined Monarch, if only things had gone differently?

He wanted to say no. He wanted to say that he’d never do such a thing, that he had values too strong in stark opposition to Monarch’s. He wanted to say that he would never betray Ladybug, that he’d never betray Paris…

… but he had never been particularly good at saying ‘no’ to his father. When his father made a demand of him, Adrien obeyed.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Even if his fingers itched and his eyes twitched, even if his veins burned and his blood boiled, even if his mind raced and a scream sat at the base of his throat—

His mind would turn to static. And he’d obey.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Adrien growled, hunching forward in his chair and grasping at the hair at his scalp.

“Adrien…” He felt the gentle weight of Plagg settling on his shoulder. “Why don’t you go back to bed?”

“What? No, I can’t do that, I—” His eyes snapped open. “My hair’s greasy.”

“Huh— Wha?” Plagg sputtered, as Adrien launched up to his feet and bounded towards the bathroom. “Who cares!”

He shucked off his sweat-stained shirt. “I can’t go to school like this.”

“You’re kidding, right? You’re going to school today? You barely slept!”

Of course he was going to school. He had to, because if he didn’t, people would think something was wrong. People might think he was unstable.

He paid Plagg’s protests no mind and got ready for a well-needed shower.

*****

Sufficiently showered, squeaky-clean, hair dried and combed, dressed in nice clean clothes…

Adrien looked perfectly stable.

Beep beep beep…

School alarm going off in his room, he leaned into the mirror one last time, turning his head and inspecting his face.

Yeah. The concealer was doing a pretty good job of hiding his under-eye bags.

He looked fine.

He was fine.

And it was time for school.

He surged out of the bathroom, tossing his school bag over his shoulder and tapping the button of his alarm out the door. Leaping down the foyer steps two at a time, he bounded to the front door and reached for the knob—

Nathalie stepped in front of him. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Adrien sucked in a breath. School bag strap in grip, he forced a smile and tilted his head up to look her in the eyes. “School.”

“You’re not going to school today.”

His lip twitched. “You said I could.”

Her brow furrowed.

“Yesterday,” he reminded, “You said, if I felt better today—”

“You do not.”

His eye twitched. “With all due respect, Nathalie, I would know how I feel better than you.”

She sighed. “Even so, that was before… certain events transpired.”

“You mean before Chat Noir destroyed Father’s statue.”

Her lips pulled taut, an exhausted look in her eye— and he wondered, briefly, what Nathalie thought of Chat Noir, and what she’d think if she knew that she was speaking with him right now.

Mayura, he had to remind himself. That’s Mayura. Of course she’d hate you—

“I’m going to school,” he said, moving to step past her.

She scooted over, blocking his way again. “You’re staying home today. I’ve already informed the school—”

Since when did Chat Noir take orders from Mayura?

All your life, a voice in the back of his mind reminded, you’ve known Nathalie all your life. Adrien knows Nathalie better than Chat Noir ever knew Mayura—

He shook the thought away and launched himself past her, ignoring her startled gasp as he burst out the doors and leapt down the front steps—

He froze.

Past the front gate were crowds of reporters, cameras and microphones held high. The gates nearly jostled on their hinges once he was seen, a cacophony of questions bursting out. His bodyguard stood at the gate, ensuring it stayed closed and attempting to intimidate the crowd away from the property.

“Adrien Agreste!” he could barely make out one reporter shouting above the noise, “How do you feel about Chat Noir desecrating your late father’s memory—”

A hand was placed at his shoulder, turning him back to the front doors and guiding him back inside.

Nathalie shut the door behind them. “... As I said. You’re staying home today.”

“Well, they…” Adrien’s gaze flickered out over the foyer, gears in his head turning for a possible way to turn this around. “I… Why do I have to let some reporters dictate my schedule? Can’t we… just ignore them and drive past?” It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“It’s not just the reporters.” Nathalie stepped in front of him, and before he realized what was happening, her hands were placed on his shoulders and she was crouching down to his eye-level. He blinked, and her eyes softened. “I think it’d be best for your wellness if you stay home and rest for the day.”

He frowned. “My… wellness?”

Nathalie hesitated. “... You know, Adrien, I spoke to your counselor.”

So what? What could the counselor possibly have to say about him? He hadn’t told her anything.

“Yeah, well,” Adrien excused, breaking eye-contact to look over her shoulder. “I didn’t.”

“And why not?”

He shrugged uncomfortably. “I— I didn’t have anything to say? I’m fine—”

“Adrien,” she said softly, and he shut his trap. “You don’t have to pretend to be alright if you’re not.”

“That’s not what Father would’ve said,” he grumbled under his breath, nearly inaudible. A part of him hoped she hadn’t heard it.

Her eyes widened, so apparently she had. “Well. He’s not here.”

“So, what?” he began, the venom leaking from his tongue before he could stop it, “I’m supposed to be the new him? Follow in his footsteps, lock myself away and never leave the house again? Is that the only way to grieve?”

She was having none of it. Her hands gripped at his shoulders, and she leaned in closer. “Adrien,” she said, tone low, “I am only asking that you take one day to rest.”

“You’re not asking,” he mumbled, his eyes falling from her overwhelming gaze, fiddling with the rings on his fingers. “You’re demanding.”

He wondered how far he could push his luck. He never used to speak to Nathalie like this. What would happen if he pushed her over the edge? How would she punish him without ‘I’m informing your father’ as her lynchpin?

Maybe she’d pull him out of school completely. That’s what Father would’ve done.

“One day, Adrien.” She finally rose to her feet. “Come, have breakfast.”

That wasn’t true, though. It wouldn’t be one day. Today was Friday. If he didn’t go to school now, he wouldn’t for another three days. Three days of being alone, trapped in Monarch’s house with Mayura…

“I’m not hungry.”

“Try to eat anyway.” She held her hand out to him. “Come.”

He hesitated. She kept holding out her hand.

He didn’t have much of a choice, did he?

He walked past her and to the kitchen.

*****

After a particularly tense breakfast, Adrien had excused himself back to his room. His claim of being ‘tired’ and wanting to ‘rest’ had worked like a charm.

His bedroom door shut behind him, and he was alone.

“Yes! A lazy day in!” Plagg cheered, “I love those—”

“Plagg,” Adrien spoke, his inflection apparently clear by the way Plagg immediately whined, “claws out.”

Chat Noir took off out the window.

He leapt and bounded over rooftops, allowing himself the simple pleasure of flips and twirls on the journey— anything that could get the adrenaline pumping through his veins, that could help push away the exhaustion creeping through his bones.

( He’d asked if he could have some coffee with breakfast. Nathalie had refused. )

He landed in a crouch on rooftop just a couple blocks shy of his lycée, surveying the area for the best spot to detransform—

His ear twitched, a sharp gasp cutting through the air. His gaze flicked down to the source, to a small group of civilians staring at him, hand over mouth in fear as they stepped away from him.

He stared, frozen in place, mouth agape as the citizens turned and ran. From Chat Noir.

He tried to ignore the feeling of a brick dropping in his chest. He tried to ignore the betrayal, the injustice of it all, instead turning and leaping into the nearest alleyway he saw.

“Claws in,” he rasped, and then Adrien Agreste was rushing down the sidewalk, intent on making it to school on time. Nathalie had stalled him longer than he would’ve liked— talking about the importance of rest and counselors and wellness and whatever else he’d barely paid attention to.

As he neared the entrance, his face twisted into a smile, his lips tugging into his cheeks as he straightened his back and marched into the school. Students turned their heads as he passed, but he made a point to ignore their whispers, focusing instead on each step that he took—

“Adrien?” Adrien turned his head to the familiar voice, catching sight of Nino’s balking face. Nino rushed up to him, tearing the headphones off his head as he did so, “Dude, I— Hey! How are you?”

Adrien grinned. “Good morning, Nino.”

Nino blinked, mouth slightly agape. “Uhh… yeah. Good morning. How are you?”

“Oh, I’m good! How are you?”

“I—” Nino blinked again. “Fine? You never answered any of my texts.”

Oh. Shoot.

“Oh, I…” Adrien blanked for a second, before making a sheepish smile. “Sorry. My phone was on silent, and then it slipped my mind…”

“I… Yeah, that’s fine, but I…” Nino swallowed. “I wasn’t actually expecting you to come in today. Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I b—” he tried, before cutting himself off. He could play stupid, but he couldn’t play that stupid. “Yeah. I’m fine.” He adjusted the strap of his bag. “What are you gonna focus on today?”

Nino stared at him for a long moment, and Adrien tried to keep his smile under his gaze. “I… Well, continue shooting the film, I guess. What… about you?”

“Oh, I don’t know!” Adrien perked up a bit, looking over Nino’s shoulder and down the halls. Everyone kept telling him, over and over again— don’t be like your father, be like yourself. But what was himself? He didn’t know, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t find out. This school had so many possibilities. So many rooms, so much knowledge to be had, so many opportunities to learn his calling. Wasn’t school just great? “Maybe I’ll try my hand at creative writing. Or programming. Or psychology. Or dance!”

“That… all sounds pretty cool… but are you sure you’re—”

“Maybe pottery,” Adrien decided, turning on his heel and marching towards the crafts room. He heard Nino scramble after him, his shoes squeaking against the hardwood as he joined Adrien’s side.

“Hey uh, you know, our lead actress told us she wouldn’t be coming in today,” Nino started, walking side by side with him, “so it probably wouldn’t be a big deal if I tell them I can’t shoot today, either. The team could take a break, maybe refine the script some more…”

“Why wouldn’t you shoot today?”

“Uh…”

“Adrien?” Alya’s voice gasped, and soon Adrien felt her join at his side, walking at his side opposite Nino. “You came to school today?”

“Of course!” Adrien turned to her with the smile of his that photographers had described as ‘radiant’ in the past. “I love school.”

Alya blinked owlishly at him, her eyes nervously flickering between him and Nino. He turned back to watch for the crafts room, feeling the two of them looking at each other from beyond his shoulders.

“Adrien, do you…” Alya trailed, as Adrien pushed into the crafts room.

He bounded in with confidence, hand to chin as he inspected the pottery wheels. How did one start pottery? He needed clay, of course. Where did they keep the clay?

Throwing some cabinets open and inspecting the various arts and craft supplies, he made his way down the line.

“What’re you looking for?” Alya asked, and Adrien wondered why she’d followed him in. Alya never spent her time in the crafts room.

“He said he wanted to try pottery,” Nino answered, apparently also joining them for some reason.

“So clay?” Alya hummed, throwing open a cabinet herself and helping the search. Nino joined in, too.

Well. That was nice. Not necessary of them, but nice. Adrien wasn’t about to complain.

“... and poor innocent Adrien, being caught in the crossfires!” He could just barely pick up Cerise’s voice say from her spot at their usual table, across the room. Adrien opened another cabinet. “Why do you think Chat Noir would do such an awful thing?”

Adrien pushed aside a jar of brushes, peeking behind them. Nothing.

“I— I don’t know,” he could hear Marinette stammer, as he crouched down to check the lower cabinets. “It, uh… seemed pretty random!”

“How do you think Ladybug and Chat Noir’s relationship will ever recover?” Cerise sighed, and Adrien’s eye twitched as he checked a drawer. “I mean… for a hero to betray their partner like that… all in order to prioritize their own selfish desires over Paris… Isn’t that just so unforgivable?”

“I… I don’t know…” Marinette whimpered, “Is it…?”

Alya cleared her throat loudly. “Hey, Marinette! Do you know where they keep the clay?”

“Huh— Alya? Why do you want— ADRIEN!?” Marinette shrieked, and Adrien looked to see Marinette launching to her feet. Cerise and Marinette both stared at him in shock, their mouths agape.

“Oh my gosh!” Cerise gasped, hands to her mouth. “Adrien! How are you doing?”

He tugged his lips into a smile. “Good.”

Marinette surged around the table, nearly tripping over her backpack on the way as she appeared at his side. “You— You came to school today?”

Why was everyone so shocked about that? “Yeah!”

Nino leaned forward, cupping his hand to Marinette’s ear and whispering something that Adrien couldn’t quite hear. Adrien opened another cabinet.

“Wha— no, he knows!” Marinette said, “I was with him yesterday!” She placed a hand on Adrien's shoulder. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be…” She gestured vaguely with her free hand. “... I don’t know— resting or…?”

He spun around to fully face her, smile wide. “I’m plenty rested!” Twenty collective minutes was plenty of sleep. “I’m just here to learn pottery!”

Her eyes widened. “Pottery?”

“That’s why I asked where the clay was,” Alya explained, a tenseness to her voice that Adrien didn’t quite understand. “We can’t find it.”

Marinette furrowed her brow in confusion. “Oh, um… it’s—”

“Oh, Adrien, let me help!” Cerise jumped to her feet, smile bright as she waltzed past him and towards a cabinet beside the sink. Throwing it open, she pulled out a large chunk of clay and a cutting wire. “Here you go!”

“Oh, great!” Adrien hurried to her side. “Thank you!”

“How much do you want?” she asked, holding the wire to the clay. “Whatcha makin’?”

“Oh, um…” He blinked. He hadn’t thought that far. “I don’t know. A… bowl?”

She giggled. “You ever done pottery before?” She sliced off a sizable chunk of the clay.

“No.” He watched as she collected some more supplies for him— a couple metal tools, a sponge, and a plastic cup that she filled with water at the sink.

“Here! Let me help you!” She smiled and led him to one of the pottery wheels, to which he happily followed— along with a trail of three sets of footsteps behind him. “I’m not much of a potter myself, but I know some of the basics!”

He sat at the wheel and watched with rapt attention as Cerise set the stage for him. As she explained the process, she wet the clay and stuck it to the center of the wheel, slipping behind him and slotting her hands against his, guiding him. He felt her body press against his back as his foot pressed gently against the pedal, making the wheel spin.

He looked up to the other three, who were still just standing there, staring at him. Didn’t they have other things to do? “What about you guys?”

They seemed to startle at the question. Nino asked, “Huh— wha?”

“You guys can join in!” Cerise said, as Adrien pressed his thumbs into the center of the clay, watching with rapt awe as the slippery clay began to meld to his fingertips. “Just grab some clay! I’m sure Marinette can help you.”

Some mutters were shared, and after a moment, he heard the three walk over towards the chunk of clay beside the sink. But Adrien wasn’t paying them much attention. Instead, he was focused on his bowl, slowly being shaped and melded between his fingertips. Following Cerise’s instructions, he added more water, and the clay felt so slippery and nice in his hands. It was hypnotic, watching his creation come to life before his eyes. Maybe he really did like pottery—

The perfect, circular edge of his bowl began to lose shape and wobble, and he lifted his foot from the pedal. The wheel slowed to a stop, and his bowl, well…

It wasn’t much of a bowl anymore. The edge was completely warped, nowhere near a circle. It was beginning to collapse in on itself, and he imagined…

Monarch, standing behind him, cane pressed to Adrien’s throat, scoffing and pinching his nose and asking, ‘What is that supposed to be?’

“Oh! Yeah, that’ll happen if it gets too wet or thin,” Cerise explained, “Happens all the time, you can just crumple it up and start again—”

Adrien stood up. “Programming.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Alya, Nino, and Marinette staring at him, chunks of freshly cut clay in each of their hands.

He wasn’t good at pottery. He failed at it, and he would never be good at it, but maybe—

“Programming,” he said again, fingers twitching at his sides. He snatched his school bag from the ground and surged out of the room in renewed determination.

He marched down the hall, weaving through the passing students, ignoring all the eyes on him. He heard Marinette call his name, but he continued to surge on until he found the computer science room.

He practically slammed the door open and entered. Some students lifted their gazes from their computers, their eyes widening at the sight of him. Max included.

“Adrien,” Max greeted, adjusting his glasses. “I am shocked to see you. Considering the circ*mstances, the chances of you coming to school were a mere two point nine percent—”

“How do I code?”

Max blinked. “What?”

Adrien pulled up a chair beside him and plopped down, powering on the computer monitor. “How do I code?”

Max shared a look with Markov, who was hovering just above his shoulder. The door to the computer lab swung open again, and Marinette, Nino, and Alya spilled into the room.

What about their clay?

Markov spoke up, “Are you three here to learn programming as well?”

Nino swallowed. “Uh.”

“S…ure…?” Alya said, pulling out a seat at an open computer and sitting down.

“I— I guess?” Marinette stammered, sitting down at the computer beside Adrien. Nino found an open computer as well.

“Well… alright. I would be happy to help. I had no idea you all had interest in computer science.” Max paused. “Which language would you like to learn?”

Adrien breathed, “What?”

“Which language?”

Adrien stared at him.

“High-level, I presume?”

Adrien stared at him.

“Object-oriented?”

Adrien stared at him.

“C? Java? HTML? Python? C++? Javascript? C#? Ruby? Pascal?”

Adrien stared at him.

“Dude,” Nino chimed in, “just pick something for him.”

“Us?” Marinette corrected.

“Yeah,” Alya said, “pick something for us.”

Max had mercy on him, and next thing they knew, he was instructing them on setting up a basic Java program. Very simple, just to print ‘Hello World’ to the console.

Typing was awkward, the once slippery clay had begun to dry uncomfortably to hands. He was getting pottery dust all over his keyboard, and before Adrien could even click ‘run’ on his program, the IDE highlighted a line— the only line that he had actually typed himself— red with the words ‘syntax error’.

Mayura, standing behind him, one hand gripping his shoulder, the other pinching her nose in a scoff and saying, in his father’s voice, ‘What is that supposed to be?’

Well. That was weird.

Max spoke, “That’s correct, but in Java you must end each line with a semicolo—”

“Yo, Max!” Kim burst into the room, “Can you come time my laps— Oh, whoa! Adrien! Is it true that Chat Noir wants your whole family dea—”

Marinette snapped, “Kim!”

Adrien practically launched to his feet. “Swimming.”

Max blinked at him. “What?”

So he wasn’t a programmer. He wasn’t smart enough for it, and he couldn’t even code a single line without messing it up. But maybe he could be a competitive swimmer. He knew how to swim already. He already had one foot in the game.

Also, he desperately needed to get his hands wet. The setting clay was really starting to bother him.

“We’re… going swimming now?” Alya asked awkwardly.

“Huh?” Max asked, “But you’ve barely even starte—”

“I am,” Adrien answered. He turned on his heel and left the room, marching down the hall with renewed vigor.

“Dude!” he heard Nino call, followed by the sounds of multiple pairs of footsteps rushing after him. In a second, the three caught up with him and walked with him. “Did you, uh— bring a swimsuit?”

Oh.

“Track,” Adrien decided instead, turning on his heel and heading to the door to the courtyard.

“What?” Marinette gasped, scrambling to his side and clasping his hand in hers.

“Track,” he repeated.

“Without shoes?” Alya asked, which was ridiculous. Forgetting his swimsuit was one thing, because Adrien didn’t usually swim at school, but he did walk. He looked down at his feet, because of course he was wearing…

… socks.

He stopped on a dime, eyes locked on his blasted feet. Socks. Socks. He was only wearing socks. He had never put shoes on.

Idiot. Stupid. How ridiculous do you look right now? No wonder everyone’s been giving you weird looks. Something’s wrong with you. You’re unstable, and you’re unwell, and you’re Monarch’s son, and you destroyed your dead father’s monument in a fit of rage, because you’re some kind of vicious monster, and Ladybug is planning on ‘dealing’ with you, and you’re never going to find anything that you’re good or even passable at, because the only thing you’ve ever been good at is following the orders of a supervillain who never even loved you and is dead now—

“... Adrien?” Marinette asked softly, carefully, like she was concerned, like something was wrong. He whipped his head up to look at her, wondering how long he had blanked out. “Are you okay…?”

He plastered on a grin. “I just forgot my shoes! I’m fine! Happens to everyone!”

She exchanged looks with Alya and Nino— looks that Adrien didn’t particularly like all too much. Instead of dwelling on their pity— people always pitied him as of late, so what else was new?— he spun on his shoeless heel and headed for his new destination.

“Where are we going now?” Nino asked, as the three began to follow again.

“Music,” Adrien declared. Because he already knew how to play piano, he was already good at it. Maybe his problem was that he was trying things that were too new to him. Trying something familiar would certainly go better. What could go wrong?

Seated at the piano in the music room, he tried to play a piece he knew by heart.

He missed a note. And got clay dust on the keys.

Next, he tried creative writing. Alya tried to encourage him, asking him what he wanted to write. A short story? Fanfiction? Original fiction? A poem? He wrote “The” into a word document and realized it was the most unoriginal thing he could’ve conceivably written.

Next, he tried dance. But exhaustion was seeping into his bones, and when he tried to stand on one leg, he briefly lost his balance.

Next, he tried drama. He took one step into the room, remembered that his father had once encouraged his acting career, and left.

Woodworking. Physics. Photography. Psychology. Painting. Chemistry. Guitar. Adrien bounced from room to room, failure after failure, friends at his heels.

He was marching down the hall towards the history room, passing the front entrance, when he saw her. A familiar tall figure, dressed in black and red, in the corner of his eye.

Nathalie.

He gasped, jumping back and hiding behind the wall, his heart slamming in his chest.

Nathalie was here. She was at the school, before the front office, talking to the principal, clearly looking for him—

“What’s wrong?” Nino asked him, brow twisted in concern.

Adrien merely shook his head in response, afraid that speaking could mean being heard. Alya stepped forward, peeking out beyond the wall.

“Is that… Nathalie?” she asked, turning to Adrien confused. “What’s she doing here?”

Adrien swallowed.

“Huh?” Marinette furrowed her brow, and looked too. “Wait— why are you hiding from her?”

He held a finger up to his lips, silently shushing them. He slipped around them and corralled them away from the front office, away from Nathalie, and into the library.

Door shut behind them, he hurried behind a set of bookcases. They followed, their looks of confusion only growing greater by the second. He whispered, “I’m not officially at school right now.”

“What?” Marinette whispered back, “What do you mean—”

He fiddled with his rings, heart racing. “I— I’m supposed to be in my room right now.”

Alya gaped. “You snuck out to go to school?”

“That shocks you?” Nino huffed, “That’s the most Adrien thing I’ve ever heard.”

Adrien tried, “Well, I—”

The library door swung open, and through the books on the shelf, Adrien could make out Principal Damocles.

Adrien gasped and spun around in a panic, his heart racing as he heard the heavy footsteps coming their way. His eyes honed in on a large potted fern in the corner, and before he even had time to think about it, he was leaping behind it and crouching down behind the leaves.

“Ahh, Lahiffe, Césaire, Dupain-Cheng!” Principal Damocles’ voice called out, tone friendly, “Just the group I wanted to see!”

“P-Principal Damocles!” Alya gasped in greeting, “Hello!”

“H-Hey, du— err— Monsieur,” Nino tried through a nervous laugh, “What’s up?”

“You three haven’t happened to see Adrien Agreste today, have you?” the principal asked. Adrien curled up tighter behind the plant.

Marinette squeaked, “Why do you ask?”

“He was meant to stay home today,” Damocles explained, “but he’s disappeared, and his guardian has reason to believe he may have come to school. Have you seen him?”

“Aahh…” Marinette breathed.

“Nope!” Nino squeaked, “Nope! He’s not here!”

“Haven’t seen him,” Alya said.

“Did she check his bathroom?” Marinette asked, “Maybe he’s— he’s home but is just… in a bathroom! His house has so many!”

“Hmmmm…” Damocles hummed, as Adrien held his hand to his mouth in an attempt to muffle his breathing. “Madame Sancoeur is very worried. Given Monsieur Agreste’s… unfortunate circ*mstances… coupled with yesterday’s events…” Adrien squeezed his eyes tight. “... I’m sure you can imagine how distressing it’d be for him to disappear.”

Silence. His friends didn’t have anything to say to that, apparently. Adrien swallowed harsh and hoped it wasn’t as outwardly audible to the room as it sounded to himself.

“... I imagine that resting at home would do him good. Don’t you?” Damocles mused, “As opposed to subjecting himself to the hustle and bustle of crowds of curious students…” He hummed. “Best for everyone involved if he’s brought home to rest. Yes?”

Silence. Again. And Adrien’s heart was slamming in his chest.

“We’ll… tell you if we see him,” Alya finally said, breaking the silence.

“Y-Yeah,” Nino swallowed, “As soon as we see him, we’ll tell you.”

“Mhhmm!” Marinette hummed high.

“Hmmm… Yes. Very good. I expect that you will.” Damocles paused. “... Carry on, then.”

Heavy footsteps left, growing quieter by the second, and Adrien heard the squeak of the library door swinging open and clicking back shut.

After a moment, Nino peeked through the fern leaves. “Dude. He’s gone.”

Adrien let out a long breath and crawled out from his hiding place.

“Yeah, but you know we’re gonna get caught, right?” Alya sighed, as he climbed to his feet with the help of Marinette’s outstretched hand. “If he’s going around asking people if they’ve seen you, he’ll know you’re here. Everyone’s seen us around, we’ve been everywhere.”

“Well, I…” Adrien tried, his voice dying in his throat. He fiddled with his rings, eyes darting around the room, gears turning in his head as he tried to think. What could he do? Everyone had been staring at him all day, they all knew he was there, and if they were informed that he shouldn’t be, then they’d surely tattle his last known location first chance they got. How could he keep trying to find himself if he had to stay hidden?

Maybe he could borrow Nino’s cap and Alya’s hoodie and Marinette’s glasses again— but wait, he never gave back the first ones he’d borrowed, they were still in his room, stolen from them, because he forgot to bring them just like he forgot to put on his shoes, and now his friends that he’d stolen from were going to get in trouble and—

“Dude,” Nino spoke, and Adrien startled to face him as an arm was placed around his back. “You good?”

“Why’d you come to school?” Marinette asked gently, her hands grasping his and squeezing them. “I mean— why not… stay home and rest?”

“I don’t need to rest!” Adrien tried to explain, desperate for them to understand, “I’m fine! I’m perfectly fine. I’m not— I’m not unwell. I’m not unstable!”

Apparently, that wasn’t the right thing to say. The three looked stricken and exchanged startled glances with one other— but why? Nothing was wrong. He was fine. He was fine!

“I’m fine,” he repeated, the word ‘fine’ catching in his throat in a way that sounded distinctly unfine. He tried to swallow it down, along with tears that were threatening to start clouding his vision. “I’m fine. I-I’m okay, why does everyone— why is everyone assuming how I— how I feel—”

“Dude,” Nino said gently, “After that stunt Chat Noir pulled?” Adrien sucked in a harsh breath. Marinette squeezed his hands tighter. “Anyone would be—”

“I’m fine,” Adrien choked, yanking his hands out of Marinette’s so he could cover his face, feeling himself losing the battle against his tears. Marinette placed her hands consolingly at his arms.

“Okay. You know what?” Alya spoke up, “I’m volunteering as sacrifice.”

“What?” Marinette asked.

“I’ll be the bad guy,” Alya said, “The snitch. I’m going to get Nathalie—”

“What?” Adrien gasped, whipping his face out of his hands, “NO!”

Alya frowned at him, a pitying look in her eyes that he distinctly hated, and turned on her heel. He tore away from Nino and Marinette and tried to chase after her as she marched out of the library, but as he rushed out from their spot behind the bookcase, eyes surrounded him.

The library was nowhere near empty. Students sat at desks and stood at bookcases, their heads turned to look at him— they were whispering with each other, and he could make out the mutterings of ‘... Adrien Agreste…’ and ‘... Chat Noir…’ and ‘... Principal Damocles…’, their gazes flicking between him and the librarian on duty.

He sucked in a sharp breath and stumbled back out of their oppressive stares, hand to his racing heart. He sucked in another breath, and he was trapped, and he couldn’t move, and he sucked in another breath, and everyone must’ve thought he looked so unstable, so monstrous, so unwell, and Nathalie was going to come for him— Mayura was coming for him— and he’d be pulled out of school forever for his disobedience, and he’d lose the only friends he had left, because he’d already lost all his superhero ones, because he was a villain and he was Monarch’s son, and then his father really would have died for nothing because he’d be right back to being all locked up and alone like his father would’ve wanted him to be and—

His back hit the wall, and he barely registered Nino and Marinette’s startled sounds as he sank to the floor, gasping for air because he couldn’t breathe, and he was dying, and—

“Adrien! Adrien, it’s okay, you’re okay!” Marinette gasped, scrambling to her knees beside him, clutching his hand in a vice. “Breathe!”

“We’re here, dude! We got you!” Nino knelt at his other side, grasping his other hand.

Adrien squeezed their hands tight, too tight probably, but he couldn’t bring himself to care enough to do anything about the fact he was certainly hurting them when the world was falling apart around him and—

The sound of footsteps grew closer and closer, and through his unfocused eyes, he saw a pair of black dress pants stop just before him. The legs knelt, and a pair of sharp blue eyes stared right into him.

“Adrien,” Nathalie spoke, and he gasped for air. “Breathe with me. In…”

He sucked in a quick sharp breath.

“No. Try again. Until I tell you to stop. In…” He breathed in. “... … … Hold.” He held. “… … … … … Out.” He breathed out, only then noticing that she was motioning her hand along with her commands. He watched her hand, following its timing as he breathed in, held, out, in, held, out…

And, well. He started to feel just a bit silly. The panic subsided, replaced instead with the mortification of the situation— sitting on the floor of the school library, Nathalie knelt before him, his friends at his sides, and whispers of other students around…

He wiped the tears from his face with his arm and sniffled, trying to pull himself up onto wobbly legs. Nathalie grasped his hands and lifted to her feet, standing tall, more than steady enough to be his anchor as he righted himself.

Images of Nathalie, her cheeks sunken in and face pale, bedridden, unable to walk without the assistance of mechanical legs, flashed through his mind. He sucked in a shaking breath and wiped harsher at his eyes, wondering how such a miracle could exist in the midst of his tragedy of a life.

“Come,” she said, her hand finding itself at his back— and he wanted to argue, wanted to scream and shout and run, but he was so tired, so sick of his misery being a spectacle of entertainment.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a boy— not anyone that he recognized— holding his phone camera up, recording the whole exchange. Adrien hung his head, tugging the collar of his shirt up to mask his face, as he allowed Nathalie to guide him out.

“I’m sorry,” Alya whispered as he passed. He doubted it.

“Thank you,” Nathalie answered when he didn’t.

“Call me?” Nino asked. Adrien didn’t answer.

“I-I love you,” Marinette whimpered. “I’m sorry,” she added under her breath, as if she’d done anything to cause this.

His eyes stayed locked on his socks as Nathalie led him to the library door. He wanted to hurry, to pass the person with the camera as quickly as he could, but Nathalie must not have agreed. Instead, she slowed to a stop.

“Here.”

“Hu— What?” the boy asked, startled.

“Your phone,” Nathalie declared, her voice sharp, and Adrien peeked up over his collar to see her hand outstretched, “Give it here.”

The boy gaped and, after only a moment of hesitation, placed the phone in her open palm.

Adrien watched as she tapped at the screen, ending the recording and promptly deleting the video. She tossed the phone back to the student, who scrambled to catch it against his chest, as she resumed leading Adrien out of the library.

He continued the walk of shame out of the lycée. His bodyguard stood at the school entrance, his eyes shooting wide at the sight of him. He held the door open for them, and they passed through, walking to the car.

‘I’m sorry,’ Adrien almost said, head hung in shame, belted into the carseat. But then the car engine turned on, and he looked up enough to see the exhaustion in Nathalie’s eyes through the rear-view mirror, and he found himself unable to speak.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

The horror in Ladybug’s eyes, tears streaming down her face as she reaches for the desecrated flowers. Chat Noir, eyes wild and face red as he turns to the crowd and shouts “I’M GLAD HE’S DEAD!”

Lying on his side on his couch, draped in a blanket, ignoring the cheese documentary that Plagg had put on the TV to help him ‘relax’ and the hot cup of tea on the coffee table that Nathalie had brewed for him, Adrien stared at his phone screen, body numb and frozen as he watched the video play.

Ladybug, hands shaking as she grasps for her yo-yo, tossing it into the air with a choked cry, “Lucky Cha—”

A black figure blocked his vision of the screen, and the audio stopped, Plagg tapping away at his phone. Adrien swiped him away, but he was too late— the app he’d been using to watch the video had been closed, replaced instead with Marinette’s texts.

(yesterday)

Marinette: ODNT JWATCH THE NEWS IM COMING OVER

Marinette: I love you!! 💕💕💕 it was so good seeing you!! good night! rest well ok? Im always here to talk if you need

Marinette: call or text or video or anything!!! anytime!!!

Marinette: ilysm xoxoxoxo

(today)

Marinette: I love you I love you we all love you

Marinette: its ok to rest!! and to be upset!!!

Marinette: im so sroury about everythign yo udont desvre any of this i lovey ou

Marinette: do you want me to come over again later? ?? i can if you want id love to come over adn see you after i deal w something and then il lb e free to cuddle talk kiss whatever

Marinette: or if you want to be alone thats fine too and makes sense whatever you need!!!!

Marinette: love you love you im so sorry

An ungodly noise left Adrien’s throat.

“If you’re gonna be on your phone, at least talk to your friends!” Plagg scoffed, “Or don’t! And take a nap instead! Just stop watching those stupid videos—”

Adrien closed the messaging app and swapped back to the video—

Plagg flew right back over and swapped it back to the messages. Nino’s, this time.

Adrien swiped Plagg away and swapped back to the video—

Plagg snatched the phone out of Adrien’s hand and tossed it haphazardly aside. It hit the floor a couple meters away with a thunk.

“Ooooh nnoooo!” Plagg faked a gasp, ignoring Adrien’s groan. “Guess you’ll just have to do something else!”

Adrien briefly considered the pros and cons of renouncing his miraculous, if only to get rid of Plagg’s nagging. It wouldn’t return his phone to his hand, though, and he didn’t want to get up to get it.

But… well…

… there was one way to get rid of Plagg and get a device in his hand, without having to even move a muscle.

He began, “Plagg—”

“Don’t you dar—”

“—claws out.”

The kwami’s complaints were silenced as the electric magic washed over Adrien, sending a shiver of renewed energy up his spine. And then Chat Noir was left to his own devices, free to do whatever he pleased…

Chat Noir snuggled further into his blanket and sank further into the couch, baton in hand, and moved to open up the browser—

A chime. Unread messages.

He didn’t care. He would deal with those later. He opened the browser and—

Another chime. New message. A notification appeared on the screen, blocking the search bar that he was about to type ‘chat noir evil’ into.

Ladybug: I SEE YOU ONLINE

… Dammit.

With a click of his tongue, he opened up his baton settings and promptly set his status to ‘invisible’.

Okay. Problem solved. Now, back to the browser—

Ladybug: ?? ?? DID YOU REALLY JUST SET YOURSELF INVISIBLE

Uh...

Ring ring ring…

Incoming video call— Ladybug

Oh, absolutely not. Even if he were willing to talk to her right now (he wasn’t), he wasn’t about to video call Ladybug while curled up in a blanket on his couch in his civilian bedroom.

He denied the call, and then went back to typing his important research into the search ba—

Ladybug: call denied? really? how can you deny a call if youre offline

He groaned.

Ladybug: chat noir. PLEASE. we NEED to talk

With a sigh, he tapped the notification, bringing him to their messaging history— unread messages included.

Ladybug: Hey. We need to talk. ASAP

Ladybug: I’m serious. As soon as you can we are TALKING

Ladybug: I still cant believe you did that

{ missed call }

Ladybug: please

{ missed call }

Ladybug: Im just gonna be on our rooftop until you show up

{ missed call }

Ladybug: please

Ladybug: I SEE YOU ONLINE

Ladybug: ?? ?? DID YOU REALLY JUST SET YOURSELF INVISIBLE

{ call denied }

Ladybug: call denied? really? how can you deny a call if youre offline

Ladybug: chat noir. PLEASE. we NEED to talk

Dammit. Dammit.

Chat Noir let out a long, wounded groan, throwing his head back and his arm over his eyes and sinking further into the couch. Couldn’t he just relax at home with some self-sabotage and pretend the world outside didn’t exist?

He was angry at her. He was so angry at her. And yet, still, the idea that she was going to be sitting on a rooftop all day waiting for him… and what if he didn’t show up? How long would she be there? That didn’t sit right with him.

His baton chimed again, and he peeked at the screen.

Ladybug: Please.

A whine escaped his throat, and next thing he knew, he was melting off the couch— head and shoulders on the floor, blanket tangled in his legs.

He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and allowed himself one last moment of peace—

Baton chimed.

Ladybug: i am going to KILL you if you dont respond. I KNOW YOURE TRANSFORMED

He rolled his eyes and swung his legs over and off the couch, kicking the blanket off and jumping up to his feet. Well. If he was going to go get skinned alive by a bug, he may as well not leave Nathalie worrying while he did it.

( She’d been checking on him regularly, since she’d brought him home. Apparently, she didn’t fully trust him to not disappear from his room again. Go figure. )

He marched to the bathroom, shut the door, and turned on the shower. Supposing that was probably enough to keep Nathalie satiated for however long it took for him to be ‘dealt’ with by Ladybug (he sure hoped it would be quick and painless)— he took off out the bathroom window.

He leapt and marched across rooftops, pointedly ignoring the gazes of startled Parisians from below as he took his time. He may not have wanted Ladybug to wait there all day for him, but that didn’t mean he’d have to rush.

Chime after chime rang out from his baton’s spot on his back as he closed in on the location. He saw Ladybug pacing her usual spot, typing furiously at her yo-yo, scowl etched onto her face.

Oh, yeah. This was going to go just swimmingly.

He took a long, deep, steadying breath to calm his nerves, before leaping onto the nearest chimney.

That alone didn’t catch her attention, so he took the opportunity to lie down beside the chimney caps. Resting on his side, he propped his cheek in hand and looked down at her, belt tail flicking below. He waited for her to notice him.

She paced some more. She glared at her yo-yo. She furiously typed.

His baton chimed just as the buckle of his tail smacked against the chimney brick.

Ladybug startled, whipping her head up and spinning around to face him, mouth silently agape.

He pretended to inspect his claws. “You rang?”

She scoffed, depositing her yo-yo back at her hip. “See? I knew you were transformed.”

“I got an inclination that something was bugging you,” he hummed, side-eyeing her. “You know. Animal instincts.”

“Really?” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and shifting her weight onto her left leg, “Even after that stunt you pulled, you’re going to give me sass?”

“What stunt?” He faked a yawn, rolling onto his back and placing both hands behind his head. “That was a scratching post.”

“Chat. Noir.” She growled. “Get down from there and talk to me like a person.”

“I’m not a person,” he sneered, eyes closed and tail still lashing against the brick, “I’m a monster.”

“... What?”

“The new villain. A defector. An anti-hero, if we’re being charitable.” He counted on his claws. “A sleeper akuma. A threat to Paris. A double agent. Your abusive boyfriend—”

“What?” she scoffed, “What are you talking about—”

“I mean, seriously. A black cat with the power of destruction?” He drawled, turning his head to the opposite side from her, looking over the Parisian skyline. “Could you get any more villain-coded?”

“What are you saying?” she asked, exhausted.

“That’s what everyone’s saying, anyway,” he huffed, turning his head back around to narrow his eyes at her. “That’s why I need to be ‘dealt’ with. Right?”

“Yeah, see?” She rolled her eyes. “This is exactly why we need to talk.”

“What’s there to talk about? Let me guess. You want my miraculous?”

She glared. “What do you think?”

He scoffed. “Fine.” Kicking his legs up, he rolled off of the chimney, landing on his feet atop the roof. He sauntered over to her, more than ready to get it all over with, reaching for his ring—

She slapped her hands over his. “What? NO!”

He blinked, surprised, and looked to her with a furrowed brow.

“This is— god! This is what I’m talking about!” she groaned, releasing his hands and stepping back, “I’m not taking your miraculous, Chat Noir! This— THIS is—” She gestured to the air between them. “—exactly what they want!”

He frowned. “Who?”

“The person who. Keeps. TEXTING me!” She roared, snatching her yo-yo off her hip and chucking it, cord and all, into the chimney brick so hard it left a crack. The yo-yo simply bounced off and rolled back to her feet, undamaged.

Ladybug turned on her heel, hands to her hair as she began pacing again. “They clearly want to tear us apart— why else would they be texting us like this? Why else would they have started this? And it makes sense, doesn’t it? What’s the best way to beat Ladybug and Chat Noir? Ruin their partnership first!”

“To be fair,” he scoffed before he could think twice about it, arms crossed over his chest and shifting his hips, “you made it pretty easy for them.”

Ladybug spun on her heel to face him, eyes sharp and lips near a snarl. “No. You did.”

“I’m not the one who lied abou—”

“You. Never. LISTENED!” she snapped, “I tried, multiple times, to help you understand, and every time I tried to explain this very delicate situation to you, you tore off! To pull… pull…” She nearly roared, “stunts like THAT!”

“You know me, Chat Noir, the real deal!” He bowed. “I always do my own stunts.”

“I. Am…” She seethed, stepping back from him and clenching her fists at her sides. “... So. So. Sooooo mad at you. I’m furious. I’m honestly at risk of being akumatized just looking at you, I—” Squeezing her eyes shut, she sucked in a long, sharp breath in some attempt to calm herself. She peeked an eye open and turned her head, looking out over the skylines. “... Which, again, is exactly what they want. Right?”

“Oh, my lady…” He sighed, pouting and placing a hand at his chest. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize how much you adored Monarch and his hideous statue. What? Was he your dad or something?”

She scowled at him, a fire in her eyes that had him regretting the sass at least a little bit. “No. But he was Adrien’s.”

Nevermind. Regret gone. “Yeah. So I’ve heard. So what?”

“‘So what?’ So there’s somebody out there, an innocent, who will be hurt if—”

“So. What?” he sneered. “That’s not your business.”

She gaped. “What?”

“That’s not your business,” he scoffed, “It’s not your job to clean up the mess Monarch made of his family. It’s not your job to lie to them—”

Ladybug squeezed her eyes tight and took another deep breath. “You don’t understand.”

“Fine.” He narrowed his eyes. “So help me understand.”

“This is…” She took a long sigh and gazed out over the skyline. “... This is a disaster waiting to happen. I just know it.”

He frowned. “What?”

“Bunnyx, if I’m about to make a huge mistake, please just tell me!” Ladybug shouted out to the sky, squeezing her eyes tight and throwing her arms out.

And then she… waited.

He stared at her. “... What?”

Ladybug peeked an eye open and looked around.

“What does Bunnyx have to do with anything?”

Ladybug whimpered, lowering her hands back to her sides. “... I’ve been weighing the pros and cons here. This… situation really put us in a bad spot.”

“Pros and cons?” He narrowed his eyes.

She gestured one hand out. “On the one hand, we have our secret identities, which keep us safe.” She gestured her other out. “On the other hand, we have our partnership, which also keeps us safe, and is hanging by a thread with a mysterious new butterfly wielder who is clearly waiting for us to be at our weakest to strike or akumatize us.” She wiggled both hands up and down like a wobbling scale. “Which is more important?”

He stared at her for a long moment, her words sinking in. “What… do our identities have to do with anything?”

She clapped her hands together. “Because I need. To make you. Understand.”

Frowning, he kept staring at her, waiting for her to explain.

She sighed. “... I… admittedly? I have a… personal bias here, okay? A really, really strong personal bias, that I absolutely cannot turn back on.”

What?

“I just…” She swallowed. “... Trust me when I say that this situation is delicate. So much more than I could expect an outsider to understand, and I…” She looked to him, eyes soft and miserable. “... You’re a good person, Chat Noir. I know you are. You’re kind. And I understand why you’re upset, I really do, but… but if you knew him like I do, you’d…”

“What?” he mouthed, no sound leaving his throat. He sucked in a breath and said, “Who?”

Ladybug stepped to him, closing the distance between them. “Adrien Agreste absolutely can not know that his father was Monarch.”

That struck him. He stumbled back a step. “What?”

“Under no circ*mstances,” she continued, somewhere between a plea and a demand, a miserable look in her eyes, “can Adrien Agreste find out.”

Ignoring the slamming of his heart in his chest, he asked, “How do you know he doesn’t already know?”

Her eyes darkened. “He doesn’t.”

A desperate laugh escaped his lips, an inappropriate reaction to the churning emotions in his gut. “How do you know he— he wasn’t working for him the whole time? That he always knew—”

“You don’t know him.”

“You don’t know him,” he countered, blood pumping in his ears.

“Yes,” she whispered, delivering another strike to his heart, “I do.”

He stumbled back another step. “No, you— you don’t. How would you—”

“You have no idea how hard this has all been on him,” she said, a near imperceptible quiver to her voice, “You have— you have no idea, Chat Noir. He lost his mom and his dad. He lost both parents in the span of two years, a-and… and he was trying to be so strong about it, but you could tell he was barely holding it together, and that was before you cataclysmed his dead father’s monument—”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “What?”

“—and for what? So you could get some revenge on a man who’s already dead?” she hissed, “Monarch is gone. He’s dead. And I hated that horrible statue too, Chat Noir, but what did destroying it do? It didn’t hurt Monarch. Nothing we do can hurt him, we can’t punish a dead man, but we can hurt his son. His son, who loved his father and who’s done nothing to deserve—”

“You think he’d want this?” he cut in, somehow finding the voice to speak despite everything, “You think— you think he wouldn’t want to know?”

Her eyes darkened. “He can’t know.”

“Why not?” he mouthed.

“It would break him,” she whispered, “You don’t understand. It would… It would destroy him.”

“You think he wouldn’t be able to handle it?” he couldn’t help but hiss, “You— You think he can’t take it?”

“It would hurt him,” she said with certainty, and it wasn’t like he could argue that fact. “It would hurt him. So. Much. And he— do you realize what you did to him? When you destroyed that statue? He was so terrified and confused, he had a breakdown at school and—”

“What?” he choked out, stumbling back and grasping his chest. Ladybug knew about that?

Oh god, had she seen it?

“I get it, Chat Noir. I do. I get that it was awful of me to lie to you. I get how you felt betrayed. I understand the anger,” she barreled on, oblivious to his distress, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to lie to you specifically. But this secret needs to be kept, because if it got out, Adrien would suffer, and I will not let that happen.”

His mouth was useless to him. Instead he stood there, hand still to the slamming of his heart against his chest, mouth agape. Ladybug didn’t falter, her eyes kept on him, communicating through the determination of her features just how serious she was.

After a few beats of silence, he found the courage to ask, “Why… do you care so much?”

“I love him,” she answered instantly, knocking the air out of his lungs.

“Wh—What?” he sputtered, trying to catch his breath, trying to make sense of what was happening—

“I love him. So much.” She emphasized, hands at her heart. “I’m in love with him—”

“What?”

“—and if I’m forced to choose between the love of my life and Paris…” Her eyes darkened. “... Well...”

A thousand possibilities ran through his head, from the impossible to the all-too-probable. The possibility that Ladybug was a fan, a remnant from his modeling career, who attended his school and just so happened to be in the library today, and had broken up with her boyfriend at some point without telling Chat Noir, and it was all just a big coincidence. Or the possibility that—

“Marinette?” he choked out, the world crashing around him. Because he hadn’t believed it, couldn’t allow himself to believe such a wonderful terrible awful tragedy— but the moment it left his mouth, he knew it to be true. The moment the final syllable left his tongue, he saw his girlfriend’s face shift beneath the mask, recognized the misery in her eyes, saw the way her face crumpled instead of denying what was so clearly the truth.

He opened his mouth to speak again— to say something, to acknowledge the way his world had shattered around him yet again, just as it always seemed to— but no words left his tongue. He was left gaping like a fish, all his thought and energy concentrated on keeping himself from collapsing to the concrete.

“Do you get it?” Marinette added in a whisper.

“You lied to me,” he breathed.

“He was my boyfriend’s dad. I couldn’t—”

“He was my dad,” he choked out.

She stared at him, her brow twisting in confusion. “... What?”

“He was. My dad.” He slapped his hand against his chest in emphasis. “He was my father. Marinette, he was my father…”

Her stare turned tense, her eyes widening, the crease of her brow deepening. She opened her mouth to say something, lips fluttering with no sound. Finally, she managed out, “What?”

“He was my…” he choked out, vision beginning to blur, “He was my father. And I— I deserved to— I deserved to know what happened to him—”

She paled, horror in her eyes. And she opened her mouth to speak again, but once again all she could say was a whispered “What?”

He couldn’t do this. He had to get away from this. Had to escape the betrayal, the pain, the terror of his world crashing down him again—

He spun on his heel and ran.

Ladybug— Marinette screamed after him, but he didn’t stop. He vaulted and sprinted across the rooftops, blood pumping in his ears, beelining it straight home.

He heard the zips of a yo-yo behind him. He heard her shouts, her cries, as she chased him through the rooftops. He didn’t let up, didn’t slow, needing to get away, get away, get away—

He leapt into his bedroom and scrambled for the remote to the window. Snatching it off the table and biting out a “claws in”, he pressed the button, the magic of his suit zapping off of him as the glass pane closed shut, just in time for—

Ladybug smacked against the pane, her palms pressed against the glass as she stared down at him in horror.

“ADRIEN!” she screamed, eyes blown wide, fist slamming against the window pane, rattling the sturdy glass. “ADRIEN, WAIT! ADRIEN!”

Adrien sucked in a harsh breath, backing away from her, grasping the hair at his scalp— and he needed to get away, get away, but she wasn’t going to leave any time soon, and his stupid windows didn’t have curtains—

He spun on his heel, ignoring the cries muffled by glass as he bolted into the bathroom and slammed the door shut.

Back against the door, he grasped at his heart and slid down to the floor. He gasped for air, warm tears streaming down his cheeks, the sound of Maribug’s muffled shouts still audible through the glass and door and sound of running shower water.

Hand to his mouth to muffle his sounds, he trembled. She continued to shout and cry his name, and he waited. Waited for her to finally stop, to give up, to leave him alone—

Silence.

He sniffled. He swiped at his eyes. He curled up into himself, hugging his legs, trying to calm himself down, trying to stop crying, because he was always crying as of late and he hated it—

Ladybug was Marinette.

Marinette was Ladybug.

Ladybug had been his girlfriend this whole time. Marinette had been his superhero partner this whole time. His current love had been his first love the whole time, and he wanted to laugh at the absurdity of the situation, at the strange, complicated web that was apparently his and Marinette’s intertwined destinies…

… but, god. He didn’t feel so happy about it.

Any other situation, and he would be ecstatic. Any other situation, and he would only be falling deeper in love. Any other situation, and he would be kissing her senseless right now, and it wouldn’t feel like a betrayal, and he wouldn’t feel like an idiot, and he wouldn’t be replaying all the times Marinette held him as he cried over his father in his head, wouldn’t be replaying all the ways she held his hand and lied straight to his face—

“Adrien?” Nathalie’s voice called through the bathroom door, and he sucked in a harsh breath. He heard her footsteps click against the hardwood, towards him, and then the knock of her knuckles against the door. “Marinette’s at the gate. She’d like to see yo—”

“ADRIEN!” Marinette’s voice cried out, her nearing footsteps slapping against the floor, her body practically slamming into the door with a bang, “Adrien, plea—”

“I don’t want to talk to her!” he snapped before he could think twice.

Nathalie gasped, “Adrien—”

“Adrien, PLEASE!” Marinette cried, “PLEASE! Please, talk to m—”

He squeezed the hair at his scalp, curling in further on himself, trying to ignore the pain in his chest as he shouted, “I don’t want to talk to her!”

“Adrien, please—!”

“Marinette,” Nathalie said, “I have to ask you to leave.”

“No! No, I n-need to—” Marinette hiccuped. “Adrien, PLEASE! Please, talk t—”

“I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO HER!”

“Marinette. Come with m—”

“ADRIEN!” He heard her grasp the door handle, and the door jostled behind him—

And he realized he’d never locked the door.

The door began to slide open, and he scrambled to his feet, grasping at the handle and pushing counter to her force, using all his strength to hold it closed.

“Marinette.” Nathalie’s voice came from behind the door, and Marinette’s push at the door weakened. “You have to leave.”

“No! NO! NO, I ha-have to ta-talk to hi—”

Heavy footsteps, the familiar grunt of his bodyguard, and Marinette’s force at the door completely left. Finally pushing the door completely closed, he flicked the lock and nearly fell forward, forehead to door, breaths heavy and tears trailing down his face as he listened to the commotion of bodies in his bedroom.

“I— I’LL CALL YOU!” Marinette cried out, her voice growing more and more distant above the sound of feet dragging against hardwood. “CALL ME! P-PLEASE, TEXT ME—”

A door slammed shut.

Silence.

Adrien stepped back from the door, trembling hand to mouth as he tried to muffle a sob. He backed up and turned, back to the mirror he was afraid to see, and allowed himself to crumple onto the floor.

Plagg settled onto his shoulder and nestled against him as he curled up beside the counter, his face in his knees, squeezing his eyes tight and feeling the tears fall.

“Adrien,” Nathalie said from outside the door after a short reprieve, her tone gentle, “What happened?”

He understood the words unsaid. You love Marinette. You always want to see Marinette. This isn’t like you.

“I…” Adrien hiccuped, “... I don’t want to talk to you, either.”

A beat of silence. Terrible, tense silence.

“We will talk,” she said, and he sucked in a breath. “... But it doesn’t have to be now.”

He nodded against his knees, as if she could see.

“... Is there anything I can do?” she asked sadly.

“No,” he muttered, gripping his knees tighter and waiting until he heard the sound of leaving footsteps.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Thank god for the weekend.

Alone. Alone. He got to be alone, with no responsibilities beyond his bed and couch.

Well… as alone as he was allowed to be. He still had to deal with Plagg and Nathalie— but Plagg was being uncharacteristically tolerable, and Nathalie generally left him to his own devices.

He just didn’t want to talk to anyone.

Phone long abandoned— still silenced and face-down on the floor in the corner of his room where Plagg had chucked it— Adrien didn’t have to answer or talk to anyone. No texts and no calls to worry about, Adrien merely spent his days rewatching some of his favorite movies, playing video games, and resting.

And, sure, maybe he wasn’t so much ‘watching’ the movies as he was zoning out in the general direction of them, and maybe cycling through the options of a pause menu of a video game wasn’t generally considered ‘playing’, and maybe, when Nathalie told him to ‘rest’, hiding under his sheets and crying into his pillow hadn’t exactly been what she’d meant…

… but, dammit, he was trying his best.

He thought of Ladybug— of Marinette— telling him that she didn’t trust that he could handle the truth. And he wanted to prove her wrong. He wanted to prove to her that he was strong, that he wouldn’t ‘break’, that she wasn’t right to hide such things from him…

… but, dammit, he really did feel broken.

Sometimes, he would catch a blip of red atop the rooftops beyond his windows, hiding among the chimneys. When that happened, and it happened far more often than he would’ve liked, he would lock himself in the bathroom until Plagg told him she’d left.

On Saturday, he decided that he was absolutely, under no circ*mstances, going to school on Monday. He just wanted to be alone, for however long Nathalie would allow him to.

On Sunday, Nathalie informed him that she’d scheduled him for professional counseling, after school. “I’m concerned,” she said.

On Monday, he decided to go to school.

Though his bodyguard had dropped him off on-time, Adrien meandered around the streets surrounding the school for a good while before finally entering. He didn’t want to see anyone, friend or not, and he figured the best way to ensure that would be to not show up when he’d be expected to.

Hands shoved in the pockets of Alya’s Majestia sweater, wearing Marinette’s sunglasses and tilting his head down to hide behind the brim of Nino’s cap, Adrien slipped past the crowds of students and into the library.

He didn’t know what else to do. He still hadn’t found his calling, had no idea what on Earth he could conceivably spend his time focusing on that wouldn’t end in failure. But the library was a safe enough bet. He could hide in the corner, maybe snag a bean bag, and read books until it was time to go home.

So that’s just what he did.

He grabbed some books— something about architectural history, a book of poetry, the one on linguistics that he’d never finished— and snagged a bean bag in the far-off corner of the library. Nobody seemed to notice him or care, so he settled down into the cushion with a sigh and began reading.

He started with the poetry book. It was the shortest of the three by far, and he decided he may as well start off on the easiest and work his way up.

One leg kicked over the other, he sank deep into his chair and turned the pages. It was nice enough. With his disguise, the fear of being recognized was mostly minimal, and none of his friends could even be certain that he’d come to school today, so surely he wouldn’t be bothered. If anything, the greatest risk to him was the very real threat of getting too comfortable and nodding off.

He lost track of time and, eventually, he finished. He shut the book and moved to set it aside—

A squeak. And he looked up to see a flash of black hair, disappearing behind the bookshelf— the books on the shelf rearranging suddenly as if to hide somebody’s face.

… And he was going to choose to ignore that. He was going to act like that squeak wasn’t incredibly familiar to him. He was going to pretend like Marinette hadn’t clearly found him.

As long as she didn’t approach, he would deal.

But, well, now he felt a bit trapped. He grabbed the linguistics book that he’d already once started, opened to the last page he’d been on, and locked his eyes on the words— but now he was aware of her watching him. He knew her well— apparently twice-over— and the chances that she’d actually left and given up were monumentally low.

If he got up, would she approach? If he finished his books and walked past her to grab a new one, would she make her move? Could he even go to the restroom safely, if the need arose?

He sighed, eyes glued on the pages of his book, and hoped in futility that she would somehow find it in herself to stop being the stubborn person he knew her to be and leave. He didn’t want to talk to her right now. He wasn’t sure he ever would.

He read his book. Slowly. Agonizingly slow. Far slower than his typical reading speed, partially because it was difficult to focus knowing Marinette was there, and partially because he did not want to run out of reading material.

After what felt like hours but most certainly wasn’t, he heard footsteps approach. He held his breath, face shoved in his book, and hoped it wasn’t Marinette, hoped she wasn’t going to try to attempt contact—

“Oh, excuse me!” Cerise said, and Adrien released his breath. She stepped past him, reaching for the top shelf just beside him. She grabbed a book, paused, and then… “... Wait!” She giggled. “Adrien! Is that you?”

“... Um.” He peeked up from his book, trying a smile that felt a tad unnatural. “Hi, Cerise.”

“Oh my gosh, hi!” she giggled, “What are you wearing? I mean— don’t get me wrong, you look great, of course, but it doesn’t seem your usual style. Sunglasses indoors?”

He gave a pathetic shrug.

“A disguise?” she mused.

He nodded with a small smile.

“Oh, of course! I wouldn’t want the attention, either, if I were in your position— but a disguise! I’d never have thought of that! You’re so smart!” She stepped away from him and grabbed an unused bean bag chair nearby, and he realized that she was dragging it over to sit with him. So much for being alone.

“I don’t know about that,” he muttered under his breath, turning his attention back to the words on the page. He didn’t feel so smart, lately. Anything but. The fool, who blindly believed everyone’s lies. The idiot, who had Monarch and Mayura living in the same house as him, right under his nose. The disappointment, who meandered destinationless around the school, while everyone else already knew their callings—

“No, Adrien, you are!” She was seated right next to him now, their bean bags pressed together. She leaned in close to him, her shoulder bumping his. “I mean, look at what you’re reading! You’re an academic. And all I usually do is mess around with watercolors…”

“There’s nothing wrong with watercolors,” he was quick to say, “It’s just a medium, like anything else. Lots of great artists worked with watercolors. Van Gogh, Dürer, Toulouse-Lautrec…”

“Okay, see?” she laughed, “You just had a list ready at the top of your head?” She sighed and leaned in even closer to him. “I’d love to get a peek inside your mind. It must be so… fascinating.”

He felt his cheeks warm a bit. “I… don’t know about that.” His mind wasn’t fascinating. Especially not as of late. It was probably more… depressing… or alarming or… some other uncomfortable adjective.

“It’s… okay if I sit and read with you, right? I’d love your company, but… I wouldn’t want to make you uncomfortable…”

“No, I… it’s okay.” He swallowed. “You don’t make me uncomfortable.”

“I think I do, a little bit,” she chuckled sadly.

His eyes widened. Had he given that impression? He… hadn’t meant to come across that way. “What? No, you… You don’t.”

“You know, Adrien…” She nearly turned completely on her side to face him, her hand placed delicately on his forearm. “... I’m an empath.”

He turned to face her, their faces perhaps a bit too close for his liking, but he wasn’t about to comment on it. “... Oh…?”

“I’m really good at reading people’s emotions.” She smiled, a twinkle in her eye. “And, well…” Her smile fell. “I can tell you’re uncomfortable! So, if not me, then… what… or who is bothering you?”

“... Um…” He wasn’t sure where he’d even begin, if he could.

“I mean, I know about… recent events, of course,” she explained, “But I can’t help but feel like… there’s something more to it, right? I mean…” She leaned in, whispering in his ear, “Is there a reason you didn’t stop by the crafts room?”

He bit his lip.

“No…” She gasped, placing a hand to her heart. “Did… something happen between… you and Marinette?”

… Eugh.

He sunk further into his bean bag chair, once again aware of the fact that Marinette could very well be listening in to this very conversation. But he didn’t know what to say. He was just so tired, and not in the mood to talk much at all— let alone defend his relationship that he simply didn’t feel very defensive of at the moment.

“No… Oh, no!” she whimpered, “Oh, I feel so bad… and just the other day, I was talking your guys’ ears off about how forever I thought you two were… I didn’t mean to jinx it!”

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured, staring at the page of his book.

“No, of course not… but oh, it just feels insensitive in hindsight…” She sighed. “Oh, Adrien… I’m so sorry. You know… I know I’ve mentioned it before, but… I know what it’s like to have your heart broken by somebody.”

He sucked in a shaking breath and turned the page of his book, despite the fact he hadn’t even read the last one.

“Can I ask what happened?”

No. He swallowed, and muttered, voice low enough that hopefully Marinette couldn’t hear, “I’d rather not talk about it.”

“Oh, that’s okay! I understand completely,” she said back, not quite so quiet. “So… what books do you have there?”

He swallowed. “Um…” He showed her the cover of the book he was currently reading, hoping it’d explain itself. She smiled bright and practically crawled over him, reaching past him to grab the other two books that he’d set at a small end table beside him. He stiffened until she returned back to her previous seat, his books in her lap.

“Oh… poetry!” Cerise beamed, grabbing the book and brandishing it for him to see. “I should’ve known you’d love poems. You’ve always seemed like such a romantic…”

“I guess,” he muttered, eyes falling back to his pages.

“Have you ever written any?” she asked, resting back against her bean bag, practically leaning into his with her cheek resting against her propped hand. “You know, outside of school assignments?”

“… Once or twice,” he murmured.

“That’s so sweet…” she sighed, “You have such a wonderful soul, Adrien. I’d love to read your poetry sometime…”

He shrugged pathetically. It wasn’t like he actually had anything to show. The few poems he’d written before went straight to the trash, just like every other failure he’d tried.

After a moment, she fiddled with the poetry book. “Have you read this yet?”

He nodded.

“Oh, really? That’s great!” She beamed at him. “What were your favorite poems from it?”

He blinked and turned to her, brow slightly furrowed. “... What?”

“Your favorite poems!” She handed the book to him, and he placed his current one aside to take it. “Which ones would you recommend?”

“Oh…” He paused, and then opened up the book, flicking through the pages. Which ones stood out to him, again? There was one that used a stray cat as a fairly poignant metaphor, one about the crushing weight of loneliness… “Well…”

“Oh, I know!” She clapped her hands together. “You should read them to me!”

He blinked at her, confused.

“We can discuss the themes and meaning,” she whispered, and he wondered why she suddenly cared about her volume, “You know, do some literary analysis together. That way, we can talk and read and learn at the same time… It’s what the teachers would want us to do. Don’t you think?”

He supposed that made sense. Collaborative work like that was practically the conceit upon which the school was built. He still didn’t feel like talking much, but he didn’t have much of an excuse to get out of this. “Well…” He turned to a specific poem that he remembered finding particularly profound. “... Okay.”

He began reading the poem aloud to her— thankful, at least, that reading from text meant he didn’t have to come up with the words himself. Once he finished the poem, he glanced at her for her reaction.

Cerise was holding her hand up, as if subtly trying to cover her mouth— but from his position at her side, he could see the way her lips twisted upwards into a sharp smile, her eyes locked on the bookcase before them.

Her eyes flicked back to his, and her hand fell, her smile softening and her eyes widening. “Wow… that was beautiful, Adrien. Can you read me another one?”

So much for literary analysis. But reading aloud still sounded far nicer than having an actual discussion, so he flipped through the pages, ignoring the way her smile twisted in the corner of his vision.

*****

Adrien wasn’t sure why Cerise was so interested in having him read poetry to her. He imagined he was a pretty terrible narrator at the moment, his voice quiet and dull as he went through the motions of vocalizing the words on the page.

At some point, she got up and fetched him another book— the idea of reading his ‘favorites’ to her apparently abandoned, he mechanically accepted the offering and went through the motions of reading the unfamiliar set— a collection of love poems, apparently— to her, too.

He tried to ignore the ache in his heart as he read the words of love. He tried to keep himself focused on the neutral act of turning written characters to sound, tried not to think about the way the sentiments reminded him of the bitter ache in his heart, tried not to think about how he’d been betrayed, tried not to think about—

Crash!

He whipped his head up, startled by a sound that he could only assume was a book cart crashing to the ground— the scene obscured by the bookcase he and Cerise were hidden behind.

“O-Oh! I’m— I’m sorry, sorry,” Marinette’s voice stammered from beyond the books, speaking to someone he couldn’t see. She sniffled, “Sorry, sorry—”

And then he heard the distinct sound of her flats slapping against the floor, and the library door opening and slamming shut.

He swallowed, trying to ignore the sharp stab in his heart twisted by the sound of her voice alone— or the awful urge in his gut to run after her and make sure she was okay. Instead, he sank further into his bean bag.

He continued reading the poem mechanically. Once he finished, he waited for Cerise’s comment— she always had a comment when he finished a poem, ranging from oos to awws to complimenting him as if he’d done anything impressive at all.

Instead, nothing. He glanced at her, noting the bored expression on her face as she stared out at the bookcase in front of them. After a moment, she startled and turned to him, tugging her lips back into a smile. “Oh! That’s all?”

Apparently, she didn’t like that poem. Noted. “... Yeah.”

“Oh, well, it was so lovely… I just wanted it to keep going!” she sighed, and then shifted out of her bean bag, lifting herself to her feet and grabbing her school bag from the floor. “Well, this was soooo nice, Adrien, I loved talking to you, and I loved the poems! But, unfortunately, I just remembered that I promised Aurore that I’d help her practice a monologue…”

“Oh.” He blinked. “Okay.”

A smile and a wave, and she was gone.

And he was… finally alone again.

He sighed, sinking so far into his bean bag that his knees were higher than his chest. He tossed the stupid love poems aside and blindly patted for one of his other books.

Apparently, he’d grabbed the one on architectural history. Hopefully the history of columns could distract from how unsteady he felt.

*****

The bell rang, and Adrien realized with dread that it was lunch time.

He struggled out of his seat and snatched his school bag from the ground. He didn’t recall Nathalie asking him if he’d be home for lunch that morning— she probably assumed he’d eat at school, like he always did, but he wanted nothing less.

He slipped out of the library, behind the crowd of students spilling out, and beelined it towards the front entrance—

“Dude!” Nino called, and Adrien cringed. Right on cue, Nino’s arm swung over his shoulders, and suddenly he was being led towards the cafeteria. “I didn’t know you came in today! I didn’t see you this morning…”

“Yeah, well…” Adrien murmured, wondering how he could possibly excuse himself out of the building without arousing suspicion. Nino would ask questions, and Adrien wouldn’t want to give any answers.

“How are you doing?” Nino asked, walking along the current of students flowing towards the cafeteria. Adrien was so trapped. “I mean— how you feeling? You still haven’t responded to any of my texts… or calls…”

“Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his eyes trained low. He didn’t know what else to say on the matter. He hadn’t used his phone all weekend, and he hadn’t brought it with him to school, either.

Nino’s grip around him tightened. “... Hey, it’s okay. I’m just… worried.”

“Adrien… I’m concerned,” Nathalie had told him, sitting delicately on the edge of his bed, looking into his eyes with a pained expression on her face that he never wanted to see on her again. “I should have done this much sooner. I’ve made arrangements with a therapist…”

Adrien opened his mouth to respond— some variation of ‘I’m fine’ or ‘I’m okay’ or ‘I’m totally good, man, really—’ when he was cut off by—

“Adrien!” Alya greeted, and Nino stopped walking. Apparently, they’d reached the cafeteria. Adrien peeked up to see her, his heart dropping at the sight of Marinette’s silhouette hiding just behind her. “Hey!” Alya’s eyes softened, looking him over. “Nice jacket.”

He sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh,” he croaked, “Uh… I’m sorry. Do you…” He began to take it off.

“No, no!” She threw her hands up. “Keep it as long as you like! You know how much merch I have like that?” She gestured to the new hoodie tied around her waist. “No rush at all, I don’t even miss it. I was just teasing.”

“Yeah, same here!” Nino added, “You can keep the cap. I have tons!”

Marinette said nothing of her glasses, still tucked behind Alya, but a bitter part of him decided he didn’t really care what she had to say, anyway. He nodded, his eyes falling to their four pairs of feet, determined to not accidentally make eye-contact with her as he was led by the group to the buffet line.

Nino and Alya were one thing, but he could not bring himself to talk to Marinette right now. He still wasn’t over the betrayal, over the knowledge that he’d been lied to, that his blind trust for her— both of her— had been used against him, how much of an idiot he was made to feel, over and over again…

First it was Ladybug. Then it was Plagg. Then it was Nathalie, and Félix, and Marinette. He wondered who else he loved would step up to the plate, who else would take a shot at his already shattered heart, who else might have known—

He half-tuned into the story Alya was telling to Nino. “... so, Marinette and I were talking the other day, and…”

The realization struck him like a freight train.

“Marinette tells you everything,” he blurted, throwing his gaze back up to lock eyes with Alya.

It wasn’t a question.

Marinette’s best friend and confidant— Rena Rouge, Rena Furtive, likely Scarabella— blinked, stunned by the statement. “Uh… yeah…?”

And he felt her boyfriend’s arm tighten around him—

“You tell Nino everything,” he added, taking a step back.

It wasn’t a question.

Alya’s brow creased, a confused look on her face. He stepped back again, and again, wrangling himself out of Nino’s arm—

“Adrien,” Marinette gasped, “Wai—”

“I’m going to eat at home,” he croaked out, spinning on his heel and launching out of the cafeteria.

He ran against the flow of students, pushing and stumbling past them, bumping shoulders as he raced out the front entrance—

“ADRIEN!” Marinette shouted, behind him, chasing him just like she always did as of late—

He turned down the sidewalk and rushed into an alleyway. “Plagg—”

“ADRIEN!” Marinette yelled, stumbling into the mouth of the alley and into view, “Nino’s not a part of this—”

“—claws out!” he called, tearing his baton off his back the moment it materialized and extending it, vaulting himself out of the alley and rushing home.

He didn’t hear her follow him. He didn’t hear the telltale signs of a yo-yo zipping after him as he pumped his legs and leapt across rooftops. He launched himself off of a roof and into his bedroom window, his boots thunking against the floor and breaths heavy.

“Claws in,” he spat. And though the magical energy of pure destruction washed out of him, its spirit did not, his blinding rage left perfectly in-tact.

Again. Again, again, again, he was made a fool. Again and again, he was the idiot. Everybody knew. Everybody knew. Everybody that he had ever trusted. And they would stare at him, condescending pity in their eyes, knowing that he was the idiot, knowing that he was in the dark, knowing all his family’s dirty secrets and—

“AUGH!” Adrien roared, heart racing, blood boiling, vision red as he turned to the thick metal window pane and slammed his left fist into it so hard that—

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“...rien!”

Adrien blinked his eyes open, vision hazy, an indescribable feeling in his head somewhere between fuzzy and flickering. And he felt torn apart— his body ripped open and left to bleed out, the nerves of his body buzzing like static.

Was he dying?

He was on the floor. Lying on his back. When did he get on the floor? He didn’t remember falling. He was punching the window pane, and next thing he knew, he was on the floor…

“Adrien!” Plagg fretted around him, “Are you okay? What happened?”

“I…”

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“...rien!” Plagg shouted, tapping at his cheeks. Adrien didn’t even have to blink his eyes open to see him, this time. He wasn’t sure they’d ever closed.

“... don’.... kno’....” Adrien slurred, the synapses of his brain firing wrong, because he was still bleeding out on the hardwood, his heart ripped from his chest— “... ‘m… bleedin’…”

“What?” Plagg asked, confused, and gave him a quick look over. “No, you’re not.”

Adrien lifted his head, looking down past his chin to his torso. It looked fine. He didn’t look like he was torn apart, he didn’t look like he was bleeding out. But he was. Somehow, he knew he was, and he was dying, and he was…

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His head was back on the floor.

“You’re scaring me,” Plagg spat, “If this is a prank, it isn’t funny!”

Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, his heart picking up, panic washing over him. Because it wasn’t a prank, but he didn’t know how to explain it. He’d never felt like this before, like all his bones were shattered and perfectly intact all at once.

He heaved himself over onto his stomach, limbs shaking and nerves buzzing as he tried to pull himself to his feet. He grasped onto the foosball table for support, hoisting himself back onto his fee…

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He was on the floor again. Faceplanted. Marinette’s glasses strewn to the side, a new, pounding pain at his temple.

What was happening? What was happening? What was happening?

He was officially panicking now. He hadn’t thought he’d die like this. Well into old age, surrounded by Marinette and their kids, if he was lucky. Like a hero, dying in the line of fire, probably. Randomly dying on the floor of his bedroom at the ripe age of fifteen as a civilian for unknown, unprecedented reasons? Not so much.

He didn’t know what to do. His mind was like static, and he was in pain— but he realized that he wouldn’t even be able to point to where the pain was located, if asked. Everywhere, nowhere, concentrated and vague all at once— he was just in pain. And he was torn apart. And his body almost had nothing to do with it, his blood irrelevant to the way he could so clearly feel himself bleeding out on the floor.

Crash.

Crash.

Crash!

He turned his head enough to eye his surroundings, to focus on the booming crashes and not his strange and sudden and impending death. Plagg was flying around his room, grabbing anything and everything he could, smashing it to the floor.

“Adrien?” Nathalie’s voice called from behind his door, “Is that y…”

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He wasn’t on the floor anymore. He was being carried, body limp in strong arms. He gasped in a breath, tears pricking his eyes, the thought ‘at least I’m not dying alone’ having sliced him like a sword.

He was placed atop his bed, and Nathalie’s face soon covered his vision. Her eyes were wider than he’d ever seen them, the muscles of her face taut as she grasped his cheeks, forcing him to face her.

“Adrien,” she said forcefully, “Adrien. Adrien, are you awake? What’s wrong?”

“I…” he tried, wondering why even speaking had to be so terrible, the words flickering in and out of his mind, “... ‘m dyin’...”

“Adrien,” she said, “Stay with me. What happened? Are you hurt? What…”

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“...eed an ambulance,” Nathalie spoke, her face no longer in view. He turned his head just enough to watch her where she paced, just beside his bed, phone to her ear. “He’s fifteen, he’s coming in and out of consciousness, he’s slurring his speech—”

I don’t want to die alone. His lip quivered, and he reached his hand out to her.

“He has been perfectly healthy. His family has no history of heart disease, he—” Her eyes caught onto his hand being held out to her. But she didn’t take it, like he wanted her to. She only stared. “... I… Nevermind. My apologies. False alarm. It was a misunderstanding, no need to bring an ambulance.” What? “Goodbye.”

She hung up and grasped at his hand, kneeling down. “Adrien,” she rasped, “What happened to your rings?”

What?

“Your rings are… cracked,” she said with horror, eyes wide and locked on the jewelry.

‘Who cares?’ he wanted to cry, the words unable to form on his tongue. Why did it matter? Who cared about some stupid rings when he was bleeding out, when he was dying right in front of her? He needed help, an ambulance, or at the very least to be held so he wouldn’t die feeling so alone, but all Nathalie cared about were his parents’ wedding bands that she’d begun to carefully remove from his fing…

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“...wo cracked silver bands,” Nathalie demanded into her phone, rushing out the door, leaving him, “I need them repaired immediately, no price too high, and they cannot be replaced—”

The door slammed shut.

And he was alone.

His lip quivered, tears springing to his eyes and trailing down his cheeks. Abandoned. Left to die. Alone. He’d cracked his parents’ wedding bands, so Nathalie left him. She left him to die alone, because some memento of his parents was more important to her than—

“What was that all about?” Plagg cried out, flitting around, “Where— Where’d she go?”

Adrien responded only in a sob, and Plagg startled. He flew over to him and hugged his cheek, nuzzling against him and whispering words of reassurance. Adrien squeezed his eyes tight, feeling more tears fall.

Well. He wasn’t completely alone, at least.

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Adrien woke up.

And he was no longer bleeding.

He sucked in a sharp breath, his thoughts returning to him with stunning, consistent clarity. He grasped at his chest, his limbs feeling normal, no longer tingling like static, and he…

He wasn’t dying.

“Plagg?” he gasped out, feeling the kwami stir from his place, nestled against his jaw. “What…” he croaked, “... just happened?”

“You tell me!” Plagg huffed, flying out from his spot at his neck. He looked at Adrien, eyes concerned. “You sound better.”

“I…” Adrien pulled himself up, sitting up in his bed. He held his hand at the base of his throat and swallowed. “... I feel better.” He swung his legs over the side of his bed, hesitating.

He waited.

And waited.

… And he didn’t lose consciousness.

He sighed, pulling himself up to his feet. He shuddered, hugging his arms around himself and looking around the room.

Had that… really just happened? Why? Nothing like that had ever happened to him before, and he’d sure rather it never happened again.

“Well, good!” Plagg huffed, “I’ve never had a holder do that before. Is this some kind of human thing I don’t know about?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t know.”

But he did know one thing.

He was hungry.

He padded out of the room and down to the foyer. He wanted to pretend like that didn’t just happen. He wanted to pretend like that had all been a strange dream of some kind, that everything was perfectly normal, that he hadn’t only moments before been so certain of his death, that Nathalie hadn’t abandoned him in favor of his parents’ wedding bands…

He glanced at his left hand.

Bare.

He grit his teeth, clenched his fist, and made his way to the kitchen.

Nathalie was still gone. He wondered what time it was, how long he’d been out— but he didn’t particularly care. Instead, he ignored the shuddering discomfort in his heart, grabbed some quick food—an apple, some toast— and made his way back up to his room.

He had just reached the top of the foyer steps and was on his way to his bedroom door when the front doors opened.

“Adrien?” Nathalie gasped, and he turned to face her. She was staring up at him, a relieved look on her face as she stepped forward into the mansion, the doors shutting behind her. “How are y—”

He turned and marched towards his room—

“Adrien, wait.”

His steps halted.

Standing just in front of his door, his feet were planted, rooted on the spot. He wanted to leave. He wanted to hide away in his bedroom and not talk to her, but…

You can’t disobey Nathalie, a part of the back of his mind rationed.

So, instead, he stared at the floor, food still in hand as he listened in wait as her footsteps ascended the foyer steps.

“Adrien,” she said, grasping his shoulder, “Look at me.”

He didn’t want to—

You can’t disobey Nathalie.

He swallowed, turning on his heel, raising his gaze to face her. She watched him, a strange look on her face as she knelt to eye-level with him. “Are you feeling better?”

He shrugged, but she kept staring at him, waiting for him to really answer. He relented, muttering, “Yeah.”

No thanks to you, he wanted to add. But he bit his tongue.

She sighed, as if she were relieved. As if she cared. As if she hadn’t canceled the ambulance on him. As if she hadn’t willingly left him when he thought he was dying. She grasped his hand in hers, opening up his palm and placing the bands into his hand.

He couldn’t care less.

He scoffed, looking away from her and glaring at a particularly interesting spot on the floor as she closed his hand around the rings. The rings that she cared about more than him.

“Adrien,” she spoke sternly, squeezing his hand. “You need to take care of these. You cannot let them be damaged, under any circ*mstances. Do you understand?”

No. He didn’t. But he couldn’t say that, so instead, he shrugged.

Her gaze hardened. “Adrien. You need to promise me that you will take care of them.”

He rolled his eyes. She squeezed his hand again.

“Adrien.”

“Fine,” he relented, yanking himself out of her grasp, resisting the urge to chuck the rings off the side of the banister. “I will, okay?”

Nathalie stood tall to her feet, looking down at him. “Yes. You will.”

Mayura, he reminded himself. That’s Mayura. What else did you expect from Mayura? Did you ever really think she loved you?

He turned away from her and reached for his door.

“Please, Adrien.” Her tone had completely shifted, now startlingly gentle. “... What even happened? How did you crack them?”

He shrugged, refusing to face her.

She sighed. “... Well. You missed the end of lunch. I’ll call your school and let them know you’re staying home for the rest of the day. I think you could use some more rest, after that scare.”

To him, the scare of feeling like he was dying alone. To her, the scare of some jewelry getting scuffed.

“Fine.” He didn’t want to stay home, but he didn’t want to go to school either.

“And don’t forget,” she reminded, “You have your first appointment today.”

So, what? Do you care about my wellness or not? An ambulance is out of the question, but therapy still stands?

“I’m concerned,” she had said to him, when she’d first told him about his upcoming appointments. But that had been a lie. She wasn’t concerned. She’d never be concerned. She didn’t care about him.

He opened his door.

“And… Adrien,” she added, “... if you ever need to talk, I will always be here to listen.”

“Thanks, mom,” he bit out sarcastically, launching himself into the room and slamming the door shut before he’d have to see her reaction.

Chapter 9

Chapter Text

The ride to the clinic was awkward. Adrien shifted in his seat, his gaze to the car floor.

Nathalie hadn’t brought up his ‘mom’ comment, thankfully. She hadn’t said much of anything to him, not beyond the purely practical and informative. “Are you ready?” “You can wear whatever you’d like. It doesn’t matter.” “The session will only be fifty minutes.” “We need to leave now.”

But sitting in the car, nearing the clinic, he only got more and more uncomfortable with the whole idea.

Why was he doing this? Just because Nathalie wanted him to? She didn’t care about him, so why had she even arranged this? Why was he still doing what Mayura wanted him to do? Why was a part of him still trying to convince himself that she cared about him, when she clearly didn’t?

Father didn’t love you, either. You kept waiting for him to, but he never did. He never had your best interests at heart.

Nathalie doesn’t either.

He swallowed hard as the car slowed to a stop. He sat stiff in his seat, waiting as Nathalie and his bodyguard stepped out of the car. His bodyguard opened his door, but Adrien felt rooted to his seat.

“Are you nervous?” Nathalie asked, the way she asked almost sounding like she was coming from a place of genuine care.

He shook his head and unbuckled his seatbelt.

The clinic was nice. Pleasantly decorated, with potted plants and colorful mental health diagrams and info sheets lining the walls. It wasn’t long before they were checked in, and Adrien was being led to a room down the hall.

Why am I here?

A woman greeted him, her smile kind. He sat himself down on the sofa.

Why am I here?

She told him that she’d be right back, and to make himself at home. With a final smile, she left the room, the door closing with a click.

Why am I here?

He wasn’t sure this would actually help him. He wasn’t sure he would get anything out of this. What could he possibly say to a therapist about his situation? Where would he even begin? Would they believe him?

Oh yeah, so I’m Chat Noir, and it turns out that… well, you know how my father is hailed as a hero? Well, that’s a lie, and I fell for it too, because Ladybug lied to me about it, and also Ladybug is my girlfriend, so my girlfriend lied to me, but I only just found that out, but the point is, my father was actually Monarch, and the woman who just checked me in here was Mayura, and so actually I have a ton of memories of them attacking me, my father trying to kill me especially, and also he apparently killed himself, and maybe my mom is secretly alive somewhere because of The Wish, assuming my father really did die— oh god, what if he didn’t? What if that was a lie, too?— oh, you don’t know how The Wish works? Here, let me explain it to you with the help of my floating bulbous-headed black cat friend that smells like putrid cheese—

Dear god, he didn’t want to be here.

He stood up and paced the room, twisting his stupid rings on his fingers— the rings that were oooooh sooooo special and…

… his miraculous.

He chewed his lip. He eyed the window. He eyed the door. He eyed the window again.

He walked up to the window. He unlocked the pane. He pushed it open. Easy.

“... Plagg,” he spoke, eyeing the door one final time to ensure no one was entering right that second, “claws out.”

Chat Noir hoisted himself out the window, scaling the side of the building. He landed on the rooftop with a clink of his metal boots…

… and he ran.

He didn’t have to run particularly fast. There was no fear of him being chased. No fear of him being found.

But he still ran.

Nathalie’s going to kill me, he thought, landing atop a chimney and checking back over his shoulder at what he’d left behind.

Mayura’s already tried before, he reminded himself, resuming his journey.

No. Nathalie’s already tried before, he amended, flashes of her canceling the ambulance in his mind.

He sauntered atop the rooftops, no particular destination in mind. His heart was racing from the adrenaline of what he’d just done, dreading the eventual consequences awaiting him whenever he decided to return home.

Should he return home? Ever? What was for him there?

What was for him anywhere?

He heard the startled gasps of civilians below, noting their fearful looks as they backed away from him.

Great.

Taking a shaking breath, he turned and leapt away, eyeing a particular structure in the distance. Two chimneys, barely over a meter apart, forming a small nook between. There he landed, pressing his back to a chimney and sliding down until his butt hit the rooftop. He lounged back, legs kicked up against the other set of bricks, smushing himself into the small space. It wasn’t quite comfortable— but it felt private enough.

He whipped out his baton, popping out an ear piece from each end and sticking them in his ears. Now, he just had to see if he had access to any streaming services on this thing.

His baton’s screen really wasn’t great— smaller than his civilian phone for sure. But it was here, and it was available, and it wasn’t blowing up with missed calls and texts from his ‘friends’.

And like that, he’d settled.

He relaxed. He watched his shows. He tried not to think about his inevitable execution. He tried not to think about the general convoluted tragedy that was his life.

Nobody would find him here. He was free. He was safe. … For now.

He wasn’t sure how much time had passed— hours, probably— when he saw her. A red figure, standing on a neighboring rooftop, just out of the corner of his eye. He didn’t have to look to know she was staring at him. He didn’t have to look to know she wasn’t Ryuko.

Well… she hadn’t approached him in the library. So hopefully she wouldn’t approach him here, either.

He swallowed and sank further onto the roof, his feet planting higher against the chimney wall to accommodate.

His baton chimed, and a notification covered his screen.

Ladybug: nathalie’s looking for you

… Great. Apparently she was going to attempt contact. Not in the way that he’d initially feared, but still.

He swiped the notification away, but the red figure was still in his periphery, so he rolled over onto his side, back facing her.

He pressed play on the episode he was watching.

His baton chimed again.

Ladybug: she’s been calling everyone

Ladybug: she sounded really freaked out

Ladybug: which is really saying something for her

His belt tail flicked behind him. He kept swiping the notifications off of his screen, but he couldn’t stop himself from reading them as they came in.

Ladybug: she thinks you ran away

Well. Fair enough. Considering what he’d done, he wasn’t really sure what other conclusion she could’ve conceivably drawn. He swiped that notification away, too.

Ladybug: everyones freaked out

His tail lashed harder.

Ladybug: you knwo because… she called us all

Ladybug: so everyone knows

Ladybug: bunch of superheroes running around looking for you rn

Ladybug: doubt any but me know to stop for chat noir but. um. yeah

Ladybug: viperion i guess

Ladybug: probably bunnyx

He groaned and rolled over onto his back. In an act of frustration, he slammed his head against the chimney behind him. And then slammed it again. And then slammed it again. And then slammed it agai—

Ladybug: STOP THAT

He huffed. But he did stop.

Ladybug: oh are you actually reading what im saying

Ladybug: SORYR that soudned sarcasitic ID IDN Tmean it that way i get it i desevre it

Ladybug: nino doesnt though i reall ymeant it earlier when i said he doesnt know anything

He frowned.

Ladybug: I love poetry btw

He squinted at the screen. What?

Ladybug: ANWYAY im just saying i. think you shoudl probably go see nathalie

Mayura, he wanted to correct, and nearly laughed at the dreaded absurdity of it. Ladybug, turning Chat Noir over to Mayura. And they both knew it.

… Actually.

Fine.

He would go see her.

Earpieces popped out of his ears and back into his baton, he reared his legs back and leapt up onto his feet.

Ladybug: good luck…

And with that, he vaulted home.

*****

Nathalie was pacing the room that had once been his father’s office.

“...isappeared, climbed out the window. He’s fifteen years old. He hasn’t been acting like himself, has clearly been in distress. He recently lost both of his parents. First his mother, then his father…”

She turned on her heel quick, her steps practically running tracks into the marble flooring. Her usually carefully styled bun in disarray— strands of hair sticking out every odd way. She turned on her heel and paced again.

“... I am his legal guardian. I’ve known him all of his life. He very well may have ran to a friend’s house. I have already contacted all of his classmates. None claim to have seen him…”

Chat Noir lounged at the window, one leg resting along the sill, the other dangling off the edge. He watched her with rapt attention, tail lashing below, waiting for her to notice him.

“... He doesn’t have his phone with him. I found it on his bedroom floor, battery dead…”

She turned on her heel again, spinning around to face…

Her eyes met Chat Noir’s. She froze.

He grinned. With a wave of his fingers, he cooed, “Hey, Mayura.”

Nathalie narrowed her eyes.

She turned on her heel, pacing again.

“... Yes, I can send photos. A quick search of ‘Adrien Agreste’ would also give sufficient results.” He gaped. “I will also send the contact details and addresses of his friends…”

She couldn’t be serious. Was she really just going to ignore him?

Chat Noir narrowed his eyes, dropping down from the sill and sauntering over to her. He waltzed in front of her, staying within her periphery, until she turned on her heel and paced again.

“... He was once a public figure, and typically does not leave the house without a bodyguard present…”

He tried to wave to get her attention.

“... Three hours and forty two minutes ago. Yes— Yes, I am well aware that it may not seem like a long time, but may I remind you that he is fifteen, in distress, and climbed out of a window of a grief counselor’s office…”

Thumb and pinky splayed out, Chat Noir mimed a phone to his ear, pulled it back, pressed a ‘button’ on his knuckle, and then shoved it into his pocket.

“... Yes, you may contact me at this number. I will be expecting regular updates, just as I will be updating you on anything I find. I will send the contacts right away. Goodbye.”

Finally, finally, she hung up.

“Pretty rude to ignore someone trying to get your attention,” he huffed.

Speaking of, her attention was still on her phone, now in both hands, her thumbs tapping rapidly away at the on-screen keyboard. “Hello, Chat Noir.” She didn’t look up. “You’ve come at a very inconvenient time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mayura.” He batted his lashes at her. “I’ve inconvenienced you?”

“I am no longer Mayura,” she stated simply, still tapping away at her phone. “A fact that I expect you’re well aware of, considering the existence of Argos.”

“Funny, that,” he huffed, turning away from her and waltzing down the length of the room, dragging his claws against the walls. “How did Argos come to be, anyway?”

“... … … … This is Nathalie Sancoeur, Adrien Agreste’s guardian.” His eyes widened, and he whipped back around to face her. She spoke, phone to ear, “He is currently missing. If you have any information as to his possible whereabouts, please contact this number. Thank you.”

She hung up, a weary sigh escaping her lips. And then she was back to typing.

She looked exhausted— no, frayed was a better word. Not the worst he’d ever seen her, not by a long shot— but now, there was no disease to blame. The only thing wearing on her right now was him.

He grabbed the part of him that felt guilty and shoved it down, far down.

“Chat Noir,” she spoke up, still typing, “You’ve made an oath to protect the citizens of Paris, have you not?”

“Technically speaking, I never made an oath,” he huffed, resuming his stalk around the perimeter of the room, “That’s kind of just a thing people assume—”

“Oath or not, it’s a value that you hold.” It wasn’t a question.

He narrowed his eyes at her, waiting for her to continue.

Finally, she looked up from her phone, her sharp blue eyes digging into him. “I have a missing citizen for you to find.”

“Oh, please…” he scoffed, snapping his eyes away from her gaze, afraid his resolve would falter if he hadn’t. He continued his walk around the room. “You expect me to care about Monarch Junior?”

“Gabriel and I made many… egregious mistakes. Detest us all you’d like, Chat Noir, it is your right to. I do not expect your forgiveness.” He slowed to a stop. “But Adrien is neither me nor his father. He is guiltless in this.”

“Is he now?” he gruffed, dragging his claws down the wall. “You expect me to believe that he knew nothing? That he wasn’t an accomplice of any kind?”

“It is the truth.”

“That so?” he huffed, “... And what do you think he’d do if he found out? If he learned all the ways you’d lied to him? All the secrets you kept?”

Nathalie said nothing, so he willed himself to turn and face her. She was staring at him, her gaze harsher than he’d ever seen on her without blue skin.

“How do you think he’d feel, knowing his father was Monarch?” he asked, hands clasped behind his back as he waltzed up to her and began to circle around her like prey. “How do you think he’d feel, knowing how he really died? That his father’s ‘heroic’ death was anything but?”

She kept her gaze forward, not granting him the pleasure of eye-contact.

“... Assuming he really is dead…” he scoffed, his stomach flipping at even the thought, “... assuming that wasn’t also a lie…”

“He is,” Nathalie answered simply.

“And I’m supposed to trust you?” he spat, stopping at her front, standing as tall as he could. “Mayura? I don’t trust a word out of your mouth. And he shouldn’t either.”

Her cold eyes met his, and he wished they hadn’t. “Your partner would tell you the same.”

“And I’m supposed to trust her?” He resumed his stalk around her. “She lied to me, too. Just like everyone did. Because who trusts Chat Noir, am I right? Who cares what Chat Noir has to say? Why should he get to know what happened to his archnemesis? Why should Adrien Agreste get to know what happened to his father—”

“Your frustration is apparent, Chat Noir, but I’m afraid I cannot help you if you do not care to hear what I have to say.” He couldn’t hold his sneer. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…” She turned her gaze back to her phone, tapping away at the screen. “... I have more pressing matters to attend to. We can have this discussion another time—”

No.

“Cataclysm,” he growled, flicking his wrist out, his fingers splaying out as the bubbling destruction centered at his palm. Nathalie’s gaze lifted from her phone, turning her head to face him, her eyes locking on the hand he was now holding up towards her. “We’re talking. Now.”

She stared at his hand, her expression unreadable. Finally, she placed her phone in her pocket.

“You’re going to tell me everything that you know,” he growled, grasping his wrist. He took a careful step closer to her, heart slamming in his chest, the thought stay back, don’t get too close, don’t trip and fall into her, don’t let her grab your hand and yank it into her arm, don’t actually touch her, screaming in his head. “Now.”

Her gaze flicked from his hand to his eyes. She said simply, “I thought you didn’t trust my word.”

“Entertain me,” he huffed, “After all, you’re my host. Right?”

She clasped her hands behind her back, standing tall and looking down at him. If she was scared, she didn’t show it. “What would you like to know?”

He sneered, heart pounding in his ears. “Where’s Emilie Agreste?”

She didn’t even blink. “Deceased.”

He barked out a laugh, taking a step closer to her, hoping she would relent and back away from his outstretched hand. She didn’t. “You really think I believe that?”

“Why ask questions that you won’t accept the answers to?”

“Gabriel Agreste is dead, Emilie Agreste is dead…” he growled, “... Doesn’t add up. That’s not how The Wish works. It’s a life for a life, not a life for none.”

She gave a small nod. “That’s correct.”

Seriously?

“I was told that Gabriel Agreste died using The Wish. I was told he wanted to revive his wife.”

Her lips pulled taut. “That’s correct.”

He stared at her. She stared back. He sneered, “So?”

She broke eye-contact, glaring instead ahead of her. “He must have finally found some sense. Leave it to him to wait until the last possible moment.”

“You’re not answering me!” he shouted, blood pumping. Her gaze met his once again. “Am I not clear enough? Who lived?”

“I did,” she said plainly.

The world lurched around him.

“What?” he gasped, his efforts of intimidation cast aside amidst the waves, his mouth agape. Images flashed in his mind of Nathalie bedridden, cheeks sunken in, hacking out a lung… “But… you weren’t dead… you were sick, but you still had time—”

“No.” He trembled. “I didn’t. I was in the throes of my deathbed.”

“What?” he breathed, “But… but that’s…”

He recalled passing Nathalie out the door, suitcase in hand and head hung, on his way to London. He remembered her kind words to him as he left. He hadn’t known that that could’ve been their last exchange. He hadn’t said a word to her at all.

He should’ve said something. Anything. If he’d known, he would’ve hugged her, would’ve told her he loved her. He’d thought he’d get another chance—

You did get another chance.

“But you were— you were cured,” he blurted, the stupid words falling from his tongue before he could think twice, “They found a cure for you, you didn’t need—”

“There is no cure for what I had.” There was an exhaustion in her eyes. “Not beyond… what was done.”

“What— what did you even have?” he asked, desperate, because he didn’t know. He hadn’t known. Nobody had ever even told him—

“The peaco*ck miraculous was damaged at the time I’d weilded it,” she answered, “Using a damaged miraculous has… consequences. I knew the risks.”

“Wha… what? But…” he stammered, “That… that doesn’t make sense. Didn’t you… you had the same thing M— Emilie Agreste had, didn’t you?”

Her gaze turned harsh. “Who told you such a thing?”

“I… assumed.”

It was the same, wasn’t it? The symptoms were the same. The coughing, the fainting, the entire progression of the illness. It may have all happened faster for Nathalie, but it was the same. Even the way Father and Nathalie talked about it, denying its existence and minimizing the danger of it, was the same—

“You’d do well to not draw conclusions without evidence.”

But…

“So— So that’s it, then?” he asked, trying to stay on track, trying to stay grounded so he could continue the interrogation. “Gabriel Agreste… used The Wish to… save you, because... he loved you?”

She scoffed.

“I mean, that’s it, right?” he prodded, “You… were dying. He loved you, so he saved you—”

“You give him too much credit.”

He reeled. “But you were in love—”

“The only thing Gabriel ever loved was his own selfish delusions,” she said bitterly, unaware of how her words had struck him. “I don’t know what made him change his mind in his final moments. I was not there. But Emilie never wanted to be revived, and if he finally realized that and decided to run away from the mess he left behind, then I suppose leaving me to clean it was the least he could’ve done.”

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Th… The mess he left behind…?”

“I never should have helped him,” she continued on, oblivious to his hurt, “I should have come to my senses sooner. I should never have been taken in by his madness. Perhaps if I had tried to stop him sooner, none of this…” she trailed off in a sigh. “I will live with that guilt for the rest of my life. As I’ve said, I do not expect your forgiveness.”

He opened his mouth to respond— to say something, anything, amidst the whirlwind in his chest, but—

Ring ring ring…

Nathalie held a finger up to him, telling him to ‘hold’ as if the superhero still threatening her with wanton destruction were a mere inconvenience. She whipped her phone back out of her pocket and to her ear. “Hello. … Yes, this is Nathalie Sancoeur. Do you have any information on Adrien? … … … Yes, I am aware. I have already called her. She claimed she hadn’t seen him. … … Thank you anyway.”

She hung up with a weary sigh and tucked her phone back into her pocket.

“Stop doing that,” he croaked.

“What?”

“Stop pretending like you care,” he continued, voice unsteady, “You— You don’t care.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Excuse me?”

“You don’t care about him!” he spat, “You don’t care about Adrien! If you’re so sick of cleaning up the mess, then why are you trying so hard to get it back—”

“I was. Not. Referring to Adrien,” she spoke, tone hard.

“Yes, you were. You were saddled with him, but he’s not your son. If he gives you so much trouble, why don’t you—”

“I was not ‘saddled’ with anything,” she declared, “Adrien is nothing more than a victim of Gabriel’s and my actions. He is hurting now because of our poor decisions. He has a right to a home and somebody to care for him unconditionally—”

“And that’s you?”

She glared. “Do not pretend to understand the nuances of this delicate situation, Chat Noir. It does not concern y—”

“Why you? Why not make him someone else’s problem?” he spat, “Why not just—”

“I will not abandon him—”

“Why not?” he choked out, his vision beginning to blur from unshed tears, his dam cracking, “Not even his own father w-wanted to stick around for him, so why— why would you—”

Her brow creased, a strange look on her face as she stared at him. “... Chat Noir—”

“His own father didn’t even love him. Right?” he asked, desperate, his still-outstretched cataclysmic hand trembling. “That’s— That’s what you said. He— he couldn’t even love him. His own father couldn’t. So— so why would you?”

“I…” She stared at him. “I don’t recall saying such a thing—”

“But did he?” he stepped closer, lowering his hand. “Did he love him? At— at all?”

She kept staring at him. She opened her mouth to speak—

Ring ring ring…

She reached for her phone, but hesitated. Her hand twitched, hovering over her pocket, her eyes locked on his.

“Did he love his son at all?” he choked out.

“He…” She hesitated. “... did.”

But he understood her tone. He understood the words left unsaid.

Not enough. He didn’t love you enough.

Ring ring ring…

“You hate me, don’t you?” he found himself saying, unable to control himself, “I— I killed him.”

“No.” Her gaze was unyielding. “You were not at fault. Everything that happened, he’d done to himself. We were the only ones to blame.”

Ring ring ring…

His lip trembled. He grasped his wrist— squeezing it tight, remembering the threat bubbling at his palm. He sucked a shaking breath and stumbled back. “I-I’m… I’m sorry…”

“Chat Noir…” she spoke slowly, carefully, taking a single step towards him. “... Please, stay.”

Ring ring ring…

He stumbled back, away from her, his heart racing. “Aren’t—” he sucked in a breath, staring at her ringing pocket where her hand still hovered, “A-aren’t you… gonna answer that?”

Her lip twitched, her fingers twitching where they hovered. But she didn’t move to answer it. Instead, she stepped closer to him again. He stepped back again.

“It’s okay, Chat Noir…” she spoke carefully, taking slow, careful steps. His back hit the wall. “... I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ring ring ring…

“I-I don’t want to hurt you.” He trembled, clutching his wrist to his chest. “I— I’m sorry.”

She knelt down to his height before him, her gaze soft as she looked into his eyes. “It’s okay. You won’t.”

But he already had. Right? Assuming…

“D-do you really care about me?” he asked, voice trembling. “It’s— it’s n-not… just another lie?”

The phone stopped ringing.

Her face crumpled, such raw emotion on her face that he’d never seen on her before. She nodded and opened her arms.

He really wanted that hug. He needed that hug.

“Claws in,” he choked out, the magic washing off of him, the impending disaster washing away from his fingertips so he could stumble forward into her, clutch onto her like a lifeline, and bury his face against her shoulder.

“Oh god,” she choked out in dismay, wrapping her strong arms around him, holding him close and steady. “Adrien…”

“I-I’m s-sorry…” he cried, burying his face into the fabric of her jacket, staining it with his tears and snot.

“No… No.” He felt her hand at the back of his head, clutching him close. “I am. I am so sorry, Adrien.”

“I-I’m such a m-mess.”

“No.” She patted at his head, her fingers brushing through his hair. “You’re not. It’s alright. I’m… I’m sorry that I made you feel as though I don’t care.”

“I— I really th-thought I was going to die today,” he whimpered, muffled against her, “And then you just… left…”

“Oh…” She held him tighter. “I am so sorry, Adrien. I promise, I won’t leave again.”

He nodded against her, gripping tight at the fabric at her back.

“Adrien,” she whispered.

Was she going to tell him to stop? That the hug was getting to be too much? He hoped not. He felt like it was the only thing keeping him grounded right now.

“I… know that I’m not your mother,” she whispered, “... but I love you.”

He trembled.

You are, though, he almost wanted to say. Nathalie may as well be his mother. In many ways, she was more of a mother to him than his father had ever been a father. Sometimes, the distinction felt so arbitrary. Like a technicality that existed only to place a wall between them.

“I love you, too,” he sniffled, holding onto her tighter.

Chapter 10

Chapter Text

“Do you think Marinette will be mad that I broke her glasses?”

The words left him before he could think twice about them. Leaning forward against the island, he continued pushing his pancakes around with his fork.

Nathalie was at the counter. “Why did you break her glasses?”

“I didn’t do it on purpose.” He cut off a corner of his pancake with the side of his fork. “I was wearing them when I… fainted and… I found them on the floor. The frame’s cracked.”

Nathalie hummed. “I can’t imagine that Marinette would hold such a trivial thing against you.”

He swallowed, eyes still locked on his food. “... Maybe.”

What if he just never brought up the glasses again? Would she forget about them? Would he even have to tell her that he’d broken them? Would that make him a hypocrite, to lie about something to save her the upset, just like she apparently had—

No. Some cracked sunglasses weren’t comparable to the lies she told you about your father and his death—

“You’re talking to Marinette again?”

He flinched. “No.”

Nathalie hummed, resuming whatever she was doing at the counter. He shoved a bite of pancake into his mouth. A beat passed. “Did you two break up?”

He swallowed before he could choke. “No.”

“... What happened between you two?”

In some ways, he figured it’d be pretty easy to explain. She’s Ladybug. She’s one of the people who lied to me about Father. But he couldn’t say that. He didn’t want to tell Nathalie Ladybug’s identity. He couldn’t do that to Marinette.

Besides, what could he say of Marinette’s actions that didn’t apply to Nathalie, too? He didn’t want to rub salt in the wound. He didn’t want to dwell. He didn’t want to hurt Nathalie’s feelings.

… So why was he still willing to hurt Marinette’s?

“... I don’t want to talk about it.”

Nathalie hummed, but she didn’t press him for more information. He picked at his food more, nibbling on the pancake in silence, a nervousness pooling in his gut that was getting more and more difficult to ignore by the second.

“Am I a bad person?” he blurted, looking up to face her.

Nathalie turned around to fully face him, a startled look on her face. “What?”

“I think I…” His gaze fell back down to his food, shrinking under her gaze. “... I’ve been pretty awful lately.”

“No, Adrien.” Her voice was gentle. “You’re the sweetest person I know.”

“I don’t think I’ve been very sweet,” he muttered. “... Bitter, maybe.”

“That’s fine. And to be expected.” Huh? “Worries like that are exactly the type of thing you could speak to a therapist about.”

“Really?” He tried to hide his scoff. “That’s still happening?”

“Yes.”

“What would I even say to one?” he muttered, stabbing at his pancake with his fork prongs. “That I’m Chat Noir and my father was secretly Monarch? That’s not… that’s not something I can just say.”

“Client confidentiality.”

He openly scoffed.

“You don’t have to tell them anything that you don’t want to. You can be as vague as you’d like. Or even bend the truth, if you prefer.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He shoved a bite into his mouth.

“I’m sure you’d be able to find plenty to talk about.” She paused. “Do you want to stay home from school today?”

“No.” He paused. “Maybe…” He sighed. “No… I don’t know…”

Nathalie said nothing. But he could feel her eyes on him, could tell she was waiting for him to explain.

“I’m just… mad at my friends,” he blurted, “Actually, I’m just angry in general. All the time. And I keep crying so easily, and everyone’s always pitying me, and I feel like I don’t trust anyone, and I don’t even know who I am beyond what father wanted me to be, but everyone else knows what they’re doing and what they’re good at and here I am just wandering around aimlessly in Monarch-brand clothes and—”

Nathalie was staring at him. He shut his trap, shrinking in on himself.

“Sorry,” he muttered, pushing at his food again. “That’s for the therapist, right?”

“No. I’m listening.” She stepped up to the island. “You’re fifteen, Adrien. I know it may not feel like it, but you have plenty of time to figure yourself out. Even I am still on that journey.”

He swallowed, flicking his eyes between her and his food. “... I guess.”

“And we could go shopping, if you’d like.” He stilled. “To get you new clothes.”

“Wouldn’t that…” He hesitated. “.... be kind of terrible of me?”

“How so?”

“Father… … passed,” he swallowed, “and I just… I destroy his statue and… replace all the clothes that he made and gave to me? That’s…”

“It’s up to you, whether you’d like new clothes or not.” She paused. “And I, for one, never cared for that statue in the first place.”

He swallowed. “... … Have you…” He hesitated. “... have you watched any of the… videos? You know, of… Chat Noir when he… I mean, when I…”

“Yes. I saw.”

He imagined Nathalie watching his dreaded display. The wild look in his eye, Ladybug’s cries, the words he’d shouted.

‘I’M GLAD HE’S DEAD!’

He cringed. “I… I said something terrible. I’m sorry. I… I don’t know if I meant it.”

Nathalie seemed unfazed. “You’re allowed to feel how you feel.”

“Does it make me a bad person? To… to speak so ill of the dead?”

“It says far more about him than it does about you.”

“Yeah, if he didn’t wanna be spoken ill of, maybe he should’ve stunk less,” Plagg piped up from his cheese platter.

“Plagg…” Adrien groaned, feeling his cheeks warm. He wasn’t exactly keen on Nathalie having to hear all of Plagg’s thoughts.

“The kwami is right,” Nathalie said.

“Yeah, of course I am,” Plagg huffed, turning his nose up and away from her.

This was weird. Really weird. Adrien wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to this. But he supposed Nathalie was a lot more used to miraculous magic and kwamis than he’d ever used to expect. Actually…

“Do you… know anything about… who has the butterfly miraculous?” he asked.

Her eyes widened. “I… was under the impression that Ladybug retrieved it.”

“No.” His gaze fell to his plate. “She didn’t. Someone got to it before she could and has been wielding it and… … it’s not you, right?” He cringed. “I mean, I don’t think it’s you.”

“I’m sorry, Adrien. I don’t know anything about that.” She furrowed her brow, briefly looking off in thought. “Nobody else was there, as far as I was aware. What do you know about them?”

“Not much. They… haven’t shown their face or made any akumas. They’ve just been messaging Ladybug and me.”

She hummed.

“They’re not… friendly,” he clarified, “They know about Father and they’ve been… taunting me. And saying upsetting things to Ladybug, I guess. We think they’re trying to…” he hesitated, “... upset us and… turn us against each other.”

“Oh.” Her gaze hardened. “That’s concerning. Your partnership is what makes you two strong.”

He scoffed and picked at his food.

“I mean it, Adrien. As your former opposition, it was quite a problem for us.”

“Yeah, well, why does it matter?” he huffed, “There are tons of permanent heroes now. Our partnership doesn’t matter.”

Bitter. You’re bitter.

She hummed in disagreement, or maybe just thought, but then her phone chimed out a familiar alarm.

She sighed. “Well. If you want to be on time for school, you need to leave now.”

He nodded and shoved the final bits of pancake in his mouth, slipping off the chair and grabbing his school bag from the floor.

“Don’t forget your phone,” she said, and he turned up to see her holding it out to her. “It’s been charged.”

He swallowed. Reluctantly, he took it from her and placed it in his pocket. “Uh… thanks.”

“Why haven’t you been taking it with you?”

“I…” He adjusted the strap on his shoulder. “My friends keep… trying to talk to me.”

It sure sounded like a bad reason, when he said it like that.

Her eyes softened. “... Well. Maybe you should talk to them.”

He sighed. “... Maybe.” He made his way to the door, and Plagg flew into his bag. “... Well… bye, Nathalie.”

“Have a good day at school.” He opened the door. “Oh, and Adrien?” He looked back over his shoulder. “I love you.”

He softened. “I love you, too.”

*****

“Oh my gosh, Adrien! Hi!” Cerise flitted up to him, eyes crinkling as he shut the car door behind him.

“Oh.” Adrien tried a smile. “Hi, Cerise.”

“How are you?” she asked, grasping onto his arm as the two began walking towards the school entrance. “I heard you ran away! I was so worried until I heard you returned home…”

“Oh…” He swallowed, raising a hand to rub at the nape of his neck. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Uh… I was only gone for a few hours…”

“The woman on the phone sounded so nervous…” she sighed, “I was so scared! I even hopped on my bike and rode around looking for you!”

His eyes widened. “Really? Oh… I’m sorry, Cerise. I’m okay. Really.”

“Oh, well I’m glad that you’re physically okay, of course!” She tightened her hold on his arm. “But it’s clear that you’ve been having such a bad week! I mean, the presentation of the mural was clearly too much, then what Chat Noir senselessly did to the statue, then Marinette…” He swallowed. “I don’t blame you for being so upset! I’m so sorry, Adrien.”

That wasn’t even the half of it.

“Um…” He didn’t know what to say. “It’s not your fault.”

“You’re so brave for coming to school after everything you’ve gone though,” she sighed happily, practically leaning into his arm that she was still clutching. “You’re not even wearing a disguise, this time!”

He was… hoping it wouldn’t be necessary. Marinette’s sunglasses were broken anyway, and he figured he’d better return Alya’s hoodie and Nino’s cap, which sat in his bag.

“Do you… think I should’ve brought one?” he asked, the nervousness setting in. He could have. He didn’t need Marinette’s sunglasses, he could’ve put on some of his own. He was hoping to put on an actual brave face today instead of hiding, but…

“Oh, no! You don’t have to hide. I’m sure everyone would love to see you!” She turned to him with a smile. “... But… I know people can be so… insensitive sometimes. If you need someone to protect you, I’d be honored to help you.”

He frowned. “... Protect me?”

“You know, if you’re walking around school all alone… people might try to approach!” she rationed, placing a hand at her heart. “But if you’re already talking to someone, they’re more likely to leave us alone! And if someone does come up to ask you something insensitive, or tries to bother you, I can change the topic and save you the trouble!”

He supposed that made sense. He really, really didn’t feel like being approached by people he barely knew and asked how he was feeling. Plus, Nathalie was probably right that he should talk to his friends… and Cerise was a friend.

And she’d never lied to him. But…

“I wouldn’t want to bother you,” he said, “I’m sure you have better things to do than just keep me company, and…” He swallowed. “I know you like going to the crafts room…”

… which was the last place he wanted to be.

“Oh, Adrien, you’re so sweet!” She stopped just before the front doors of the school. Her eyes flicked briefly over his shoulder, and her smile brightened. She threw her arms open and pulled him into a hug. Stunned, he chose to wait it out. But what he’d expected to be a quick hug turned into a long one. She didn’t let go. Her arms only tightened around him. It’d be rude to keep her hanging, right? Awkwardly, he lifted his arms to place his hands on her back.

“Really. You are soooo sweet to worry about me like that…” She pulled back, just enough to look him in the eyes, still holding him, their faces a bit too close for his liking. “... But really, I’d be happy to join you wherever you want to go! I need to widen my horizons anyway, and worst case scenario… I can do watercolors anywhere! I bring my own paints.”

“Ah…” he cleared his throat, waiting for the hug to end. It didn’t. Her eyes briefly flicked over his shoulder again. “Well… if you’re sure…”

He began to turn his head, desperate for reprieve and curious what she had been looking at behind him. She gasped and placed a hand at his cheek, turning his face back to hers. “No, don’t look!”

He frowned. “What?”

She whispered, “Marinette’s… watching us.”

His eyes widened, his heart picking up. “What?” He turned his head agai—

Cerise grasped both his cheeks, turning his head back to face her, holding him in place. “Adri-en!” She laughed, her breath tickling his skin. “I thought you were avoiding her?”

“I…” He swallowed.

“Oh, Adrien…” She smiled sympathetically. “You’re so cute. Here, come with me!”

Finally, she pulled back from him, and he happily let his arms drop to his sides— at least, until she grasped one of his hands in hers and rushed forward in through the school doors, practically yanking him along with her.

He stumbled after her, following her as she led him down the hall. “So!” she said, finally slowing to a stop and turning to smile at him. “What do you want to do today?”

“Uh…” Adrien swallowed, brain wracking for an answer that could be deemed acceptable. He gazed out over the hall and saw…

“Dude!” Nino called, pushing through the students on his way to Adrien. “Hey!”

“Nino’s not a part of this,” Marinette had said. And Marinette had lied to him before— many times, a lot of times, about even the most egregious of things— but Adrien… was going to choose to believe it. This time.

Because he really, really wanted it to be true.

Adrien tried a smile. He tried to subtly remove his hand from Cerise’s, but she must not have gotten the hint— her grip remained. “Hey, Nino…”

“Oh! Hi, Nino!” Cerise greeted cheerfully.

“Uh… Hey, Cerise!” Nino’s smile was a little awkward. He locked eyes with Adrien. “Hey, man. What… happened yesterday? You okay? Nathalie called me and…”

Adrien opened his mouth to respond, probably some variation of ‘I’m sorry’ or ‘I’m fine, really’ when—

Cerise’s grip on his hand tightened. “Oh, Adrien’s fine! Just a bit of a misunderstanding. How’s the film going, by the way? I heard Mireille got injured on set, poor thing! Is she okay?”

Nino blinked, dazed. Adrien was feeling a little dazed himself. “Huh? Oh, uh… it’s going good. She just scraped her knee. But…” He turned back to Adrien. “Adrien—”

“Oh, that’s so good to hear!” Cerise continued, “I was sooo worried it’d been something more serious! Well, Adrien and I actually have to get going, but I’d loooove to hear more about the film sometime! I’m sure it’s amazing!”

They had to get going? To where? They hadn’t even decided what they were going to do yet, and Adrien still had to—

Nino was stunned. “Uh… oka—”

“Bye!” Cerise waved, and next thing Adrien knew, he was being tugged down the hall.

“Uh— wait, Cerise…” He glanced back over his shoulder at Nino, who was only getting further and further away. “I actually had to give him some things…”

Alya’s jacket and Nino’s cap were still in his school bag. He’d meant to hand them both off to Nino. That way, he wouldn’t have to talk to Alya.

“Oh, but Adrien!” Cerise slowed to a stop, turning to face him with a confused expression on her face. “I thought you wanted me to protect you from people asking you questions?”

“Uh…” He hesitated. “But Nino…”

“Oh, Adrien…” She smiled at him, eyes soft. “You don’t owe anyone anything. It’s okay. You don’t have to feel bad about wanting a bit of privacy!”

He swallowed. Is that what was happening? “Uh…”

“Anyway!” She stepped up close to him. “What are we doing first?”

*****

Adrien couldn’t help but wonder what Cerise got out of this. He felt like he made pretty awful company— completely unable to match her apparent enthusiasm as she humored him in his weak attempts at making his school day worthwhile.

She dragged him around from room to room, hand gripping his, as the two tried to find something to really do. He felt a bit awkward— but she was nice, at least, and made good on her promise. Few students tried to approach Adrien with questions or comments about Chat Noir or Nathalie’s phone calls, and when they did Cerise would make quick work of them, distracting them and effectively ending the conversation before it could get uncomfortable. He had to admit that it was kind of nice.

Most of the day, they spent their time in the library. It was by far the easiest place to find something to do with minimal pressure, and Cerise was happy to read books or do her watercolors on the table while he read about the Han dynasty or particle physics.

Moments like that, sitting together, were comfortable for the most part. But every once in a while, she’d suddenly get a twinkle in her eye, glance at something over his shoulder, and her smile would sharpen. And then she’d scoot her chair closer to his, lean in close, place her hand atop his, and whisper things in his ear like “What are you reading about?”

And when he’d attempt to answer her, she’d shush him and tell him to keep his voice low, as if hushed whispers in each other’s ears were the only acceptable volume level for a library.

But it was fine. Cerise had some quirks, but he generally liked quirks, and he could deal. So when, at some point, Cerise whipped out a poetry book and started reading poems to him— not even whispering them like she’d apparently thought necessary— he forced a smile as if it didn’t make him feel a little weird.

Lunch was probably the worst.

Cerise had claimed a small table for the two of them— and though he felt a little bad about avoiding Nino (who supposedly had done nothing wrong), he had to admit that he wasn’t keen on sitting with Marinette or Alya right now.

But he could feel their gazes on him, burning holes into his back as he sat stiff at the table. And Cerise placed her hand atop his and leaned in close, saying things to him like “It’s okay, Adrien. Marinette’s looking at you, so don’t turn around, just keep your eyes on me!”

The dread was almost overwhelming. He definitely should’ve gone home for lunch.

But he persevered through the rest of the day. No scenes were made. He didn’t have a single breakdown in the bathroom or in the library, and he didn’t miss the second half of the day due to a random unexplainable near-death experience in his bedroom at lunchtime, either.

He was fine. He wouldn’t qualify it as a good day, exactly, but it wasn’t traumatic. He’d take some mild, constant discomfort over the alternative any day.

The school day was almost over, just about twenty minutes left, but he’d begun to feel antsy again. He was having difficulty sitting still at his seat in the library— so, like every time before, he excused himself from Cerise to go to the restroom for a moment of reprieve.

“Wait, Adrien!” Cerise called after him, rushing up to him as he neared the bathroom door. “Don’t use that bathroom!”

He blinked and turned to face her. “Huh? Why?”

“It’s out of order! I overheard someone say so earlier—”

“Huh?” He inspected the door. “There’s no sign. They probably fixed it.”

“No, wait—”

He wasn’t going to walk halfway across the school to find another restroom because of some rumor. He shot Cerise a smile and slipped inside—

A sob.

Adrien stilled.

He froze in the doorway, the distinct sounds of quiet sniffles and sobs echoing off the walls. Someone was crying in a stall.

And they sounded familiar.

Tentatively, he took a single, quiet step into the bathroom. Whoever was crying must not have noticed that someone had entered. Heart in his throat, he leaned forward just enough to peer down across the bottom of the stall walls, and in the farest stall he saw…

… Marinette’s flats.

His heart dropped— and before he could take another step further, his wrist was caught in a vice and he was being forcibly yanked back out to the hall.

“Oh my gosh!” Cerise whisper-yelled, as the bathroom door shut closed again, “Someone’s crying in there! You should give them privacy—”

“Marinette,” he said, his eyes locked on the wood, his veins like ice despite the blood pumping in his ears. He needed to get back in there. He needed to talk to her. He needed to help her. “That was… that was Marinette.”

Cerise gasped. “Really?”

He didn’t respond. He pushed forward back towards the door—

Cerise yanked him back. “Adrien!” she admonished, “You can’t go in there!”

“What?” he breathed, finally tearing his eyes from the door to look at Cerise. “But—”

“Oh, Adrien…” She sighed. “Do you really think you’re the person she wants to see right now?”

His eyes widened. “... I…” He turned back to the door. But…

Marinette is in there, and she’s crying, and she’s alone—

“With what’s going on between you two, seeing you would only make her feel even worse!” Cerise reasoned, and he sucked in a sharp breath. Was that true? “It’s so sweet that you want to help, but… trust me, Adrien… I’ve been there.”

“But…” He couldn’t just leave her there.

“Here,” she said, placing her hands at his chest and pushing him back a good meter away from the door that his eyes were still locked on. “I’ll talk to her and make sure she’s okay! Okay?”

He swallowed. But…

Before he could argue, Cerise was turning on her heel and making her way into the bathroom herself. Adrien sucked in a harsh breath, twisting and twisting at the rings on his fingers, inching closer to the door and hovering around it, afraid to go inside.

He didn’t want to make it worse.

He heard voices from inside, vaguely, when he pressed his ear to the door— but he couldn’t make out what they were saying. He didn’t know what was happening.

Is she okay?

Is this your fault?

He chewed his lip. What if he just went inside anyway? What if Cerise was wrong? What if—

The door opened, and Cerise slipped out of it, a sad look on her face. He stared at her, pleading with his eyes, nearly wringing his hands together.

She shot him a pitying look. “Oh, she’ll be okay…” she whispered, grasping him by the shoulders and turning him, leading him away from the door. “She just needs some privacy right now.”

They were just leaving her? “But—”

“Trust me, Adrien! She doesn’t want to see you right now! She seemed pretty upset at you…”

His eyes widened. “What?”

Marinette was upset at him? For what? He wasn’t the one who made a fool out of her, who lied to her about her father’s death, who betrayed her trust and tricked her into believing some twisted fantasy—

She’s crying in the bathroom right now, and you’re still bitter?

He withered.

His excuse of needing to go to the bathroom was long-abandoned as he let Cerise lead him back to the library, the small lie dying out with any belief that today had been passable. He hadn’t broken down in the bathroom. But Marinette had.

And after they put away their books, and the bell rang, and Cerise was tugging him back out the school entrance, he couldn’t help but wonder if Marinette was still there.

“Well, um…” he murmured, as the two approached his car. “Thanks for… everything, Cerise.”

Cerise lit up. “Oh, of course! Adrien, I’ll always be here for you.”

He swallowed and gave a small nod. She finally released his hand, so he turned to the car door—

“Dude!” Nino called, and Adrien stilled. He turned to Nino, who was rushing up to him. “Wait!” Nino practically skidded to a stop in front of him. “I totally forgot to ask you this morning— are you free right now?”

Adrien blinked. “Uh…” He took a quick glance at his bodyguard, who merely shrugged. Nathalie hadn’t told Adrien of any expectation to be home right after school. “Yes?”

“Really? Yes!” Nino pumped his fist. “We were all going to head to Pont des Arts.”

Adrien wasn’t sure who ‘we all’ were— but as he glanced over Nino’s shoulder, he saw a familiar group from collège hovering together— Mylène, Nathaniel, Rose, Marc, Juleka, Ivan— watching them.

“Oh.” Adrien tried a smile. “Okay.”

His bodyguard gave him a nod through the rear-view mirror. Adrien probably wouldn’t even have to text Nathalie. His bodyguard would tell her.

“Oh, that sounds so fun!” Cerise spoke up.

Nino stiffened. “Oh, uhh…” He hesitated. “You’re totally invited to come too, Cerise! I’m just… not sure you’d want to?”

“Really? Why not?”

The car pulled out from the sidewalk.

“We were going to get some Sweethearts ice cream.”

Adrien stiffened. And his ride drove away.

“Oh, that’s fine!” Cerise smiled. “I love ice cream! I’ve never gotten any from there before but… surely the famous André serves single people too? He wouldn’t turn me away, would he?”

Nino laughed. “No, you’re totally good! As long as you don’t feel like a… uh…” He glanced back over his shoulder at the group, calculating. “... an eleventh wheel?”

Nino began to walk towards the group, and Adrien and Cerise followed.

“Eleven?” Cerise asked. The group gave their greetings, and they all began to walk. “I only count nine.”

“Yeah, Alya’s looking for Marinette,” Nino said, whipping out his phone, presumably to check his texts. He began typing. “She’s having trouble finding her, but they’ll catch up. I’m telling her I managed to catch Adrien.”

“The bathroom,” Adrien muttered, his eyes locked down on his feet.

“Huh?”

“The… bathroom by the library.” Adrien cleared his throat. “That’s where… Marinette was. Last I… heard of her.”

Last he heard her crying, alone, in the far-end stall. Last he left her. Last he didn’t even attempt to comfort her. Because she was upset at him. Because he was the last person she wanted to see.

He wondered if there was any way he could get out of going to André’s cart now. Surely Marinette wasn’t going to come, so why should he? To be the ninth wheel to Cerise’s tenth?

“Oh yeah? I’ll tell her,” Nino said, typing away at his phone. Adrien sucked in a breath.

At least Alya would probably be able to comfort her, if she really was still crying in there. Just like Cerise tried. Just like Adrien never even attempted—

“Hey, Adrien,” Nathaniel spoke up, “How are you, by the way?”

“Yeah!” Rose piped up, “We were so worried!”

“Are you okay?” Mylène asked.

Adrien tried to force a smile. “I—”

“Oh, Adrien’s great! You guys should’ve seen him today— he was so in the zone!” Cerise piped up, suddenly grabbing onto his arm, “Oh, by the way, what kinds of flavors does André have? I’ve never been! Do you guys have any recommendations?”

He had to admit. She was good at this.

“Oh, uh…” Nathaniel hesitated, “You don’t really get to pick. He picks for you.”

“Really?” Cerise hummed. “What if you have an allergy? Or you just can’t stand the flavors he picks for you?”

“Well…”

*****

Adrien hovered around the railing of Pont des Arts as the couples lined up to get their ice creams, fiddling with his rings.

Cerise sighed from her place at his side. “I’m kind of nervous…”

“What for?” Nino asked, from his other side.

“I’ve never ordered from here before! André’s so famous… I’m a little intimidated…”

“Intimidated?” Nino laughed. “Nah, don’t worry. André’s really nice.”

“Hasn’t he gotten akumatized like… three times?” Cerise asked.

“Four,” Adrien corrected automatically. He forced himself to stop messing with his rings, drumming his fingers against the railing behind him instead.

Nino hesitated. “Well…”

“What if I don’t like what he gives me? Then I’d have to force myself to eat it all, right? I wouldn’t want to be rude…”

“Won’t happen. He always picks the right combination for you, it’s his thing! He’s like… an ice cream psychic, or something.”

“Or what if he refuses to serve me at all, just because I’m alone?”

“He doesn’t do that. Really!”

“I’ve gotten ice cream from him alone before,” Adrien offered quietly.

Cerise smiled at him. “Really? And it was good?”

He nodded, and Nino perked up beside him. “There they are!” Nino called, pushing himself away from the railing.

Adrien sucked in a breath and turned just in time to see two familiar figures approaching from the distance. One with a distinct orange ombre, and one with dark pigtails.

She actually came?

Adrien stiffened, tearing his gaze away from the approaching girls and instead to his feet, his heart racing. Everyone was going to be expecting him and Marinette to interact and share an ice cream, but how was that going to happen? How could it, when he wasn’t sure he wanted to talk to her yet, and she apparently didn’t want to talk to him, either?

“Oh, looks like it’s my turn!” Cerise stepped away from the railing. “Can you come with me, Adrien?”

“Huh?” He startled at his name, raising his head to look at her.

“I’d just feel a lot better if I wasn’t approaching the cart alone…” She gave him a shy smile.

“Oh.” He swallowed, staring at her so he wouldn’t have to look back at Marinette, who was certainly only getting closer and closer by the second. “Okay...”

With a bright smile, she grabbed his arm and tugged him up to the cart.

“Ah, a new face, a new pair of lovebirds!” André beamed, his eyes flitting between Cerise and Adrien, his smile falling. “But…”

Adrien shuddered. “No—”

“Oh, no! Adrien here is just my moral support!” Cerise corrected, but hugged his arm tighter. “I’ve never done this before, and I’m just so nervous! I’m getting an ice cream just for myself, if that’s allowed?”

“Ahh, of course! You needn’t a sweetheart to have sweetness in your heart!” André sang, twirling his scoop in his hand before grabbing a cone and beginning to fill it. “Taro and orange cream with a cherry on top…”

Nino gasped, and Adrien’s head turned away from the ice cream being handed to Cerise just in time to see it.

Marinette, tearing down the bridge away from them, practically barreling past pedestrians as Alya called out and began to chase after her.

Adrien’s heart plummeted, doused in ice cold water, all breath leaving his lungs.

“Oh, thank you so much!” Cerise absolutely beamed at André, slipping her arm out of Adrien’s to take the ice cream. “This’ll be delicious!”

Adrien took a step back, eyes locked on Marinette’s distant figure that was now bolting down the length of the Seine, only getting farther and farther from view, as Alya futilely continued her chase.

“Oh no!” Rose cried out, “Where’s Marinette going?”

“I…” Adrien swallowed, taking another step back. And then another. “I…” He sucked in a breath. “I think I’m… just… gonna go home.”

He could feel the eyes of the group on him— confused, offended, or pitying, he didn’t know— but he could feel them, even as he turned to leave.

“Dude, wait!” Nino cried out, as Adrien began marching away, hands shoved in his pockets, staring forward at the ground and trying to ignore the terrible, awful feeling in his chest. Nino caught up to him, right at his side. “Is… Is something going on with you and Marinette?”

What could he even say to that?

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he said, his voice sounding so pathetic on his tongue. “I’m just going home.” He walked faster, overtaking Nino. “Bye.”

*****

Adrien pushed in through the front doors, hands gripping the strap of his bag like a vice as he began to make his way to the foyer steps.

“Oh good, you’re home. Did you get my tex—” Nathalie cut herself off. Adrien didn’t look up to see her, his blurry vision instead locked on his feet as he began to climb the stairs. “Adrien? Are you okay?”

Adrien wiped the moisture from his eyes and said, voice thick, “I’m fine.”

“What’s wrong?” she asked, as he approached his bedroom door.

“Nothing.” He opened the door. “I just want to be alone right now.”

“Wait, but Adrien—”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Finally alone, he took in a long, deep, shaking breath—

His chair rolled out from the desk, spinning around to face him. He startled, gaze snapping up to see—

“Hey,” Félix greeted with a smile, leaning back in the chair, one leg kicked up over the other, “How’s my favorite cousin?”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

Adrien gaped.

Félix’s eyes softened, looking him up and down from his spot on his chair, his tone alarmingly genuine as he asked, “Really. How are you?”

Like a match to a gas leak, Adrien’s blood erupted into flames. Rage flared in his veins, the tears that had been threatening to spring back to his eyes evaporating in an instant amidst the heat.

How dare he ask him that? How dare he, as if he ever cared? How dare he, as if he wasn’t still likely a part of all of this somehow, as if he hadn’t been one of the deceivers, as if he hadn’t—

“Whoa.” Félix’s eyes widened. “Why the hostility?”

Adrien hadn’t moved. He only stared at him, poker faced, not allowing his magma to breach his surface. Chat Noir may have an excuse to be openly enraged, but Adrien didn’t— not as far as Félix was aware. He spoke simply, “I’m not being hostile.”

You’d know if I was.

Félix stared at him. “You’re positively furious at me,” he stated as fact, throwing kindling onto Adrien’s flames.

“You just know everything, don’t you?” Adrien snapped, vision red as he chucked his school bag off his shoulders.

Félix threw his hands up in surrender. “I promise, I come in peace!”

“Why?” Adrien bit out.

“Would you believe me if I said I was worried about you?”

Adrien scowled.

“Well.” Félix frowned. “You should.”

Adrien scoffed, marching past him and to the couch. “Let me guess. You were out looking for me yesterday, too?”

“Of course I was. Nathalie said you ran away. I was alarmed.” Adrien plopped down on a cushion. He heard a kick against the hardwood, and the sound of chair wheels rolling up to the couch. “Not that I can’t admire a rebellious streak, of course. If anyone’s earned one, it’s you.”

Adrien merely scoffed, leaning back against the couch and kicking his feet up onto the coffee table.

“... Just wanted to check in. Wouldn’t have turned you in if I’d found you. Nathalie hasn’t been giving you any trouble, has she?” Félix’s eyes fell to his hand.

Adrien crossed his arms and looked away. “Why would she?”

“Just checking.” He heard the creak of the desk chair leaning back. “I don’t know why you’re so upset with me. You know you can talk to me, right? I can be a good listener.”

“Oh, yeah,” Adrien sneered, “Right. Silly me. I must’ve forgotten how trustworthy you are.”

Félix hummed. “... Will you at least give me a hint? Last I checked, we were getting along fine.”

Last you checked, I was still in the dark. Last you checked, I wasn’t aware of all the ways you’d lied to me. Last you checked, there hadn’t been a mysterious new villain, and I hadn’t bothered to really question what your involvement in all of this was—

“Maybe I’ve just come to my senses,” he huffed, glaring at his shoes, still propped on the table.

A long pause. “… For the record, I may have appeared in the footage, but I had nothing to do with Chat Noir’s temper tantrum.”

Félix may as well have poured gasoline directly onto his fire. Adrien’s jaw clenched.

“Did I hit the nail on the head?” Félix sighed. “Really, Adrien. I tried to stop him.”

He hadn’t tried very hard, if Adrien recalled. He’d joined the chase, sure, but Ladybug was the one who’d really tried to apprehend him. Not that that mattered. Not that he wanted to think about it. Not that that was what actually had him so enraged.

Adrien eyed Félix’s tie, well aware of the brooch that laid beneath. “... Whatever.” He tore his eyes away again, looking anywhere but at him. “I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

“Of course, of course…” The chair creaked again, and both fell into a long silence. “... … I really did come here to check on you, you know. I don’t have any ulterior motives.”

As far as Adrien could tell, Félix was nothing but ulterior motives. He said nothing.

“I’m serious.” Félix’s tone matched his words. “I care about you.”

Adrien said nothing.

“... Really?” Félix sighed, clearly still picking up on the magma— because he just had to know everything, didn’t he? Of course he did. He was wielding the miraculous of emotion right now— a miraculous he got in some weird, uneven trade with Adrien’s father for reasons unbeknownst to him, because Félix apparently somehow figured out Shadowmoth’s identity— a miraculous that he, as far as Adrien was aware, rarely seemed to use the power of, a miraculous that once belonged to Nathalie and nearly killed her— and maybe did kill his mother if Nathalie had been lying to Chat Noir, a miraculous that everything seemed to come back to for some reason— “You need to cool off.”

Adrien stilled.

“... The… pool,” he said slowly, turning his head to face Félix. “The pool would cool me off.”

Félix gave him a strange look. “... The pool? Now?”

“Why not?” He watched him. “Even if it starts to get late… … It’s heated.”

“True…”

“It’d cool me off.” But the magma had already cooled, instead leaving a tingle in his nerves as Adrien leapt up to his feet, heart thumping in his chest in excitement. “You can borrow one of my swimsuits.”

Félix stared at him, eyes wide. “... Well. Alright.”

“Great,” Adrien breathed, rushing past him and to the closet.

*****

Adrien wasn’t exactly sure what he was doing. He was flying by the seat of his pants here. He wasn’t much of a schemer, not the way that Marinette was—

Don’t think about Marinette.

No, he had to focus on the now. On the present. Swimming in the pool and relaxing in the backyard and keeping Félix’s suspicions low.

“Why’d you run away?” Félix asked at some point, sitting on the edge of the pool.

Adrien shrugged from his spot in the water, arms crossed over the ledge. “I didn’t, really. I just went out for a few hours. How’s Kagami?”

That worked well to switch the subject. Next thing Adrien knew, he was lounging by the poolside watching Félix do backstrokes as he rambled on— actually rambled, which Adrien hadn’t realized he could do— about Kagami and her recent illustrations, funny comments she made, a shoujo manga she’d gotten him to read, her reaction to a musical he’d gotten her to see live, and the like.

“How’s Marinette?” Félix ended the blather.

“Fine,” Adrien answered, trying not to think about the ways it was a lie, “What’s being a superhero like?”

“Haven’t I talked enough?” Félix sighed, swimming to the edge of the pool and pulling himself up out of the water. “I came here to talk about you. You’re getting me sidetracked.”

“I don’t want to talk about me.” He watched him. “Maybe I just want to relax. Get my mind off of things.”

Félix shrugged, grabbing a towel and drying himself. “Fair enough, I suppose. But I’m sick of talking.”

“Fine.” Adrien placed his hands under his head, looking up at the sky as Félix approached and sat down in the lounge chair beside his. “We don’t have to talk.”

So they didn’t.

It was kind of weird, simply lounging in the backyard in complete silence with Félix. Maybe Adrien would have found it relaxing in any other scenario— if he trusted him like he used to, if his brain weren’t buzzing, if he didn’t feel so twitchy, if he didn’t have a million problems on the forefront of his mind.

At least Félix wasn’t wearing the brooch anymore. Maybe Adrien’s acting skills could actually be put to use now.

The two stayed in silence for what felt like hours. At some point, Adrien’s bodyguard stopped by with a plate of fruity drinks for them— but it was for the most part uneventful. With the sun beginning to set, even Adrien, as on edge as he was, found himself eventually sinking into the chair, practically having to force himself to stay awake and alert.

He peeked over at Félix, who seemed awfully relaxed himself, hands behind his head and eyes closed. Had he fallen asleep? Could Adrien be that lucky?

Quietly, Adrien slipped off of the lounge chair and to his feet. He tip-toed past Félix, taking advantage of the grass to muffle the sounds of his footsteps—

“Where are you going?” Félix murmured.

Adrien startled. “... The bathroom.”

Félix hummed. “It’s getting late. We done out here?”

“I… guess.”

Félix shrugged. “Alright.” He sighed, but sank further into the chair. “... I’ll head in in a sec. Just a few more minutes.”

Adrien swallowed. “Okay.”

Maybe a few minutes was all he needed.

With renewed vigor, Adrien turned on his heel and marched inside. Just indoors, by the bathroom nearest the back door, laid their clothes, nicely folded and ready for them to get dressed.

Adrien grabbed his clothes.

… and the brooch from Félix’s.

And sprinted up to his room.

He slammed the door shut behind him, brooch in hand. The moment he’d plucked the golden brooch from the clothes, magic had washed over it, the glamor dissipating into blue.

Adrien wasn’t sure where Duusu had been. Hopefully, Félix wouldn’t immediately notice that she had disappeared.

After changing into his clothes as quickly as he could— which was very quick, considering his years of modeling— Adrien brushed his fingers against the brooch, inspecting it.

Damaged, Nathalie had said. This brooch had once been damaged, and she had nearly died for it. But the ornamental peaco*ck feathers looked pristine as ever.

Plagg whistled. “Wow. I can’t believe you did that. He’s gonna be sooooo mad…”

“Hide,” Adrien said. Plagg rolled his eyes, and then disappeared into the cheese cabinet.

He gave the peaco*ck tail another touch— more intentional, this time, and a blue magical light zapped out. Duusu uncurled and looked at him.

“Hi, Duusu,” Adrien said, his heart racing, wondering how much time he had, and what he could possibly ask first.

“Hi!” She smiled. “Oh!” She flitted around him. “Are you pretending to be Adrien again?”

“I need you to tell me something,” he said seriously, and she stilled. “Did my m— aunt, Emilie Agreste, ever… wield you?”

Duusu spat out bubbles. “I can’t say!” Her lip quivered. “I can’t speak of my past holders. I’m sorry!”

Adrien grit his teeth. He didn’t have much time. “... Okay… can you at least tell me if… anyone wielded you, in the past… couple decades… before Nathalie Sancoeur?”

Duusu blinked. And then she laughed. “You’re so silly! You already know the answer to that!”

His jaw clenched harder.

“Hey, wait!” Duusu gasped, her eyes flicking to his left hand. “What happened to your ring? Why do you have Adrien’s—”

“ADRIEN!” Félix’s voice shouted from behind the door, and Adrien sucked in a sharp gasp, snatching Duusu out of the air and shoving both her and the miraculous into his pocket. He spun on his heel just in time to see Félix slam the door open and march inside. “Did you take my brooch?”

“What?” Adrien widened his eyes, feigning casual innocence. “Why would I take your brooch?”

Félix scowled at him, fully dressed now. He grit out, “It wasn’t with my clothes.”

Adrien shot him a look of confusion. “I don’t know. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He was sure he didn’t buy it. But Félix gave him one last suspicion-filled look-over and sucked in a deep breath, turning on his heel and marching out of the room shouting, “NATHALIE!”

The door slammed shut, and Adrien knew he didn’t have much time left. Félix was absolutely going to come back for him.

“Oooh…” Duusu flew out of his pocket, staring at him. “You’re not my holder…”

“I am right now,” Adrien grit out, snatching the brooch out of his pocket and pinning it to his shirt. The glamor washed over the peaco*ck’s tail, transforming it to silver.

He only put it on to solidify himself as Duusu’s holder, to continue his line of questioning without fear of her taking off after Félix. But before he could even open his mouth to ask another question— maybe about the nature of Félix’s trade with his father— he was overwhelmed with sensations he’d never felt before.

A low hum of emotions, swirling in the air. A distant network in the back of his mind, of feelings and sentiments— pain and tears and anger and joy and love. And he knew without even having to ask that he could hone in on any if he so chose. He could listen in and feel their rage, their despair, their passion.

Though, he didn’t have to listen very hard to sense a strong emotion, proximity close, within this very mansion. A source of panic and anxiety, wafting through the halls, nearly odorous in its strength.

But none of that was really what caught Adrien’s attention.

No, the emotions may have held an initial shock, but they were expected. He may not have been fully prepared to feel them, but they didn’t surprise him. He’d known something like that would happen.

The magic wafting off of his left ring finger, from his parents’ wedding bands, however, caught him completely unawares.

He stared at them. He turned his hand, eyes locked on the bands, waiting for his senses to sharpen and the error to be corrected, waiting for it to make sense, waiting for the rings to explain themselves.

A hum of life, swirling within the bands of silver. Magical. Living. Real.

A slam of an opening door, and the scent of anxiety hit him even harder, nearly overpowering.

“Adrien,” he heard Félix’s voice spit out, followed by approaching, marching footsteps, “I’m going to ask you again. Did you take my—”

Silence.

And Adrien’s eyes were still locked on his rings.

The anxiety shifted— not leaving, not growing, but changing in a way that Adrien could perfectly sense but never describe.

But his eyes were still on the rings.

“Adrien…” Félix said, tone slow and deliberate as he took a step towards him, “... I can explain.”

“You put an amok in my parents’ rings?” Adrien asked, somehow putting words to the horrible, indescribable realization that had hit him.

“No,” Félix lied— and Adrien knew that it was a lie, because he could sense it, could feel the amok on his finger— and took another step closer. “I didn’t—”

“You made a sentimonster out of my emotions?” Adrien shouted, finally whirling around to face him, his rage once again ignited. “Where is it!?”

Félix’s eyes widened— not that Adrien needed to pay much attention to his expression when he could feel the way the panic pulsed off of him, the way Adrien’s words had clearly struck some kind of emotional chord. “Adrien, I—”

He wrested the awful rings off of his finger, stumbling back away from Félix, gripping the amok object tight in his fist as he called out to the room in command, “Show yourself!”

Where was it? Where was it? If there was a sentimonster somewhere, under Adrien’s control, how did he not notice until now?

Instinct taking over, Adrien turned on his heel and marched to the bathroom, throwing open the door.

Félix followed him, “Wait, Adrien—”

Adrien marched inside and turned to the mirror, staring his own enraged face in the eye.

Why did he come to the bathroom? Had he really expected to find it here?

Pinching the rings tight between his fingers, he held them up to Félix and shouted, “What is this!?”

“This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out,” Félix said, still fearful, still full of palpable dread, with a new healthy dose of guilt. “I just—”

And Adrien couldn’t help but wonder why he was even entertaining this. Why he was going to listen to someone who had only ever lied to him, betrayed him, made a fool of him and turned his grief, his anger, his sadness, whatever into a monster—

“Duusu!” Adrien called, ignoring Félix’s heady spike of panic, “Spread my feathers!”

The magic washed over him, replacing his clothes with a peaco*ck’s coat. Fueled by adrenaline and betrayal, Adrien raised a gloved hand into the air, fingers poised and ready to snap—

“NO!” Félix screamed, the volume punctuated by the slam of absolute terror flooding Adrien’s senses, briefly stunning him in its intensity. Félix threw his hands up in front of him in a panicked gesture for mercy. “DON’T!”

And then Adrien saw it. On Félix’s finger— in Félix’s ring— another hum of life swirling in a silver band. Another amok.

What?

Argos couldn’t have put two amoks out into the world. A peaco*ck wielder could only have one sentimonster out at a time. At least one of the amoks had to have been created by someone else, like Mayura, or Shadowmoth, or…

Félix’s gaze flicked between Adrien and the ring on his finger. And then, before Adrien could blink, he launched forward and snatched the bands from Adrien’s hand.

As if it mattered. Ladybug and Chat Noir long learned their lesson that who was in possession of the amok didn’t really matter against whoever was wielding the peaco*ck. He could still snap it away—

“Give me the brooch,” Félix commanded, the wedding bands clutched between his fingers, the terror already shifting off of him in favor of relief.

Yeah, right. There was absolutely no way Adrien was about to—

You can’t disobey Félix, came a familiar rationale in the back of his mind. A thought usually reserved for his parents. An overwhelming need that usually made some semblance of justifiable sense, directed to an authority figure. A thought that he’d never been able to disobey before.

… and couldn’t now.

I don’t want to do that, he thought, a tremor in his hands as they moved to his lapel. Why am I doing this? he thought, as his fingertips grasped at the brooch. You can’t disobey Félix, he thought, as the miraculous was unclipped from his shirt, the magic instantly washing off of him, leaving him suddenly blind to the emotions and amoks around him.

And Adrien stared ahead in horror, merely a spectator to the way his own hand presented the miraculous out to Félix, palm-up.

Félix swapped the brooch with the rings, and immediately pinned it to his vest.

“I…” Adrien tried to say, left gaping like a fish, left to wonder why he’d done such a thing, why he’d so readily handed over his trump card, why he’d so willingly let Félix win a battle he had already lost—

“I’m sorry,” Félix said, looking to him with something maybe like exhaustion or pity. Adrien couldn’t tell. “Like I said. This wasn’t how I wanted you to find out.”

The thought— the dreaded order to obey, obey, obey— was gone, washed away the moment the rings had returned to his hand.

Images flashed in his mind. The cracked rings, coinciding with him feeling torn open, bleeding out in all ways but physical, his consciousness coming in and out. Nathalie, who loved him, who would never leave him to die, prioritizing fixing the rings over getting him an ambulance…

… his mother, dying of the same peaco*ck-borne illness that had nearly taken Nathalie…

… and Félix’s father, too.

His eyes locked on Félix’s ring. The ring that used to belong to Félix’s father.

“Are…” Adrien tried, the words barely above a breath, “... We’re… …” He couldn’t finish the thought.

Félix hesitated. “I can explain.”

And, once again, Adrien saw red.

He’d known. Félix had known. Yet another secret piled on, yet another thing that Adrien had never been allowed privy to. Flashes of the ways his father had ordered him around— even his mother, sometimes— flickered through his mind, you can’t disobey, you can’t disobey, his body moving on its own. The source of his life, the entirety of which had apparently all been a lie, resting at the base of his or whoever’s finger, and nobody had bothered to tell him—

“Look, I understand why you’re upset—”

Adrien roared and launched forward, making a swipe for the brooch—

“Duusu,” Félix sighed, easily side-stepping the attempted attack, “Spread my feathers.”

Adrien didn’t care. All he saw was red, red, red, and steam was shooting out his ears as he turned and tried to slug Argos in the face.

Argos caught his fist in his palm, easy.

Adrien tried to deck him with his other fist.

Argos caught that one, too.

“Adrien,” Argos sighed, gripping both of Adrien’s fists, not letting them go, not freeing him so he could continue his attack, “I’m not going to hurt you. I’m on your side here. We’re the same. But, as you can see, you can’t hurt me either, so let’s just calm down—”

“Plagg,” Adrien bit out with venom, “Claws out!”

Argos’ eyes widened, shock briefly painting his features in the seconds that Adrien saw it before Chat Noir jumped up, his steel boot kicking up and into Argos’ chin, the backflip effectively wresting his hands out of Argos’ grip as he landed back on his feet in a battle stance.

Argos stumbled back, grasping his jaw and gaping at him. “You’re—”

“Having another temper tantrum!?” Chat Noir roared, whipping his baton off his back.

Argos’ face lit up, and Chat Noir leapt forward, bringing his baton down with a CRACK to the tiled floor that Argos effectively leapt away from.

“Did I say that?” Argos nearly laughed, almost seeming giddy as Chat Noir charged forward, swinging his baton where Argos’ ducking head had once been. “Let me amend— I’m a huge fan. That statue stunt? Woooooo!” Argos flipped back out of the way of another attack, landing atop the foosball table. “Oh yeah, that was well-earned. More than I’d realized. Practically an art form!”

“You lied to me!” Chat Noir roared, “You all did! About EVERYTHING!”

“Actually? Yeah—” Argos jumped over a swing at his legs, landing back on the hardwood. “In retrospect— all your anger? Completely justified, can’t fault you for it—” He parried an attack with his fan. “Hey, let’s take this outside before you trash your room, eh, cous?”

Chat Noir didn’t care. He was barely listening to what Argos was saying— his white-hot rage still burning at both ends, he charged forward and aimed another swing.

Another dodge. And then Argos was leaping out the window, and Chat Noir was giving chase.

“If anyone deserves to be angry—” Argos said, flipping over a chimney, Chat Noir’s thrown baton ricocheting off of the brick and back into his hand. “It’s you! Of course you’re furious!”

“I AM!” Chat Noir shouted, practically launching himself on all fours after his prey and pouncing.

“Makes me almost wish my father had some gaudy statue to break,” Argos grunted, parrying the flurry of attacks that Chat Noir began to levy at him with his fan, “That must’ve been cathartic!”

Chat Noir slammed his foot into Argos’ abdomen, landing the hit and sending him flying back into a chimney.

“Augh— I’ll hand it to you, I didn’t see that kick coming,” Argos grunted, rolling out of the way of the baton that came slamming down where he was. “Keep it coming, cous! Let it out!”

“He was my ARCHNEMESIS!” Chat Noir shouted, chasing after Argos, who’d once again begun leaping across rooftops. “My FATHER! It’s my LIFE!”

“In my defense,” Argos said, turning around just in time to block another flurry of attacks, “I did not know you were Chat Noir.”

“The only thing you didn’t, huh!?”

“And here we thought you were weak-willed!” Argos laughed, dodging an attack with a backwards flip and perching atop a chimney. “Hm. That came out worse than I’d intended.”

“Weak-willed?” Chat Noir spat, chucking his baton at him. Argos caught it and tossed it right back. “‘We’?”

“Oh, don’t act so surprised,” Argos sighed, leaping away from the chimney and to a new rooftop to dodge Chat Noir’s pounce. “From what I’ve heard from her, it’s why you broke up.”

Chat Noir landed in front of him, briefly halting his advance, his hands clutched on the baton, bracing himself for his world to shatter around him yet again. “We… broke up?”

Argos gave him a bewildered, affronted look. “... I would sure hope so.”

Chat Noir clenched his fists, hissing out, “Excuse me?”

“We are discussing Kagami. Correct?” Argos huffed, and Chat Noir sucked in a relieved breath. “Wow. Yes. I was referring to Kagami. I don’t have extended conversations with your girlfriend about your willpower. Just your ex.”

Chat Noir growled. With the knowledge that his world wasn’t newly shattered for the thousandth time— well, it had been, but not in the last five seconds, at least— his vigor renewed and he launched another attack against him. Argos successfully dodged.

“I mean— don’t get me wrong! It wasn’t all your fault! Clearly!” Argos ducked under another blow. “You were a victim! And like I said, it came out worse than I’d intended—” Argos leapt over an attempted leg-sweep. “I just meant— Wow! There was a whole side of you I never knew about! I didn’t know you had all this—” He gestured to the entirety of Chat Noir. “—in you!”

With the opening, Chat Noir slammed his weapon into Argos’ side, sending him flying off the rooftop and into the park below. Citizens gasped and fled the scene— escaping the lifted dust of blown up dirt yet to settle from Argos’ impact into the ground.

As Argos began to pull himself up onto his feet, Chat Noir landed a couple meters away with a thud, steel boots stomping forward, lifting his baton—

A flash of red and black landed amidst the cloud of dust— their features nearly obscured, a head of dark hair raising to look at him.

Ladybug, he thought, heart lodged in his throat. Ladybug’s come to defend Argos again—

Orange slitted eyes locked on his, and a wave of relief nearly washed over him as Ryuko raised her sword—

“Wait—” Argos gasped.

—and roared, charging forward and lobbying a flurry of sharp, precise attacks at Chat Noir.

Chat Noir gasped, stumbling back to block and parry her enraged barrage. He narrowly dodged a slash of her sword— the blade instead slicing a street lamp in half and sending it crashing to the ground.

If any citizens were still around before that point, they were gone now— fleeing in droves as Ryuko continued her assault. One mistake on Chat Noir’s part was a mistake too many— and soon he was being slammed back into a shop window, shattered glass raining down on top of him.

He rolled out of the way just in time to miss her sword coming down and piercing the display sill. Leaping back to his feet, he held his baton defensively as she spun around and pounced at him again.

“My Queen!” Argos shouted from somewhere— but Chat Noir couldn’t look, couldn’t risk taking in his surroundings, couldn’t risk his attention being drawn away from the blade delivering blow after blow against his weapon, forced to back away amidst the onslaught. “Stop!”

“He was attacking you!” Ryuko shouted, her own attacks unyielding amidst Chat Noir’s parries. She went for a heavy downward swing, which he blocked, the friction of their metal weapons causing sparks to fly as they used all the force they could muster to push their weapons against each other.

“No, no, you misunderstand!” Argos rushed to their sides. “We were simply blowing off steam!”

“‘Blowing off steam’?” She grunted, her intense eyes not leaving Chat Noir’s, their energy still centered into their weapons locked together.

“All friendly!” Argos affirmed, “Chat Noir just needs to get some anger out of his system. We don’t want to hurt him. Think of it as… therapeutic.” Argos hummed in thought. “Actually. Something tells me you two would make great sparring partners…”

“‘Therapeutic’? ‘Sparring partners’?” She huffed.

“That’s right.”

Ryuko’s eyes narrowed, and Chat Noir narrowed his back. After a moment, the two pulled away from their locked position.

“Trust me, love,” Argos said, a big stupid grin on his face as he looked between them. “He’s more than earned this.”

“You know I don’t like it when you’re vague,” Ryuko said, her eyes not leaving Chat Noir’s, stepping back a few strides, saluting him with her sword and readying herself into a fencing stance.

He huffed, and did the same with his baton.

“I know,” Argos said, “I’ll fill you in later. I promise.”

What?

Chat Noir’s rage flared brighter, his posture and grip tightening.

“En garde! Prêts?” Argos called, “Allez!”

Chat Noir lunged forward, delivering his own barrage of attacks that Ryuko parried, attempting ripostes and going for attacks of her own.

Their match wasn’t stagnant, and certainly not above board— their blows and attacks to each other unrelenting, their position ever changing as they backed each other into corners and lunged and leapt, sparks flying at each clash of their weapons.

Argos followed them through the streets and rooftops and wherever else they found themselves in the midst of their match, calling penalties on any successful blows to each other that he deemed had hit too hard. Not that a penalty had any true meaning in such a scenario, but Chat Noir didn’t actually want to hurt Ryuko, and judging by the way the sharpness of her attacks would dull after a call, he figured she didn’t really want to hurt him, either.

The adrenaline pumping through his veins, carrying him through savage attack after nimble parry, began to dissipate. Even with his transformation, Chat Noir didn’t have endless energy, and as his blows began to weaken, so too did the fire in his veins dim.

On the rooftop they’d found themselves at, Chat Noir lunged at Ryuko, and she parried with a clink of their weapons. He readied his baton to go for another blow and—

Something large smacked against his arms, knocking his baton out of his hands and to the streets below. The object— a large, green shield— ricocheted off of chimneys, flying back to its origin.

Ryuko reared back, breaths heavy as she lowered her sword. Chat Noir’s breaths were heavy, too, as he turned and locked eyes with Carapace, who caught the shield in his outstretched hand.

“Hey!” Argos spun on his heel, leveling Carapace a look. “This has nothing to do with you.”

“You’re joking,” Carapace spat, “Right?”

Only then, weapon out of his hands and rage out of his system, panting and sweating and Ryuko’s immediate threat gone, did Chat Noir take in his surroundings.

Street lamps were sliced. Chimneys were crumbled. Windows and walls were cracked. A crater sat in the street from a penalty Argos had called that Chat Noir could still feel the crick in his neck from.

They’d done that. He’d done that. And he’d known it at the time, too— he hadn’t been oblivious to their destruction. But when the rage was flaring, and his blood was boiling and the steam was shooting from his ears, he hadn’t cared. He couldn’t pretend to. None of it mattered, not beyond delivering blow after blow to Argos or Ryuko.

But the rage was gone, now. And as he looked over the destruction set in, all he felt was a dawning horror at what he’d done.

Superheroes of all colors stood on adjacent rooftops, closing in on them, their stares judgemental. Because they were the superheroes, here. Not him. He was nothing but a monster— an honest to god monster— a sentimonster— a being of destruction and ruin, a walking temper tantrum, unstable—

“I’m serious.” Argos glared out over the growing crowd of heroes. “Leave.”

“Hey.” Rena Rouge touched down on a nearby chimney. “Break it up.”

“What… happened?” a high-pitched voice asked, and Pigella stepped out from behind a chimney. “Aren’t we all supposed to be friends?”

“We are,” Argos said, “This was just a friendly spar—”

“No… No, it wasn’t. There’s nothing ‘friendly’ about…” Vesperia gestured to the ruined streets. “... any of this.”

She was right. It wasn’t friendly, no matter what Argos said. It was all anger. A temper tantrum from a monster, monster, monster—

King Monkey perched on a chimney cap. “Sooo… which one of you’s the villain?”

I am. I’m the villain. A sentimonster. Destroying Paris for my own selfish desires, like father like son—

“Mind your own business,” Argos said, tone harsh.

“Look at what you’ve done!” Polymouse cried, gesturing to a nearby park with toppled trees, “This is our business, now.”

Heart slamming in his chest, panic setting in, more and more heroes began to appear, closing in. Chat Noir had to leave— he had to get out of here, the urge to run away and hide strong. But as he turned to try to leave, Minotaurox appeared, stomping forward, face hard as he backed Chat Noir into a chimney, leaving no room to escape, no baton on his back, and he was trapped, trapped—

“Don’t crowd him!” Argos snapped.

“Seriously. I’m confused.” King Monkey scratched his head. “Whose side are we on here?”

Miss Hound huffed, “We’re on Ladybug’s side.”

“But… whose side is Ladybug on? Chat Noir’s or Ryuko’s?”

“Guys,” Rena Rouge spoke up, “I think it’s a bit more nuanced than—”

“Are we seriously asking whose side Ladybug’s on when one of the options is Chat Noir?” Caprikid asked, exhausted.

“Uh, after that crap Chat Noir pulled with Gabriel Agreste’s statue?” Carapace scoffed, “Yeahuh. We are.”

“Seriously, guys, I…” Rena Rouge tried, “... This situation is probably a bit delicate—”

“There’s nothing delicate about it,” Carapace argued, turning to Chat Noir and leveling him a scowl. “Can you go one week without ruining everything?”

No. Apparently not. Because I’m unstable, and I’m a monster—

“Yeah, I dunno, things were pretty peaceful until Chat Noir started going all crazy,” King Monkey said.

Crazy. Crazy. They think you’re crazy, Chat Noir thought, heart in his throat as he tried once again to leave, only for Minotaurox to close the distance further. His back hit chimney brick.

Argos held his arm out, hand catching Minotaurox’s chest, halting his steps. “Back off. You’re upsetting him.”

“Seriously?” Minotaurox huffed, “How would you know?”

“Gee. I wonder.” Argos rolled his eyes, gesturing to his brooch. “Miraculous of emotion. Take a wild guess, big guy.”

“Hey!” Polymouse got in Argos’ face. “You can’t talk to him like that.”

Ryuko stepped in close, sword raised.

“EEP!” Polymouse squeaked and hid behind Minotaurox.

“Hey!” Minotaurox shouted to Ryuko, “Back off!”

Ryuko narrowed her eyes. “You do not intimidate me.”

Pigella cried out, “We’re all supposed to be FRIENDS!”

“Okay, so I’m confused again,” King Monkey piped up, “Now we’re after Ryuko? I’m losing track of who I hate.”

Argos pinched his nose, letting out a long, frustrated breath. “Maybe stop trying to think if you find it so difficult.”

“Okay, so it’s Argos that I hate.”

“I still don’t trust Chat Noir after what he did,” Carapace added, his gaze on Chat Noir harsh.

“We’re not here to take sides,” Rena Rouge said, “It’s nuanced—”

“What nuance?” Carapace scoffed, “What are you talking about? You know how he hurt you-know-who.”

“I… do… but…” Rena Rouge nervously chewed her lip.

“But what?”

Breathe. Breathe. Breathe. Breathing was difficult, everyone closing in around him, trapping him, and he clutched his hand to his heart slamming in his chest.

A voice mumbled, “Guys…”

“Oh my god, can we stop fighting?” Vesperia sounded exhausted. “Pigella is right, we’re supposed to be a team.”

Yeah, they were, but everything was falling apart, everyone was fighting, and it was all Chat Noir’s fault—

Miss Hound huffed, “I’m not making any decisions without Ladybug present.”

“If Ladybug’s not here to guide us, what do we do?” Rooster Bold asked.

“Chat Noir is the second in command, of course,” Pegasus explained, “But considering recent events, it would be wise to take another opinion into consideration.”

“Guys…”

She should’ve taken your miraculous. You don’t deserve to keep it. You’re a being of destruction, a monster, sowing discord, nobody trusts you and they have a right not to, no wonder everyone lied to you, no wonder everyone thought you couldn’t handle the truth—

“So, who’s third in command?” King Monkey asked.

Rena Rouge raised her hand. “Well, technically, I’ve been at this the longest besides Ladybug and Chat Noi—”

Caprikid sighed, “Where’s Viperion when you need him?”

“Hey!” Carapace snapped, “You even listen to what she just said?”

Rooster Bold added, “Bunnyx could help if she were here. She knows basically everything, right?”

“‘Sup,” Bunnyx said.

“Wait— how long have you been here? Why haven’t you said anything?”

“I don’t mess with the past unless I have to,” Bunnyx said, “I’m technically from next week. I actually slept through this. Thought I’d come see what I missed—”

“GUYS!!” Purple Tigress roared, startling everyone to attention. She thrust her pointer finger to the sky, towards an “AKUMA!!”

Startled shouts and gasps tore out among the crowd, and Chat Noir whipped his head up, catching the sight of fluttering purple wings for only a moment before it disappeared into his—

“Poor little kitten…”

Chat Noir gasped, collapsing forward onto his knees and clutching his head, the screams and cries of the heroes around him nearly becoming nothing but noise amidst the swirling anguish and the voice whispering poison into his head.

“... betrayed over and over and over again… losing everyone’s trust, when they were the ones who failed you… you must feel so lonely. But don’t worry, kitten, I’ll always be a friend of yours—”

“VENOM!”

…

…

…

…

A black butterfly flitted out of the remains of his golden bell, crunched beneath Minotaurox’s boot. Chat Noir sucked in a sharp breath and tried to scramble back— but the chimney was still right behind him.

“What do we do?” someone shouted, as Chat Noir grasped at his chest and tried to breathe.

“Ladybug’s not here to purify it!”

“It’s getting away!”

“SHELTER!” Carapace shouted, thrusting his arm towards the akuma, catching it in a small green dome. He rushed forward and caught it as it fell. “I got it!”

“Sorry, Chat Noir,” Vesperia said softly, her hand on his shoulder, “I panicked. You were only out for a second, I swear.”

Chat Noir looked down at his shaking hands, taking in the black leather, thinking about what could’ve just been—

Red skies and ash— the moon, torn in two, Ladybug— Marinette— crumbling apart in his white arms, blowing away in the wind—

“Uh…” Carapace looked around anxiously, still holding the cage of the fluttering unpurified akuma, “Now what? My Shelter doesn’t last forever!”

“I’m going to go… look for Ladybug,” Rena Rouge announced, pouncing away and taking off across the rooftops.

“I thought Monarch was defeated!” Rooster Bold cried, “How is there an akuma?”

“Technically speaking,” Pegasus said, “Ladybug informed us that the butterfly miraculous was never recovered—”

“So there’s a new Monarch?”

And they’re after me, he realized, breath catching in his throat, They’re after me. They’re trying to akumatize me. They’re going to make me hurt everyone I love, destroy everything—

You already have.

“Aw, sweet!” King Monkey cheered, and everyone turned to look at him. “... … What? Being a superhero is boring without a villain!”

“We shouldn’t be celebrating the appearance of a new villain!” Polymouse cried, “We were finally in an era of peace!”

“Uh…” Carapace croaked, “... Guys?”

Everyone drew their attention to his Shelter— where a white butterfly was fluttering around.

“Did it…” Minotaurox trailed.

“It appears the new butterfly wielder purified the akuma themselves,” Pegasus assessed.

“That’s… good. Right?” Vesperia asked.

“No. That’s bad.” Argos looked around. “Don’t you guys get it?”

They stared.

“The butterfly wielder can only send one akuma out at a time. If they got rid of one, they’re likely looking to send another.”

“Another?” Minotaurox gasped.

“Because Chat Noir…” Argos gestured to him. “... is still upset!”

No. No. No, no, no no no nononono…

Hunched forward on the ground, Chat Noir grasped his hair, trying to breathe, but how could he when everything was falling apart, when his nightmare was moments away from becoming reality—

“Ryuko and I had this handled,” Argos declared, “until you all decided to get involved in something that didn’t concern you. You’re overwhelming him, and you need to leave—”

“We’re not leaving,” Minotaurox huffed.

“Yes.” Argos narrowed his eyes at him. “You are. You have to, before another—”

The sound of a lyre chord cut through the air, and everyone turned their heads to the sound. A teal figure stood atop a distant chimney, pointing to a new pair of fluttering black wings nearing the scene. He shouted out, “AKUMA!”

“Oh, there’s Viperion!”

“What do we do?” Polymouse squeaked out in panic.

“I can’t sting him again!” Vesperia gasped, “I’m on a timer!”

“I haven’t unlocked infinite Shelters yet!” Carapace cried, “I won’t be able to catch it!”

“What if— um—” Miss Hound stammered, “What if Caprikid makes a jar, or King Monkey disrupts the butterfly, or Rooster Bold—”

“Sure,” Argos scoffed, “And then the next one? And the next? They’re going to keep coming!”

Ill-mannered child who can’t control his anger, unstable, monster, Marinette turning to ash—

Viperion leapt over to an adjacent rooftop, shouting, “You need to calm him down!”

Calm? How could he calm down right now, when he was trapped, when the akuma was after him, when imminent destruction was at his fingertips, when he was about to lose everything and it was all his fault—

“He can’t calm down with you all crowding him!” Argos snapped, “Are you listening at all to what I’m saying?”

“Man, this sucks,” King Monkey whined, “If only one of us had the power to magically make people happy or something—”

Everyone stilled. One by one, they each turned to face…

“... … Oh!” Pigella gasped, her face lighting up, clapping her hands together. “This is my time to sparkle!”

Chat Noir stiffened, vision blurred through tears as he watched Pigella push through the colorful crowd. She pranced forward with a twirl, her pink skirt swishing out as she knelt down before him. She smiled at him bright, her eyes large and kind as she said, “Don’t worry, kitty, I have a Gift for you!”

*****

Marinette’s laughter was radiant, bouncing off the walls of the hall as they turned, her white skirt swishing with the movement.

“Careful, mon chaton,” she said, with affection clear in her crinkling eyes as she looked at him, “I just know I’m going to step on your toes.”

Adrien shook his head, pulling her in closer, a hand at her back. “Go ahead, my lady. You know I don’t mind.”

She hummed, looking out across their crowd of spectators— Nathalie, Félix, Nino, Alya, friends, family, classmates, all people they loved and who loved them, dressed in attire befitting a wedding. Her hand squeezed his. “Sometimes, I think you put up with too much.”

There was no such thing, when it came to her. He loved her. He loved her with all of his heart, and he knew she loved him, too. Through any rough patch, they could make it out. They were stronger than that. It was them, side by side, hand in hand, against the world.

“You think so, Atlas?” he teased, enjoying the playful roll of his lady’s eyes. They turned in time with the song, her skirt swishing mesmerizingly again— but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

“Okay, fine. Maybe we both put up with too much,” she laughed, radiant, radiant.

He leaned forward, his cheek brushing against hers as he whispered into her ear, “Good thing we have each other to lighten the load. Right?”

“Right…” she sighed, as he brushed his lips against her soft skin. “... At least, we do until Nathalie steals you for your dance.”

“We’ll get our privacy eventually.” He beamed. “After the dances, and all the toasts…”

“Oh, I can’t wait to hear Nino’s speech,” she giggled, “I can wait for Alya’s, though. I just know it’ll make me cry.”

“We cried at our vows, my lady, and I intend to cry at every speech thereafter,” he declared, “Even Félix’s, I’m sure.”

“I guess we’d better stay hydrated.” Her lips brushed against his cheek. “I just love you so mu… wha— what’s going on here? What happened? Chat Noir! Are you okay?”

“Huh?” he breathed, as she pulled away from him, her brow furrowed beneath a red mask, her stare intense. The moment his eyes locked onto hers, she gasped and flinched back, yanking her hand from his cheek as if it’d burned. She scrambled to her feet— no longer crouching above him, which she’d apparently been doing, because he was on the floor— no, a rooftop, sitting back against a chimney—

“I wasn’t— I was just checking if you were okay,” Ladybug stammered, face red as she whirled around away from him. “Can someone please tell me what’s going on!?”

I love you too, he never got to say, the opportunity stolen from him, his mouth useless as he grasped his hand at his chest, the dream fading away— the guests of their wedding now dressed in super suits, the celebration in the air replaced with bitter tension.

Everyone began to speak, their voices tripping off of each other, contradicting each other in a senseless cacophony—

“One at a time!” Ladybug spat.

Miss Hound stepped forward. “Chat Noir and Ryuko were attacking each other,” she reported dutifully, “They practically tore the city apart. And Argos was… involved, somehow.”

“I was the referee,” Argos clarified.

“What?” Ladybug gasped, spinning to face Ryuko, “Why were you fighting Chat Noir!?”

“It was a sparring match,” Ryuko said simply.

“That went beyond ‘sparring’,” Polymouse argued, gesturing out once again to the destruction, “Look at what you did!”

“It was pretty vicious,” Rooster Bold agreed. “Didn’t look friendly at all.”

“It was completely friendly,” Argos dismissed, “We were just helping him blow off steam. And it was working, until everyone interrupted.”

“Chat Noir was almost akumatized,” Vesperia added, “Twice.”

“I caught one in a jar,” Caprikid announced, holding up a jar with an akuma still fluttering inside.

“And I helped!” Pigella chirped. “Chat Noir’s calmed now! Right, Argos?”

Argos didn’t bother with a response.

“I— Oh my god,” Ladybug practically cried, dragging her hands down her face. “This can’t be happening…”

“So… are we sure that wasn’t Monarch?” Minotaurox asked nervously.

Pegasus began, “Technically speaking, since all miraculouses but the butterfly have been retrieved, he would most likely be referred to as ‘Hawkmoth’ again—”

“No. No, it’s— it’s someone different,” Ladybug said, “I told you, Monarch was… defeated—”

“But you never got the miraculous back from him?” Caprikid asked, “How is that even ‘defeating’?”

“Well, I… I…” Ladybug stammered.

“Also, for future reference,” King Monkey spoke up, “Who are we supposed to side with here?”

Ladybug whirled around to face him. “What? We don’t pick sides! We’re a team!”

“I believe what King Monkey is trying to ask is, in a hypothetical scenario where Ryuko and Chat Noir were engaged in battle and you weren’t present to assist, what would be the expected protocol?” Pegasus clarified.

“Yeah,” King Monkey agreed, “What he said.”

“No two of us will be engaged in battle, because we’re a team!” she hissed, “We’re all on the same side! The protocol is to stop fighting!”

“Are we all on the same side?” Carapace scoffed.

Ladybug leveled him a look. “Yes.”

“Because, last I checked,” Carapace said, “Chat Noir’s been causing more trouble than good.”

Ladybug sucked in a harsh breath. “No—”

“What he did to the monument was pretty terrible,” Caprikid agreed.

Chat Noir slowly began to pull himself up onto sore legs, the exhaustion from the day weighing heavy on his muscles.

“No, no, you guys don’t understand,” Ladybug said, “Chat Noir can— he’s— he’s allowed to break… wh-whatever he wants! He’s a free spirit! I’m not— I’m not the boss of him!”

“So, he’s not part of the team?” Miss Hound asked.

“No, he is!” Ladybug spat, “He’s part of the team! I’m just not his boss, because he’s my— my partner!”

“So we’re just supposed to sit around and let him destroy whatever he wants, no matter who it hurts?” Carapace hissed.

“I— Look, it’s fine, I’ll fix it—”

“You can’t fix it!” Carapace shouted, “You couldn’t fix the statue—”

“I’m sorry,” Chat Noir muttered, voice hoarse, and he could sense everyone stiffen. He didn’t look up to meet their gazes, his eyes instead locked on Ladybug’s feet. “It’s all my fault. I’m just a monster.”

He lifted his gaze to turn, meeting Ladybug’s stricken gape for only a second before he pivoted on his feet and began to walk away.

“We’ll handle it. Okay?” he could hear Argos say, voice growing distant as Chat Noir hopped over alleyways and continued his trek home. “Don’t bother us again.”

Chat Noir didn’t look back. He just mechanically moved from rooftop to rooftop, gaze low and pace slow. He just wanted to go home. He just wanted to curl up in his bed. He just wanted to forget that the last week had ever happened. He wanted to forget everything.

He heard two sets of footsteps following him, and as he began to near the mansion, he forced himself to slow to a stop, peeking back over his shoulder at his pursuers.

Argos and Ryuko leapt to an adjacent rooftop, their eyes on him. Ryuko turned to Argos, and the two exchanged whispers.

Great.

Logically, he supposed that Argos following him made some sense. Félix had been at his house before the altercation had begun, and he imagined that he had more to say to him. But Ryuko wasn’t a part of this, and she didn’t know his identity, and he didn’t want her to.

Then again, Argos would probably end up telling her either way. The fact that Argos was letting Ryuko follow him home was evidence of that enough. Chat Noir scowled in their direction— but there was no fire behind it, his kindling far too damp. Instead, he turned on his heel, and continued his journey.

He leapt into his window, landing with a thump of his steel boots against the hardwood floor. As he lifted to his feet, a wave of magical ladybugs washed over the room, repairing cracks in the floor and righting the disarrayed furniture.

Apparently, Ladybug had been able to fix all the damage this time. Good, he thought automatically, feeling nothing in particular about it as two pairs of feet landed on the hardwood behind him.

“Why are we here?” Ryuko asked.

“Duusu, hold my feather,” Argos said, and Chat Noir looked over his shoulder to see the blue magic wash off of him. Félix smiled, looking between the two of them. “It’ll all make sense in a second. I promise.”

“I would like for it to make sense now,” Ryuko said, narrowing her eyes at Chat Noir, “What if Adrien comes in?”

“Yeah, what if…” Félix eyed Chat Noir. Chat Noir glared.

Ryuko shot a pointed look at Félix, who threw his hands up in defense. “I’m sorry, love! It just really would be better for you to see it than to hear it!”

“Should I do a dance, too?” Chat Noir sneered.

Félix smirked. “If you’d like.”

There was no getting out of this, not in any way that mattered. Even if he fought tooth and nail to kick them out of his room— which he did not have the energy to do— Argos would still tell her. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered. He wasn’t even human. Who cared? At this point, secret identities were nothing. Life was nothing. Life was meaningless. The wedding dance wasn’t even real.

With a long, weary sigh, he muttered out a “claws in” and plopped down onto the couch, sinking down into the cushion with weary bones.

Ryuko gasped. “Oh.” He didn’t look at her, his gaze instead locked on the coffee table. “I should have realized sooner. I knew your technique was familiar. … Wait. He knows.”

“He knows,” Félix agreed.

“How much does he know?” she asked, and Adrien sunk further into the couch, his eyes trailed up and to the high ceiling. How much did Kagami know?

“Just about everything.”

“Oh.”

“‘Just about’, huh?” Adrien couldn’t help but grumble, “Got any more knives to stab me with?”

“No, mostly just the two,” Félix said, “Your father was Monarch and you were created with the peaco*ck miraculous. But I suppose there’s still some context you’re missing.”

“Why does she know?”

“She’s like us,” Félix said, and Adrien’s eyes widened as he looked to face her.

Ryuko spared one last glance between the two of them. “Clear skies,” she said, and Kagami was standing in her place, holding out her hand with her ring. Adrien gaped at it. “It’s true.”

“Who… who else?” Adrien practically whimpered, sinking even further into the cushions. He was going to fall off at this rate, his chest at the same height as his knees, his lower torso hanging off the couch. “Next you’re going to tell me Marinette is, too.”

“No, just us three,” Félix stated, walking past him towards the bathroom.

“As far as we’re aware.” Kagami stared at Adrien, and then walked over, seating herself beside him. Her eyes locked onto his hands. “... Where are your rings?”

“I’ve got them,” Félix said, emerging from the bathroom. He walked up to the couch and held them out to Adrien. “You dropped them earlier.”

Adrien stared at the rings for a long moment. His face crumpled. He threw his head back and whined.

“Come on.” Félix jostled his hand in emphasis. “Don’t make me say it. If I say it, you’ll have to do it.” Adrien whimpered and took the rings from his palm. “Thank you.”

With shaking breath and hand, Adrien slipped the rings back onto his finger, one by one.

“Seriously, you have to take care of those.” Félix walked around the couch and sat down on the other side of him. “You don’t want to lose them. And you absolutely do not want them to get damaged. Trust me.”

“I know…” Adrien breathed, throwing his head back and laying his arm across his eyes, memories of bleeding out on the floor flashing through his head. “… I know…”

“I understand that it can be quite a shock,” Kagami said, “but it does not change who you are.”

“Does…” Adrien sucked in a breath. “Does Ladybug know? About… about me?”

He shouldn’t have asked. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer. He didn’t want to consider the possibility that she didn’t know, that her opinion of him could further sour once she learned— or that she had known, and it was just yet another secret she was keeping from him—

“Yes,” Félix said, and Adrien grit his teeth. “We told her.”

“You told her,” Adrien couldn’t help but spit, “You told Ladybug that I’m a sentimonster—”

“Don’t like that word,” Félix cut in.

“—instead of telling me?” Adrien finished in a hiss.

“Look. Here’s the thing,” Félix leaned back, propping his feet up on the coffee table, “You weren’t in possession of your amok at the time. There was little point in telling you that you were under control when you quite literally would be unable to do anything about it. All it would do was cause unnecessary suffering and turn your already bad position into a torturous one. Being aware of the commands only makes them so much worse to suffer through. Ladybug, on the other hand, could help you. And…” He gestured to the rings on Adrien’s finger. “She did.”

“That’s a poor excuse,” Adrien grumbled, “Considering I’ve had these rings for months now.”

“Yes, well…” Félix hesitated. “Ladybug told you one thing, and dropping bomb after bomb on someone in mourning is a lot easier said than done. And you were already safe by that point, in possession of your amok, and nobody was trying to take them from you. It just didn’t seem productive when all it would do at that point is cause you grief.”

Adrien whimpered and sunk further into the couch. More than grief, he thought. He felt as if his entire world had shattered around him. Everything was a lie. His entire existence.

Kagami placed her hand on his. “We apologize, Adrien. We care about you. We just didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And like I said,” Félix said, pulling himself to his feet. “The anger’s justified. We don’t blame you for being upset. That was exactly what we’d expected. … Just with more destructive powers than anticipated.”

He thought back to his initial fear and confusion upon finding out about his father— the paranoia, wondering what could be at the heart of the conspiracy. Why Ladybug would lie to him, why Plagg would lie to him, why Nathalie would, why Félix would— they’d told him that they hadn’t wanted to hurt him, and he’d thought there’d be more to it. At least for one of them, there had to be some other motive.

But maybe the truth really was that they all loved him too much to hurt him. If he tried to imagine himself in their positions, well… he wasn’t exactly sure how he would be able to bring himself to drop those bombs on someone he loved, either. He’d like to think he would. He’d like to think he’d try. But he didn’t know.

Still hurt, though. Still felt like a betrayal.

“Anyway,” Félix said, whipping out his phone. “I propose we order food. I don’t know about you, love, but I know for a fact that Adrien and I have not had dinner yet.”

Adrien’s stomach growled.

“I already ate,” Kagami said, “But I don’t mind.”

“Alright.” Félix nodded, tapping away at his phone. “Now that we all know, we can have our own little sentiparty. Maybe watch a movie or play some games. How about some karaoke?”

How could they just go on, like everything was normal? Like they were normal? Like his entire life hadn’t been ripped out from under him?

But he was hungry. He was so hungry. And he didn’t want to be alone, even if he was some kind of monst—

“Oh, and Adrien?” Félix shot him a look. “No m-word.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

Half-draped off the couch, a plastic tiara wedged between his head and the floor and a faux-feather boa around his shoulders, Adrien awoke to the sound of Nathalie clearing her throat over his alarm.

“Five more minutes,” Félix groaned from his spot on the bed, draped horizontally atop the sheets.

Kagami had left only an hour ago, citing a need to be home before her mother noticed her missing in the morning. They hadn’t done much sleeping last night, amidst the pizza and the karaoke and the tears and the costumes Félix had scrounged together for a make-shift production of their messed up family history.

All in all, Adrien had gotten maybe half an hour of sleep, if he were being generous.

“It’s time for breakfast,” Nathalie stated, eyeing Adrien as he lethargically pulled himself to his feet. “And time for Félix to go home.”

“You can’ make us do anythin’,” Félix mumbled sleepily.

Nathalie rolled her eyes, and Adrien accomplished the herculean task of climbing to his feet on exhausted limbs.

“‘mup…” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes and dragging his feet, passing where Félix lay with a cowboy hat over his face.

*****

When Adrien stepped out of the car to the front of the school, the first thing he did was gaze over the crowds of students for any signs of Marinette.

“What’s the deal with you and Marinette?” Félix had asked at some point during the sentiparty, draped across the couch.

“What makes you think there’s a ‘deal’?” Adrien had murmured, seated on the floor.

“It hasn’t been very subtle.”

“Adrien!” Cerise called, appearing at his side with a big smile. “Good morning!”

“Good morning,” he answered, but didn’t look at her, his eyes busy with their search as the two walked side-by-side into the building.

“Oh… did you have a bad night?” she asked, her hand grasping hold of his for some reason. “Your voice sounds so rough! And you look like you haven’t slept a wink…”

That was the karaoke’s fault. “No. I’m fine.”

Félix, after taking a sip of his drink, had said, “You know she’s Ladybug, right?”

Adrien had nearly choked on his bite of food. He whipped his head up to face him. “How do you know that? Did she tell you?”

“No.” Kagami had said, scrolling through the songs at their disposal, “I figured it out. And then told him.”

“Are you sure?” Cerise asked, her hand squeezing his just a bit too tight as the two walked down the hall.

“Yeah,” he said, “I’m okay. Do you see Marinette anywhere?”

“Oh, don’t worry! I haven’t seen her.”

“Pigella’s gift to me was… was our wedding dance,” Adrien had sniffled, his arm draped over eyes as he laid back in his sheets. “A-and then I woke up and it was… all gone.”

Félix had sighed. “Of course.”

“We haven’t broke up,” Adrien had muttered, “We haven’t! We really haven’t. B-but we haven’t been talking, either. A-and I made her cry a few times. And she made me cry a few times, too, I guess. And it’s a mess, and she doesn’t want to talk to me, and I don’t…”

“You two are so poor at clear communication,” Kagami had huffed. “You must talk to each other.”

In his search for Marinette, his eyes landed on Nino and Alya, standing at the edge of the hallway. They were standing close, clearly having some kind of conversation, the expressions on their faces tense.

Adrien didn’t want to interrupt, but he really couldn’t handle stalling this any longer than he already had. He approached them.

“... wasn’t like that! I swear!” Nino whispered, “I can see how it looked bad, but trust me, it wasn’t like that.”

“I just don’t get it,” Alya sighed, “Something’s clearly going on—” Alya’s eyes snapped to the two approaching them, her eyes falling down to Adrien and Cerise’s interlocked hands. Her expression tightened as her eyes lifted back up to Adrien’s. “Hey.”

“Oh!” Nino startled, turning to face the two. “Uh… Hey, guys.” His eyes flicked between their hands and Alya, cringing.

Cerise grinned. “Hi!”

Adrien tried a smile. “Hey.” He attempted to subtly take his hand out of Cerise’s, but she held strong until he really pulled— which he had an excuse to do, with his hands then working to open his bag. “I have your guys’ stuff, still…”

“I told you you could keep it, remember?” Nino awkwardly chuckled.

“Still…” Adrien murmured, shifting through his bag and pulling out the hoodie and cap. He held them out to them. “I figured I’d return them.”

Nino and Alya took their respective articles. Nino shoved the extra cap into his backpack, and Alya tied the arms of the sweater around her waist.

“Oh, Adrien, you’re just so sweet!” Cerise chirped up. “You know, we really should get to work now—”

“Have you guys seen Marinette?” he asked, eyes on Alya, hoping to get the question in before Cerise inevitably yanked him away.

Alya looked exhausted. “She’s not coming in today. She’s not feeling well.”

Oh.

Adrien deflated, unable to hide his disappointment. Of course. Of course, when he was finally ready to talk to her, when he finally decided that he couldn’t go another day without seeing her… she wouldn’t even be there.

“Oh,” Cerise said, “She’s not? At all?”

Alya shook her head. “Nope.”

An awkward silence fell over the four for a moment, no one quite sure of what to say.

Eventually, Alya sighed, “Well. I’m going to head over to the computer room. Max was gonna help me with some javascript.”

“C’ya,” Nino said, and the two pecked lips before she turned and left.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Cerise suddenly gasped, “Bridgette wanted me to help her with some presentation slides!”

“Oh.” Adrien blinked. “Okay.”

Cerise smiled at him, and then turned and left.

Huh.

He wasn’t expecting Cerise to let him go that easily. Should he feel bad for feeling so relieved about it?

“So, uh…” Nino cleared his throat, “What’s the deal with you and Marinette?”

Adrien’s eyes widened, tearing away from where Cerise was leaving to Nino. “I…” He hesitated. “... Nothing. I just… need to talk to her.”

Nino hesitated. “Uh… okay. And… the deal with you and Cerise?”

“What do you mean?”

Nino shrugged.

Adrien frowned. “She’s a friend,” he said, not sure what else to say, “She’s just, uh… really eager to help… protect me, I guess. Because she’s nice.”

Nino’s eyes widened. “Protect you?”

“You know, from…” Adrien swallowed. It sounded kind of pathetic, to say it out loud. “... people… that I don’t really know… asking me things.”

“Oh, yeah…” Nino nodded. “I get that. It sucks that people are always accosting you.”

Adrien nodded, his eyes falling to the floor.

“... Sooo…” Nino added, “If you want someone to keep you company and keep the nosies away…” He grinned. “I’d love to offer my services.”

Adrien recalled Carapace’s anger at Chat Noir last night, and as strange as it was to admit… he felt relief. Because Carapace really seemed like he hadn’t known. Which meant Nino really hadn’t known. Which meant Nino was perhaps the one of only people in his life that he could place right now that’d never lied to him.

His heart warmed at the thought, and he smiled hopefully. “Yeah?”

Maybe he couldn’t have a much-needed talk with Marinette, but Nino needed his attention, too. Adrien had been ignoring his calls and texts just as much as Marinette’s, when Nino hadn’t even done anything wrong.

He missed him.

“Yeah.” Nino stepped forward, his arm finding its way around his shoulders like it always would. The two began to walk, and Adrien wasn’t sure where they were headed, but he decided he didn’t care. “By the way, I thought you were allergic to feathers?”

Adrien almost startled. Why was Nino bringing up feathers? “H— huh?”

Nino gestured to Adrien’s torso, and Adrien looked down to see…

Oh.

“They’re faux,” he clarified, grabbing the ends of his boa and playing with them. He almost couldn’t believe he’d never taken it off, but considering how tired he was, it wasn’t too much of a shock.

“Not that you don’t look great,” Nino chuckled, “but… why?”

“Well…” Adrien blanked. “... I had… a long night.”

*****

(Friday)

{missed call}

{missed video call}

{missed call}

Marinette: ADIRNEN PLEASE TALLK TO ME PLEASE

{missed call}

Marinette: oh m yGosd please pleas please tlak to me im so sryr

Marinette: i am so SO SO OS OS osOSo O so sorry oh m ygod words cannot say how dosry i am

{missed call}

Marinette: please i can epxlain i can explain let me explain

{missed call}

{missed call}

Marinette: please i am so s sory

Marinette: i lovey ou aim sorry im sorry i jsut didnt want to hurt you i didnt mean for it to turn out liek this im sorey im sorry

Marinette: you have eveyry rgitht to hate me and i take beack everything i ssaid about being upset at you kitty youre right you were irght

{missed call}

{missed call}

Marinette: im sorry ism sorry im sorry

Marinette: pelase please pls talk to me i love you im soryr im sorry

Marinette: oka ok ok you need time. i understan d. i do. thats ok !!! pKLEASe tlak to me once youre able to im sorry im sorry

Marinette: im so soyrr

(Saturday)

Marinette: Adrien. Chaton. Words cannot express how sorry I a

Marinette: oh my god i hit send too soon please ignore that

{missed call}

Marinette: I IDNT MEAN TO DO THAT EIHETR

Marinette: Words cannot express how sorry I am. I can’t even imagine how you must be feeling right now, and I honestly don’t know what I would be thinking in your position. I imagine that you probably hate me. Because I think I would too, if I were you. I know I’ve said it already, but I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. And I know you probably won’t forgive me, because I don’t know if I would ever be able to forgive me in your position. Adn I just

Marinette: omg i hit it too soon again i

Marinette: uim such a mess hold on

Marinette: You matter so much to me, Adrien. I love you so much. With all my heart. I didn’t want to hurt you. I tried so hard to keep from hurting you, but I can see now how clearly wrong that was… because all I did was hurt you even more.

Marinette: I thought maybe ignorance would be bliss. And you deserve bliss. Because you’re such an amazing wonderful person and you didn’t deserve any of this. You didn’t deserve to have him as a father. You were innocent. And you deserve so much better than all of this

Marinette: You deserve better than me too

Marinette: you always have i’ve never deserved you

Marinette: either side of you

Marinette: I’m sorry

(Sunday)

{missed call}

Marinette: sorry. i had to try

Marinette: take your time. I’ll wait forever for you. I’m so sorry.

Marinette: i just want you to be happy. thats all i ever wanted

{missed call}

Marinette: SORRY MY FINGER ERALLY DID SLIP THAT TIME

(Monday)

Marinette: alya tried to convince me to tell you

Marinette: and nino doesn’t know at all

Marinette: you have every right to hate me. but theyre innocent in this. im sorry

{missed call}

Marinette: nathalie just called me

Marinette: where are you?

{missed call}

Marinette: nathalie finally sent the update that you came home

Marinette: you didnt get in too much trouble right?

Marinette: if you need an alibi feel free to pin it on me

Marinette: say i held you hostage or something i odnt know

(yesterday)

Marinette: I hope the ice cream tasted good.

Hunched forward on his couch, Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, clutching his phone tight and staring at the words on the screen.

He missed her. He missed her so much.

Too much time had passed since they’d last talked, and he couldn’t bear to go another day without addressing the elephant in the room, or the thinning strength of the string that their relationship was dangling upon.

They needed to talk, in person, but Marinette apparently hadn’t felt well enough to come to school that day, and he wasn’t sure that he was strong enough to wait for tomorrow. What if she didn’t come to school then, either? How much longer would he have to wait?

He could hardly barge into her house unannounced and demand a discussion. If she was sick, he didn’t want to bother her. The last thing he’d want to do is exacerbate her condition with undue stress. You’re the last person she wants to see, ringing in his head.

Maybe if he brought her soup? That was a thing that people did for their sick loved ones, right? He chewed his lip in thought, brow furrowed.

“How does one make soup?” he muttered to the air. Would Nathalie know? She could probably figure it out, she was smart, but he wouldn’t want to bother her with such a thing. Plus, there was no way that he and Nathalie could compete with a Dupain-Cheng recipe anyway.

“... Fondue doesn’t count,” he murmured in clarification, raising his head enough to peer at the coffee table.

The cheese laid out was mostly whole, only a single bite taken. No kwamis in sight.

Adrien’s eyes flew wide, and he instantly looked around to check—

An orange figure stood atop a rooftop, just beyond his expansive windows. They were facing him, their hands up towards their face.

Rena Rouge startled, lowering her flute. Was she using it as a spyglass?

Adrien simply found himself gaping. He stared at her, but without a spyglass of his own, he couldn’t quite make out her expression. Awkwardly, he raised a hand in a small wave.

She waved back.

Not sure what else to do, he pressed the button for the window control and stood to his feet, making his way over to the opening pane.

Rena Rouge seemed to hesitate, but she must have gotten the hint well enough. She leapt over and landed on the sill in a crouch, an awkward smile on her face.

“Hey,” she said.

Adrien blinked. “Hey,” he returned, trying a polite smile. “Is everything… okay?”

“Oh, yeah, don’t mind me!” She forced out a small laugh. “Just in the neighborhood. On patrol.”

He didn’t think that Rena usually patrolled at this time. Still, he wasn’t about to argue. He gave a small nod and found himself at a loss for what to ask next. “Oh. Okay.”

“Didn’t mean to bother you.”

“You didn’t,” he lied, unsure how to go about asking ‘why were you spying on me?’ in a polite way. “You just…” He paused. “... surprised me.”

“Sorry,” she chuckled, and the two fell into an uncomfortable silence. She leaned forward just a tad, peering over alongside the rest of his window panes. “Hey. You got a good view of the rooftops from in here, don’t you?”

“I guess?”

“You haven’t happened to see Ladybug pass by…” she mused, eyeing him, “... have you?”

“Huh?” He blinked. No, of course not, he wanted to say. Marinette’s not feeling well. You told me that. Why would she be gallivanting as Ladybug right now? “No, I haven’t,” he said instead.

“Ah. Alright,” Rena sighed, standing tall to her feet, “Well, can you shoot me a text if you do see her? I’ve been looking everywhere for her.”

Alarm bells rang in his head. One of the superheroes looking for Ladybug was one thing, she was notoriously difficult to get ahold of— but Rena Rouge looking for Ladybug was another. Rena Rouge looking for Ladybug was Alya looking for Marinette, and if Alya didn’t know where Marinette was, then who did?

Not him. Not her boyfriend. Not her partner.

He wanted to pry. Have you checked her room? Have you asked her parents? Where else could she be, if she’s not feeling well? Shouldn’t she be resting?

But he wasn’t sure that he could ask any of that. He wasn’t entirely sure what Alya knew or didn’t know, so he wasn’t sure how many of his cards he was allowed to show. “Why? Is everything okay?”

“Oh, yeah, everything’s fine!” she excused, but he found himself not believing her. “Don’t worry about it. Just… superhero stuff. I should get going— just call or text me if you do see her, okay?”

He nodded, feeling as useless as ever. Rena Rouge’s tail swished as she spun on her heel, and then she was leaping off into the distance.

With a rock in the pit of his stomach, Adrien turned and hurried over to his phone, swiping it up off the coffee table where he’d dropped it. He tapped the screen and held it to his ear, hand at his hip and practically tapping his foot against the hardwood floor as he waited, chewing his cheek.

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

…

“It’s Marinette!” Marinette’s cheerful voice rang out, and he sucked in a breath. “Leave a message! Beep!”

He scoffed, ending the call and tossing the thing onto the couch cushion. “Plagg—”

“Come on, I just started eating agai—”

“Claws out!”

Sure enough that Rena Rouge was long gone, Chat Noir turned and bounded out the open window. Leaping across rooftops, he wasn’t sure where he was headed, exactly— but if Rena Rouge was searching for Ladybug, then he would, too.

A call to her yo-yo yielded no results beyond another pre-recorded message. He waltzed across rooftops, surveying the adjacent chimneys and crowds below, ignoring their startled gasps and cautious looks. His ear twitched at a pair of footsteps landing beside him.

“Hey, Chat Noir,” Rena Rouge’s voice greeted. He turned to face her. “You seen Ladybug?”

You already asked me that, he almost wanted to say. Did she really not know? At this point, he wouldn’t have been surprised if she had. Marinette told her everything, after all, and he’d grown used to everyone around him being strangely privy to all of his dirty laundry.

But the genuinity of her question and the hope in her eyes were convincing. Maybe she really didn’t know.

“No,” he said again, “I haven’t.”

“Ah,” she sighed, a frown tugging her features as she gazed out over the skyline. “Can you shoot me a message if you do? I’ve been looking everywhere.”

“Why?” he asked, hoping he could get a better answer than ‘superhero stuff’ with a mask. “Something wrong?”

“It’s nothing,” she excused, so maybe not.

He watched her, not caring to hide the frown on his face. He needed more than that.

His stare must’ve been convincing enough, because Rena heaved a sigh and continued, “I’m just a little worried about her, is all. It might be nothing, but…”

“Worried?” he pressed, his heart picking up.

She shook her head. “You know, things have been…” She hesitated, a thoughtful furrow to her brow as she gazed along the horizon. She shot him a guilty look. “... tense, lately.”

He did know. He knew very well.

Your fault, a voice in the back of his head whispered, Your fault. Your fault.

Chat Noir wasn’t sure what to say.

“Look… what’s going on between you guys isn’t my business,” Rena sighed, “But… well, Ladybug’s been upset lately, and I’d just like to check in with her. You don’t have to talk to her, but if you happen to see her…”

“And you checked her home?” he asked, desperate.

“I’ve checked everywhere that she might—” she cut herself off, her eyes widening and snapping to his. “... I don’t know where she lives.”

Oh. Right. Sometimes it was hard to keep track of what he was supposed to know and what he wasn’t, and in which identities and with which people—

He sighed, exhausted. He was so sick of all of this, of all the secrets, and especially ones as inconsequential as this. “No, you do. I know that you do. Did you check the bakery or not?”

She gaped at him. “... And you know…”

“Ladybug and I had a… talk,” he said flatly, his belt tail flicking behind him at the bitter memory. “... I know things, Alya. So does Marinette.”

She stared at him for a long moment, her eyes wide as saucers. And then she hummed, shifting her weight on her legs and frowning at the roof. “... She never told me…”

“Only thing she didn’t, huh?” he scoffed, bitter, bitter, bitter. How was he still bitter? This wasn’t the time for bitter, not when he had finally decided to try to fix things, not when Marinette was missing—

Rena let out a long, weary sigh. “Her mom called me,” she said, putting them back on track, “Asked if she was with me, because she was missing. Having Ladybug as a BFF means that you get used to lying and saying ‘yes’ to things like that, so that’s what I did. But I don’t know why she’s not home, and I can’t find her, and she won’t answer any of my texts or calls in either identity, and she’s been having a terrible time with all the stuff between you two and the butterfly and wrangling all the heroes and some drama with her boyfriend and…” He sucked in a sharp breath, and she dragged a hand down her face. “... Augh. It’s bad. I just want to make sure she’s not off getting… akumatized or something.”

“Akumatized?” he rasped, terrifying images flooding his mind.

She shot him a sad look. “... Again, you don’t have to talk to her if you see her, okay? Just text me her location and leave it to me.”

He understood what she meant. Please, don’t talk to her. She’s stressed enough as it is, and you’re the last person she’d want to see.

He swallowed and gave a weak nod. “... Okay.”

“Thank you,” Rena sighed. And then, with one final look between them, she turned on her heel and left.

And, once she was gone, Chat Noir took a long, deep breath to steady himself.

And then he resumed his search.

Rooftop to balcony, chimney to alleyway, he checked for spots and red. He weaved through Paris, stopping to knock at her balcony door as he passed (just in case), but came up empty. Again and again.

He was told to text if he found her— but what if Rena found her? Would she text him? Would he even know once she was found, once she was assured to be safe?

The unease was getting to him. He slowed down to a stop on the edge of a rooftop and grabbed his baton, figuring another call couldn’t hurt.

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

Beep beep beep.

His ear twitched.

Ring ring ring…

Beep beep beep.

He heard that. He heard it, and he knew that sound. The familiar chime of Ladybug’s yo-yo.

Ring ring ring…

Beep beep beep.

The sound was distant enough that he easily could’ve missed it. He hurried towards the source, a couple rooftops away, and peered down to see…

His heart plummeted.

A false alarm, he was expecting.

Ladybug, he was hoping.

Her yo-yo, abandoned and lying on the filthy ground beside a dumpster, he hadn’t even thought to fear.

He dropped down into the alleyway in an instant, ending the call and snatching the yo-yo from the ground. He half hoped it was a fake— some children’s toy or part of a costume— but the yo-yo in his hands was very real.

The screen was even open, as if she’d been in the middle of using it when she’d lost it.

Panic shot through him. The thoughts she’s in danger, someone has her, she’s akumatized, she’s been attacked, racing through his head. He spun around, alert and eyeing the immediate surroundings. He didn’t see her or anything out of the ordinary—

Beep beep.

The yo-yo chimed again. He looked to the device, the one clue at his disposal, and checked the screen.

New message from Rena Rouge, the notification read. But that didn’t have his attention. Instead, his eyes were drawn to the rest of the screen— to the text conversation that Ladybug had seemingly been viewing before she lost her yo-yo.

He nearly gaped, a sick feeling churning in his stomach as he scrolled through the messages. And scrolled. And scrolled.

They just kept going.

Unknown: You think you have the right to be upset? After everything you’ve done?

Unknown: Oh, boo-hoo. I can feel you wallowing. I can SENSE it.

Unknown: You’re so pathetic lmao

Unknown: Wah waaah waaaah! Life is so hard for you, isn’t it? Poor little Ladybug, crushed by the weight of her own f*cking consequences

Unknown: Keep crying, Ladybug. It won’t solve your problems. It won’t undo all the things you’ve done

Unknown: No wonder he hates you. Anyone who really knew you would!

Unknown: It’s only a matter of time before they all do

Unknown: You’re nothing

Unknown: A worthless husk

Unknown: A waste of air!

Unknown: They all hate you. Everyone’s so sick of you, and they’re just waiting for you to fall

Unknown: They just don’t want to rock the boat. Who wants to be the first to admit that they hate Ladybug? But once the dominos start falling, they all will. One by one. They’ll all finally feel free to admit it

Unknown: Nobody trusts you. Nobody loves you. Nobody even LIKES you. Who ever could?

Unknown: Unloveable doesn’t describe it. You’re so f*cking worthless. Why would anyone waste their time with you?

Unknown: Oh, did that sting?

Unknown: You f*cked up

Unknown: Even your partner can’t stand you. You managed to get your loyal little lap cat to hate you. DESPISE you. I can FEEL it. I can FEEL his hatred. I KNOW

Unknown: Oh, please. That hurt, did it? As if you didn’t already know that. As if it isn’t all your fault

Unknown: You failed him

Unknown: You failed EVERYONE

Unknown: You FAILED

Unknown: Good job ‘defeating’ Monarch. Good job losing. Good job letting him win. Good job letting him DIE. Good job trying to lie to the world about it

Unknown: None of the heroes trust you. You’re not even good at lying. Are you new to this?

Unknown: Only a matter of time before everyone finds out the truth. All the ways you lied

Unknown: Forget the cat. ALL OF PARIS will hate you

Unknown: THE WORLD

Unknown: And you’re still thinking of yourself. Too caught up in your own pain to even care about everyone you’ve hurt?

Unknown: Crybaby. lol

Unknown: Utterly worthless

Unknown: It’s honestly a talent to f*ck up as much as you do. How do you do it?

Unknown: Pathetic

There was more. There was plenty more. He’d barely scratched the surface of the chatlog, he could scroll so much farther if he wanted to—

But it made him sick.

He’d thought the butterfly’s messages to him had been bad. He’d thought the taunting and condescension was cruel.

But this?

How dare they? How dare they speak to Ladybug like that? And how long had they been doing this— how often? The messages went on and on and on— logs and logs, and the messages he was reading were still from today.

This wasn’t even tactical. This wasn’t sensical. This wasn’t a scheme to akumatize Ladybug— if they wanted to, they likely could have by now. This was something worse, something even more predatory—

Like they were playing with their food.

New message from Unknown.

And they were still messaging her.

A low growl left his throat, a sneer twitching at his lip, the urge to destroy, destroy, destroy coursing through his veins. But cataclysming the yo-yo would do no good— it wouldn’t erase the hurt, wouldn’t even delete the messages, they’d be right back the next time Ladybug transformed—

Wait. Delete the messages.

He didn’t care if it was crossing some boundary, if Ladybug would be upset at him— he didn’t care. Without a second thought, he tapped at the yo-yo.

[ Delete all messages? ]

( Yes )

And he watched as the rancid messages, the filth, disappeared one by one, washed away with a satisfying chime.

He tapped again.

[ Block this contact? ]

( Yes )

And he watched as the vile contact disappeared from her yo-yo, as the messaging app exited out of the already empty chatlog. They wouldn’t be able to contact her again— not through text, at least. Not without showing their face.

Good.

And now, with that taken care of, he was once again reminded of where he was, what he was doing. Because he was looking for Ladybug, and though he’d found her yo-yo, he hadn’t found her.

He tucked the yo-yo in his pocket and launched himself back up to the nearest rooftop with his baton. She had to be close. She had to be. With her yo-yo still tucked in his pocket, he knew she was transformed. And with the butterfly user still attempting contact to the very end, he doubted she was akumatized…

… yet.

He surveyed the area carefully. He leapt from one roof to the next, eyeing the chimneys and the gutters and the panes and the red—

Red. A speck of red, hidden behind a chimney. He vaulted to an adjacent rooftop to get a better view of the figure.

Her.

Ladybug was sitting against a chimney, her legs hugged to her chest, her face buried in her knees.

He did it. He found her.

Baton in hand, he got ready to vault over to her—

He stilled.

Ladybug deserved to be comforted right now. She shouldn’t be alone. She needed someone with her, someone who cared for her, someone who loved her, and he wanted to be that person for her so badly but—

You’re the last person she wants to see.

He didn’t want to make it worse.

With a shaking breath, he collapsed his baton and opened the screen, pulling up his Rena Rouge contact.

[ I found her ], he typed, location attached. His thumb hovered over the ‘send’ button…

…

But it was just too familiar.

Abandoning Marinette, leaving her to cry all alone, passing the duty of caring for her to someone else. Just like he’d let Cerise take the reins in the bathroom, here he was, about to pass Ladybug along to Rena Rouge.

He wanted to be there for her. He needed to be. He was so sick of hiding from her. He was so sick of being so terrible at being her friend, her boyfriend, her partner.

Even after everything, he just wanted to talk to her.

He closed the screen, the message left unsent. With a deep breath to prepare himself, he extended the shaft and vaulted over to her roof.

Even with the clomp of his metal boots hitting the cement rooftop, Ladybug didn’t look up. Instead, she remained curled into the small ball that she’d made for herself, and his ear twitched at the quiet sounds of hitched breaths and soft cries.

Anything. He’d take anything over this— another mass betrayal to the pile, another rock thrown at his already shattered glass world. Anything but this.

“Hey,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as if unconsciously afraid of scaring her. Maybe he was.

Nothing. No reaction. He took a careful step closer.

“Hey,” he repeated louder, and she finally must have heard him, startling so hard she nearly leapt out of her suit. She snapped to attention, her body and arm pressed back hard against the chimney, her other hand grasping at her hip for a yo-yo that wasn’t there. Her reddened eyes stared up at him, moisture trailing down her flushed cheeks, her lips hung open in a silent gape.

Anything but this.

He took another step closer, speaking softly, “Lad—”

“What do you want?” she bit out, hugging her knees back to her chest. Her posture less fearful but still tense, her brow furrowed, and her eyes cast down to the streets.

You’re the last person she wants to see. You’re only making it worse.

“I…” he hesitated, suddenly finding himself unsure of what to say.

A tense silence fell over the two of them. And he was already messing it all up. He didn’t know what to say, what he could possibly do to make this better when his very presence only made it worse.

“I found your yo-yo,” he said, deciding to go for the obvious. He unzipped his pocket and retrieved the device, using the excuse of handing it over to close the distance between them.

She didn’t make a move, her brow only furrowing further, her gaze still to the street. His hand stayed awkwardly extended, but he waited.

And waited.

“... I don’t want it,” she muttered, after a moment too long had apparently passed.

“I saw the messages,” he said quietly, crouching down and setting the device down beside her. “Don’t listen to them. They’re wrong.”

Nothing. She had nothing to say to that. Even down to her level, she looked so small, her limbs and shoulders tucked in, her head hung. He hated seeing her like this.

“My—” he began, before catching himself, “... Ladybug. You can’t let them talk to you like that.”

A small scoff, and then she was pressing her face back into her knees, robbing him of the privilege of seeing her. “Doesn’t matter,” she mumbled, almost inaudible. He scooted closer.

“Of course it matters.” His fingertips hovered over her shoulder, wishing, wanting, but he couldn’t bring himself to touch her. He couldn’t bring himself to wrap his arm around her, to pull her close and hold her like he so dearly wanted, like he so easily could before. “They’re hurting you.”

“I’m fine,” she muttered. “Sticks and stones.”

“They’re upsetting you. On purpose—”

Ladybug gasped, startling out of her cocoon. Her head whipped up, and her shining eyes snapped out along the skyline, overhead, everywhere, in search of something flying towards them.

“I haven’t seen any akumas,” he was quick to say, giving the sky his own once-over before turning back to her. “Ladybug,” he said softly, “You should go home and rest. Especially if you’re sick.”

Her high gaze finally snapped down to his, a confused crease in her brow. “Wh-what? I’m— I’m not sick.”

“Oh.” He almost wanted to argue, you didn’t come to school, Alya said you weren’t feeling well, but he realized how silly that was. Of course she wasn’t feeling well. He could see it on her face. She didn’t need to be sick for that.

Good thing he never asked Nathalie to help him make soup.

He stared into her eyes, afraid of letting them go— but she must not have agreed. Her cheeks pinkened a familiar tint, and then she whipped her head away from him, his sight of her wonderful blue replaced with dark, frayed hair. “I’m fine, Chat Noir,” she sniffled.

“Come on.” He pulled himself to his feet and offered both hands to her. “Let me take you home.”

A tense moment of silence, one more glance across the sky, and then Ladybug was pushing herself up to her feet without the help of his outstretched hands. “You don’t have to do that,” she mumbled, snatching her yo-yo from its spot on the roof. She sniffled and swiped at her eyes, her body turned away from him. “I can take myself.”

He held his breath. Sure, she could take herself. Sure, she didn’t need his escort. But he wanted to take her. He wanted to talk to her. He wanted to be there for her, to be by her side, even if she didn’t seem particularly keen on having him there.

Maybe if he had answered her texts sooner, she’d be able to stand to look at him. Maybe if he hadn’t avoided her so much. Maybe if he hadn’t pushed her away…

Maybe if she’d never lied to me in the first place—

“Please,” he said, cutting off the thought before it had a chance to plant its bitter seeds, “Let me come with you. I can…” His mind racked for a proper argument. “... keep a lookout for akumas on the way. A second pair of eyes couldn’t hurt, right?”

A tense moment of silence.

“You can do whatever you want,” she muttered, yo-yo in her grasp, “You don’t need my permission.”

He blinked, and then she turned, launching her yo-yo and taking off.

And he followed.

He vaulted after her, trailing close behind on her journey home. Some help he was— barely watching the skies, unable to keep his eyes off of her, afraid to let her out of his sight again. She touched down on her balcony, and he landed right behind her.

“Spots off,” Ladybug sighed. The sparkling magic washed off of her, replacing her suit with a familiar set of pajamas and casting all air out of his lungs. Of course he’d known, but seeing the transition before his eyes had him nearly kneeling. And then Marinette turned, just enough to see him out of the corner of her eye.

Dark tangled locks fell down to her shoulders, framing her face and nearly distracting him from the deep bags under her red-lined eyes. She looked as if she hadn’t slept a wink, like she’d had a terrible night. They were alike in so many ways.

She raised a hand, tucking a frayed strand of her hair behind her ear, her almost-gaze leaving his completely as she turned away from him, head tilting down to the trap door.

“Thanks for… taking me home,” she muttered, voice flat. He wondered why she’d thank him for such a thing, when he’d done nothing but follow her. “Goodbye, Chat Noir.”

Goodbye? No, he wasn’t ready for this to end. But then she was crouching down, grasping the lip of the trap door, and he had to say something before this moment ended—

“Alya was worried about you,” he said, the first thing that came to mind. She stilled. “She covered for you. And she’s been looking for you.”

“Oh.” She paused. “Okay.” She opened the door. “I’ll text her.”

That wasn’t enough. Still not enough time. He needed more.

“Can I come in?” he asked, and she stilled again.

“... What?” she practically whispered, her ear turned towards him.

“Can I come in?” he asked again, twisting at his miraculous. “And… stay for… a bit?”

The silence was the worst. He found himself standing there, tense and anxious as he awaited the rejection.

Finally, after a long moment, she turned to him, a furrow in her brow and a strange look in her eyes. “Why… would you want to do that?”

“What?” He wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I…” He hesitated, before deciding towards honesty. “I miss you.”

Her eyes widened. “You what?”

“I miss you,” he repeated.

“You miss me?” she asked, baffled.

“Of course,” he said, suddenly aware of how pathetic he probably looked, the cat ears atop his head drooping and his fingers still playing with his ring. He schooled himself, straightening his posture. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“You— I—” she stammered, “You hate me.”

“What?” His eyes widened. “No, I don’t. I don’t hate you—”

A horrible, short laugh burst from her throat. “Oh, please—” Her voice broke, and she whipped her head back around, refusing to face him. “I know you do. You d-don’t have to— to pretend like you don’t.”

“I don’t hate you,” he repeated, taking a step closer to her. She made no move, made no words, so he continued, voice gentle, “... My lady. I could never hate you.”

Silence. And he waited patiently, torturously for her response.

“... Of course,” she practically swore under her breath, sniffling and swiping at her face. “Y-You… you… if anyone would…” She shook her head. “You’re too nice to hate anyone.”

“I’m not nice,” he said instantly, his chest tightening and the words falling from his lips before he could even consider them.

That got her attention. She lifted her head, turning to face him with wide, watering eyes. “Wh-what?”

“I’m not nice,” he repeated, now the one unable to keep eye-contact. His gaze fell to the floor. “I’m not. I just don’t hate you.”

“What…” she breathed, “Yes you are. You— You are. You’re the nicest person I—”

“I haven’t been very nice lately,” he grumbled, his brow tense as he practically glared at her cute pink slippers. And then the tension popped, and his shoulders sagged and his head hung. “I’m sorry.”

“Wha—” She sucked in a sharp breath. “You’re sorry?”

“I’m sorry,” he repeated. “I… I’ve been terrible lately.”

“You… Wha… I…” She trailed, and he risked a glance up at her through his bangs. She floundered, gaping like a fish as her mind tried to find the words, “Wh-what are you even— what could you possibly be apologizing to me for?”

What couldn’t he be apologizing for? His temper tantrums, his instability, leaning on her too much, being clingy, making her comfort him again and again, making her feel like she couldn’t be sad around him, causing a scene at the statue, making her cry, shouting at her, kicking her out of his house, ignoring her calls, ignoring her texts, tearing the city apart in a messed up sparring match, stressing out all the heroes under her command, leaving her to cry in the bathroom alone without even trying to comfort her…

… and that was just off the top of his head, and only what involved her. He had whole other lists for Nathalie, Nino, the entirety of Paris…

“I’ve been a monster,” he muttered, the words falling from him before he could think twice about them. And they hit him, right in the gut, right in his newest sore-spot— because he was, he really literally was. And Félix had tried to drill the word out of his head last night, but it didn’t change its naked truth, didn’t change the fact that he was terrible, awful—

“No,” Marinette bit, a harshness in her voice that had him tensing. “You’re not. Don’t you dare call yourself that.”

“You know it’s true,” he retorted. And that was true, too. She knew. She knew, and she’d known the whole time, just like she’d known everything else—

“No,” she snapped, “I don’t. I don’t know that. You’re not a— a— you’re not a m…” she trailed, as if afraid to even say the word. “You’re not.”

He kept his gaze on her, tense, almost in a challenge. You do know, Marinette, he wanted to say. I know that you know. I know. Stop lying to me—

She stared at him for a moment, her resolve breaking. She shifted uncomfortably on her feet, hugging her arms around her torso. “T-totally unrelated…” she started, breaking his gaze and staring out over the skyline, “What… happened… b-between you and… um… Argos and Ryuko?”

“We were sparring,” he muttered, glare falling back down to her slippers. And then he sighed, “And got… carried away. I’m sorry about that. It… it won’t happen again.”

She shook her head. “I… it’s fine,” she lied, “Just…” She hesitated. “Why…?”

“I learned some things,” he muttered, hanging his head and closing his eyes, drawing in a long breath through his nose. “... And I… had a… bad reaction.”

“You— oh my gosh, no, you—” she stammered, “You— anybody would have a bad reaction to— I mean, assuming what you learned was something… something bad like— not bad! Oh my gosh, not bad, there’s nothing bad about it, I mean, other than some implications which make other people bad, but there’s nothing wrong with it itself if I— I mean, I don’t know what you’re talking about, I just—”

“Nevermind,” he said, voice thick in his throat. He couldn’t take this, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore, he was sick of thinking about it. He came here to comfort her, not for her pity. “I just— the point is, I’m sorry.”

“No, I…” She shook her head. “Y-you don’t have anything to be sorry for. I’m the one who should be— who should be apologizing t-to you. B-because I…” She sucked in a shaking breath, her eyes misting. “Everything was just… Everything’s been…” She sniffled, grasping her hands together before her chest. “I-it’s my fault. All of it. A-And I shouldn’t have… I should’ve… There are so many things I c-could’ve done better, o-or different and I…” She squeezed her eyes tight, a tear trailing down her cheek. “... I’m sorry.”

The awful feeling in his gut, the pain in his heart, the tension in the air— he hated this, despised every second of it. He felt suffocated by everything between them, and he was exhausted. So completely, utterly drained, running off of virtually no sleep and the worst week of his life. And despite everything, despite the crumbled rubble of his life crushing his bones and stealing his air, he found himself wanting one thing.

To not be alone.

“It’s okay,” he said, because he didn’t have the energy to address it all. The furrow of her brow told him that she didn’t believe him. He wasn’t sure he believed himself, either. “We can talk about it later,” he amended. “You… never answered me before, though. Can I stay?”

Marinette looked shocked. “Why would…” She hesitated, chewing her lip and glaring thoughtfully at a spot on the ground, squeezing her arms around her stomach. “... I-I don’t think I… I don’t think I’d make very good company right now.”

Chat Noir swallowed, feeling his shoulders and leather ears droop at the rejection. “You don’t?”

“I’m tired,” she admitted with a residual sniffle. “I… I was probably just going to lie down—”

“I can lie down with you,” he blurted, and her eyes widened. “We could cuddle—”

“Cudd— what?” she sputtered.

He frowned. “What?”

She gaped at him for a long moment, before she snapped her mouth shut into a tight line. He waited in agony as she finally found the words to say, “I don’t think your girlfriend would like that.”

What?

“My…” he trailed, brain racking for a possible explanation for the words she’d just said. Were they playing some sort of game? “You mean… Ladybug?”

“Wh— What? No! I mean your— your other girlfriend.”

Chat Noir hesitated, feeling lost as ever. “M…Multimouse?”

Marinette stared. “You know who I mean.”

No, he didn’t. “I don’t have any other girlfriends,” he said uncomfortably, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Unless you mean Lady Noire or Pegabug or Ladybee or—”

“You can’t be seri—” she began, before stopping herself with a deep breath.

“There’s no one else.” He took a step closer to her, closing the distance. When she said nothing, her gaze away from him, he took a risk to brush a stray strand of hair from her mouth with a careful claw. “What are you talking about?”

Her expression crumpled, but she didn’t pull away. She looked to him, a sadness in her eyes that had him wanting to gather her in his arms. “You really don’t have a clue?”

He shook his head, and she sighed.

“N…Nevermind, then,” she murmured, “I… i-if… whatever. L-like I said before, you…” she hesitated, “You can do whatever you want. You don’t need my permission for anything.”

“I…” He blinked. “I… think I do, for this.”

She shrugged and turned away from him. “W-well, I… I won’t stop you.” She crouched down and threw the door back open, dropping down onto the bed.

Huh.

That was permission. Right? Maybe it wasn’t exactly the kind of enthusiastic response he would’ve liked for asking to cuddle his girlfriend, but it was still some form of consent. He would take it.

He peered in through the trap door, watching as she adjusted herself on the bed to give him room to drop down. And then he did, landing on her plush mattress and sitting on his knees.

Marinette chewed her lip, eyeing him silently for a long moment before she reached upwards, shutting the balcony door. “Hi,” she squeaked.

“Hi,” he said quietly.

She patted her knees, and the two sat in silence, neither confident enough to make the first move.

“Alya,” he reminded quietly.

“Oh.” She sucked in a breath. “Right.” She snatched her phone from its spot behind her pillow. “You, uh…” she cleared her throat as she tapped at the screen, “gonna… wear that?”

“Huh?”

“The…” She eyed him for a moment before looking back at the device. “... leather?”

Chat Noir’s eyes widened. “Oh.” He’d nearly forgotten.

A part of him almost wanted to tease her, to lean in close and ask something akin to What? You don’t like it?

But he didn’t have the energy, nor the confidence for that right now. He didn’t want to risk rocking the boat, not when he was so close to seasickness.

“Claws in,” he said instead, the electric magic zapping off of him. Plagg flew off without a word, disappearing into some corner of her room.

Marinette peeked up at him again, her eyes widening at his neck before flicking back to her phone. Adrien’s gaze fell down to the feathers he was still wearing.

She tapped one final time and placed her phone back behind the pillow. And then she shimmied herself under her comforter, and he followed, lying down beside her. And then, with all the confidence he could muster, he took the garment from his neck and leaned forward, looping it around her shoulders and tugging gently, not enough to actually force her forward, but enough to get the hint across.

She looked to him, her eyes wide and cheeks wonderfully pink, a hint of a smile twitching at her lips and sending flutters through his stomach. Her chest brushed against his as she settled against him, and his arms wrapped around her waist, abandoning the boa around her neck.

He’d almost forgotten how tired he’d been until he’d laid down, the exhaustion from the day seeping deep into his eyelids. He wouldn’t be able to stay awake much longer like this. He wasn’t sure he would be able to open his eyes again once he closed them.

She snaked her arms around his shoulders. It was nearly awkward, being so close when they felt anything but. But he allowed himself to settle into the familiarity of her warmth and the beating of her racing heart as he rested his head against her shoulder.

Neither said anything, but they didn’t need to. They settled into each other, the air between them an almost comfortable form of quiet. This was all he needed. They could talk more later, dig into the filthy grime that was everything between them. But right now, he was in her arms, and he almost felt loved.

Almost.

Do you still love me? he almost wanted to ask.

“I love you…” he murmured instead, his lips nearly ghosting above the skin of her neck, not brave or conscious enough to make contact. And he waited, trying desperately to stay awake long enough to hear her response.

She sucked in a sharp breath, her muscles stiffening. “Wh-what?”

“I love you,” he repeated.

“You…” her voice cracked, “You… do? E-even after… …”

“Of course…” he murmured, his senses all beginning to fade. Of course he still loved her. How could he ever stop? “I just… don’t trust you.”

She fell silent, and he tried to wait— tried desperately to listen for it, for the ‘I love you too’ that he so desperately needed. But she said nothing, and he was starting to forget what he was waiting for, the world fading into sleep.

Chapter 13

Chapter Text

Adrien awoke to the sounds of clicking and clacking.

It was a soft noise. Not enough to have been the thing to rouse him— no, that culprit was far more likely to be the dryness of his throat, or his headache, or the fact that—

He patted the empty space in front of him. No one. Marinette wasn’t there, they weren’t cuddling anymore. Where’d she go? Why wasn’t she here? How was he missing her so much already?

Click clack clack clack click.

“Marinette…?” he mumbled out, rolling onto his back. That had to be her. What was she even doing? Typing?

Clack click clack click click.

Yeah. That was typing.

“Marinette…?” he repeated, a little louder when she didn’t respond.

“Hm— Oh?” her voice responded from beneath the bed. The typing stopped. “What?”

The night sky through the glass pane of the balcony door gave him an indication of the time. “Why are you…” he began, interrupted by a yawn, “... awake?”

He was still dead tired. If he fell back asleep, he could surely stay that way for another few hours. And sure, he’d been ranking up a lot of sleep-debt as of late, but from the dark bags he’d seen under her eyes, he was sure Marinette could use the sleep, too.

“Oh, um…” The typing picked up again. “I’m just not tired.”

That was a lie.

He stared up out the skylight, wondering why she wouldn’t just come to bed and sleep when she so clearly needed it. Wouldn’t it be nice to have her climb right back into bed, right back into his arms, so he could hold her close and go back to pretending everything was normal between them?

Did she not want that, too?

Click click clack clack click.

Oh, god. What if she didn’t?

Then of course she’d be awake right now. He was in her bed, where he didn’t belong, placing an imposition upon her. She needed her sleep desperately, and here he was hogging her sheets. She’d never even said that she had wanted him there to begin with.

Why was he even here? Just to ruin her night? To force her out of her bed?

Clack clack clack clack click.

“I…” He forced himself to sit up. “... I’m sorry. I should go.”

The typing stopped. “What? Why?”

Because something tells me you won’t sleep as long as I’m here. “… I don’t want Nathalie to notice that I’m gone,” he said instead.

“Oh.” A pause, and then the typing resumed. “Okay.”

“Plagg?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here,” Plagg said, appearing at his side.

He nodded at him. “Claws out.”

The electric magic washed over him, stirring his exhausted bones to action. Chat Noir forced himself to climb up onto his knees, pushing the skylight open and sparing one final glance past the mattress.

Click click clack clack clack.

He couldn’t see her, of course. She was under him, just out of his line of sight. Still, he said, “Goodnight, Marinette.”

Clack clack click clack clack.

… Okay.

He swallowed against the dry lump in his throat and left.

*****

Adrien had barely taken a step out of his ride when Cerise appeared at his side.

“Oh, Adrien!” she laughed, a smile tugging her features as he shut the door behind him. “Wow, we got here at the same time!”

“Oh, heh…” He offered a smile back. “Good morning, Cerise. How’re you?”

“Good!” she answered with a nod, sliding her arms around his left. “I’m so sorry about yesterday! I just didn’t want to disappoint Bridgette…”

“It was no problem,” he said honestly, waving his bodyguard goodbye as the car pulled out of the curb. The two set about walking towards the school entrance. “Really!”

More than no problem. Yesterday had been one of his best school days in a while— he hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed Nino until he had a whole day with him, and a terrible part of him almost wished that Cerise had other plans today, too. He’d love to spend the day with Nino again, or Marinette if she’d have him, or even Alya, or…

Not that he didn’t like Cerise! He did! Adrien wasn’t one to look a gift horse in the mouth, and he could certainly appreciate her company and the ‘protection’ that she provided him. He just—

“Well, good news! My schedule is free today… at least, I think it is! I just get so overwhelmed sometimes, making all these promises to help people…” She sighed, turning to him with a frown. “I just can’t turn people down, and it all piles up and then I forget who needs what! It can get… overwhelming. I’m soooo sorry to ditch you over that.”

Marinette could get like that, too. So kind, always helping people, always volunteering when someone needed help, getting in over her head… She just cared so much, and she could translate that care so easily into action. It was one of his favorite things about her.

“Don’t worry about it,” Adrien excused with a soft smile, the two walking through the entrance, “I really don’t…” he hesitated, not wanting to sound ungrateful, “... want you to inconvenience yourself for my sake. If you’re busy, you don’t need to worry about me.”

“I just knew you’d say something like that!” she laughed lightly, reaching the hand that wasn’t currently looped around his arm to pat at his chest. “You’re so sweet, but it’s okay to ask for help, you know! And I’m happy to be of assistance. Out of all the people I help, you’re my favorite.”

His eyes widened. “I am?” He couldn’t imagine why. He felt like he’d been pretty terrible company.

“Oh, Adrien, of course!” She slowed to a stop in the middle of the hall and turned to face him. Her smile widened after a flickered glance behind him, her hand reaching up to swipe a stray strand of hair out of his face. She leaned in close, tilting her face up towards his. “Who wouldn’t want to be around you all the time?”

Marinette, his brain supplied automatically. He tried to school his face into a polite smile, to not betray the pitiful way his heart sank. It must not have been convincing, if the way Cerise’s face fell into a pitying frown was any indication.

“Aw, Adrien…” she sighed, reaching her hand to brush her fingers along his jaw. He clenched his teeth, trying to ignore the shudder down his spine and the urge to shrug away the touch. There was no reason to be rude, she was just being nice. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No— No, it’s okay.” Her gaze flicked beyond his shoulder for a brief moment, her eyes widening. “I’m fine—”

“Let’s go somewhere more private to talk!” she said instantly, snatching his arm in both of hers in a clutch. In an instant she was marching, nearly hauling him along.

“Uh—” He swallowed, trying to match her brisk pace, “No, really, Cerise, there’s nothing to talk abou—”

“ADRIEN!”

Adrien gasped and stopped on a dime, turning towards the call.

Behind him, pushing through the crowds of students, emerged Marinette. She marched towards them with a brisk pace of her own, her hair tied up in a messy bun, the dark bags under her eyes doing little to muffle the determined look in her eye.

He barely even registered the squeeze Cerise gave his arm, completely taken by the attention Marinette commanded— and the feather boa coiled around her neck.

She slowed to a stop just in front of them, her eyes locked on his and mouth in a tight line.

He opened his mouth to say hello—

“Oh, Marinette!” Cerise said, smile audible even as Adrien’s attention remained locked on Marinette. “Hi!”

Unfortunately, he lost Marinette’s blue, her eyes turning to the person at his arm. “Hi, Cerise,” she said flatly.

“How have you been?” Cerise asked cheerfully.

“Fine.” Marinette’s eyes caught his again. “I need to talk to Adrien.”

Was it bad that his heart fluttered at the thought? He opened his mouth to—

“Oh, unfortunately, I really need him today!” Cerise sighed sadly, “I really need his help with this presentation—”

What? He quickly whipped his head to Cerise, ready to explain You don’t need to ‘protect’ me from Marinette, I want to talk to Marinette, I definitely want to talk to Marinette—

“Actually, I need his help with a presentation,” Marinette retorted, standing tall. “Now. It’s time-sensitive.”

“Oh?” Cerise hummed. “What’s the presentation on?”

“Creative writing,” Marinette answered instantly.

“Oh, that sounds fun!” Cerise’s clutch on his arm tightened. “I can help, too! I love creative writing—”

“I only need Adrien,” Marinette said tersely, “It’s his input I need. Specifically.”

“Why’s that?”

“Besides, I wouldn’t want to bother you if you have your own presentation to work on,” Marinette continued on, unfazed, “You have so many friends, I’m sure you can get someone else to help you besides Adrien.”

“Aw, I don’t have that many friends…” Cerise sighed, “Not any more than you do. In fact, I—”

“Adrien,” Marinette said, her gaze snapping to his, and he nearly startled at being addressed directly. He had already resigned himself to being nothing but set dressing in this conversation. “Will you come help me?”

“I— yeah. Yes!” He nodded, perhaps a tad too enthusiastically. “Of course, Marinette. I’d love to help you.”

Cerise’s nails dug into his skin for an uncomfortable moment before she released him completely. “Oh. Okay! I’ll just see if Elaine is free today, then…”

“Thank you,” Marinette said, reaching forward and clutching his arm herself, replacing Cerise’s spot at his side as she instantly began leading him away. “Let’s go.”

“Ah— okay!” He nodded, falling in step with her easily. But as much as he wanted to sink into the moment, to focus on the fluttering of his heart or the warmth of Marinette’s skin against his, he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty. He turned his head, peering back over his shoulder and raising his free hand in a wave. “Bye, Cerise!”

“Bye, Adrien!” Cerise called back with a smile, returning his wave. “I’ll talk to you later!”

Something akin to a scoff left Marinette’s lips, and then he was being turned around a corner, Cerise disappearing from view. Marinette muttered something under her breath that he couldn’t quite catch.

“What?” he asked, turning his full attention back to her.

“You really had no idea who I was talking about?”

“Huh?” He frowned. “Who? When?”

She shook her head, but said nothing. Her gaze remained forward, a disappointed look in her eye turning the pleasant fluttering in his chest into a painful clench. Somehow, he was already messing this up.

“What do you mean?” he tried again.

Nothing. She responded in silence. The two continued to walk, and he didn’t even know where they were headed. He didn’t know anything, apparently. When did he ever?

“Fine,” he muttered, his own disappointed gaze falling down to their feet. They’d already fallen out of step with each other. “Don’t tell me.”

Marinette gasped, stopping on a dime, his inertia nearly yanking his arm off. “No, I— I can tell you! I can be honest with you!”

He stared at her in anticipation. She chewed her lip, eyeing the vicinity and pushing him carefully into the corner of the hall. It wasn’t completely private, but it was out of the way of traffic enough that they weren’t likely to be heard. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, her voice hushed as she said, “You realize what she’s doing, right?”

“Huh?” He furrowed his brow, asking in his own hushed tone, “Who? Cerise?”

“She’s…” Marinette began, pausing in thought as she reached up to brush a strand of hair behind her ear. “... She likes you.”

“... Yeah?” he agreed, the sudden shock on Marinette’s face only confusing him further. “We’re friends.”

“What?” she gasped, “No! No, I… I don’t mean like that.”

“Huh?”

“She likes you,” she emphasized through her whisper, “Likes you, Adrien. Not like a friend. She has a crush on you.”

His jaw dropped. “What?” He spared a brief look back over his shoulder, as if he would be able to see Cerise from here. Obviously, he couldn’t. “What makes you think that?”

“You… really can’t tell?” she muttered through her frown, “It’s… pretty obvious.”

“What?” He frowned. “No, I…” He tried to think over what Marinette could possibly be talking about. Sure, Cerise had been hanging around him a lot lately, but that was just because… “She’s just been… protective of me. But that doesn’t mean she likes me. Nino gets protective of me too, it doesn’t mean—”

She furrowed her brow. “Protective of you?”

“Yeah, she…” He shifted his posture to get more comfortable, leaning his shoulder against the wall. “She’s just a nice person. And a good friend. I was…” he hesitated, feeling himself deflate, “... I’ve been… having a… bad week. And she promised to protect me from people… bothering me.”

“Bothering you?”

He shrugged against the wall. “You know, like…” he hesitated, eyes flicking away from her from a moment, a bitter taste in his mouth. He tilted his head forward, continuing in an even quieter voice, “People… asking me about… my father.”

She sucked in a breath. “Oh…” Her eyes softened. “Right.”

“It can be… a lot,” he muttered, eyes falling to the floor, “... and Cerise is nice, so she offered to help.”

“By reading you poems?” Marinette huffed, “Holding your hand? Hugging you? Touching your face?”

His eyes widened. “What? No, that’s— she’s just a physically affectionate person, you know, like Nino—”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “I’d sooner believe that Nino has a crush on you than that she doesn’t—”

He chose to ignore that. “And the poems were for literary analysis—”

“You didn’t analyze anything,” she snapped.

“I knew you were spying on us,” he huffed to himself, rolling his own eyes.

“And the ice cream?” she hissed.

He frowned. “Ice cream?”

“You two got a Sweethearts ice cream cone.”

“What? No, we didn’t—”

“I saw you!” Marinette cried out, throwing her arms out. “You can’t lie to me about that!”

“No, you didn’t!” he argued back, “You— wait…” The realization dawned on him. “Is that why you ran?”

“I saw you,” she repeated, and he nearly gaped at the implications. Marinette saw him approaching the cart with Cerise and thought… “I know that you did. And—”

He tried, breathless, “No, Marinette, that’s not…”

“—I’m not mad at you! You’re— you’re not in trouble!” she said, gesturing with a trembling hand, “After— after everything I did? Y-you know what, fair enough, you’re… I don’t own you, you can do what you want, a-and if you want to go on a quintuple date with Cerise and share a romantic ice cream cone that’s your prerogative—”

“I didn’t,” he was quick to say, “I never—”

“—and I don’t blame her for liking you, either! Because of course she likes you, anybody with eyes and a brain would! B-Because you’re the most wonderful amazing person in the world! But you don’t have to lie to me about it! Really. I…” She averted her eyes, biting her lip. “It’s okay.”

“No, Marinette,” he said, stepping forward, closing the miniscule distance between them even further and placing his hands atop her shoulders. He leaned forward, his eyes level with hers, and said, “I didn’t get an ice cream with her. I wouldn’t.”

She shook her head and closed her eyes, her head turned away from him.

“She was nervous,” he tried to softly explain, “She’d never ordered from André before. The ice cream was only hers, I just approached the counter with her for moral support—”

She let out a wet, bitter laugh at that. “Really?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’m telling the truth,” he said honestly, staring into her eyes once they made contact with his. “Really, Marinette. I promise.”

Her face fell. “... I don’t believe that.”

“When have I ever lied to you?” he bit before he could think twice.

She flinched. “No! No, I don’t mean…” She took a deep breath. “... Okay. I trust you, Adrien, I really do. And I… I believe that you believe that. I believe that you didn’t get an ice cream with her. But…” She shook her head. “She was too nervous to get an ice cream? Really?”

“What’s weird about that?” He raised a brow. “You know, social anxiety—”

“Yeah well, if we were talking about Juleka or Marc, I’d believe it. But Cerise?” she huffed, “She’s one of the most outgoing people I’ve ever met! There’s no way she would be scared of ordering an ice cream.”

He understood her point, but… “I don’t know.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “Maybe it just affects her differently, or… in less obvious ways. Why would she lie about that?”

She gave him a look. “To let you play the hero.”

Adrien scoffed. “What?”

“To keep your attention on her, to seem cute and innocent around you, to flirt with you…” She gestured vaguely with her hands, implying an unending list. “... because she likes you. Romantically.”

He shook his head. “No, I…”

“... What if she did?” Marinette eyed him. “Fine, you don’t believe me. But in a hypothetical situation where she did like you…” She paused. “... how would you feel about that?”

He furrowed his brow. “What?”

“How would you feel if she liked you?” Marinette whispered, staring at him with her hands wringing together, a weak attempt at feigning impassivity.

Honestly? He wasn’t sure he would feel any particular way about it. He was kind of used to people fawning over him, people he could never return the sentiment towards. … Though, admittedly, it would make some of their interactions a tad more uncomfortable in hindsight. The shoulder rub, for one…

Apparently, Marinette wasn’t able to wait through his silence. “Do… Do you like her?”

“No,” Adrien answered instantly and without thought, and then cringed at the bluntness, “I mean— I like her as a friend, but—”

“Y-you can be honest with me,” Marinette whispered, still wringing her hands together, her eyes flicking everywhere but his face, “You— l-like I said, I don’t— I don’t own you, a-and… you’re allowed to… I wouldn’t be mad. I-I really wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t blame you if you did, because she’s really pretty and smart a-and…”

“No,” he whispered, reaching down and grasping her hands, untangling them from each other. He leaned forward, his nose mere centimeters from her. “There’s only one lady for me.”

She sucked in a sharp breath. He wanted to lean in and kiss her— her lips or her cheek, he wasn’t picky— but he found himself lacking the courage. Instead, he raised both her hands to his lips and kissed her knuckles.

She released a long breath. “That’s…” She swallowed, continuing in an even more hushed whisper, “... very Chat Noir of you.”

He flashed her a smile, her hands still held at his lips. “You mind?”

She shook her head, cheeks pink, “N-no, I… I don’t mind—”

“Ah, Monsieur Agreste, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng!” a voice called. Adrien and Marinette startled away from each other, tearing their hands apart and spinning their backs to the wall.

“AH! NOTHING!” Marinette squeaked.

“P-Principal Damocles!” Adrien greeted, trying a smile. “Good morning!”

“What are you two up to today?” Principal Damocles hummed as he approached, eyeing the two of them. “Something educational, I presume?”

“We…” Adrien trailed, his mind going blank.

“Y-Yes!” Marinette gasped, clapping her hands together, “We were just— we were headed to one of the presentation rooms! To practice! A presentation!”

“A presentation, hmm?” the principal hummed, stroking his beard. “Interesting! What’s it for?”

“Just— um, you know…” she stammered, “... to practice my public speaking!”

“Hm, of course!” He nodded. “A worthy pursuit. Public speaking is a very important skill to have!”

“Y-yes!” she nodded vigorously. “A-and— and Adrien was going to help me with it!”

Adrien grinned, his cheeks hurting as he nodded.

“Very well,” Damocles nodded again. “I’d best leave you two to it…” He eyed them. “And you’d best get to work, then.”

“Yes,” Marinette squeaked.

“O-of course,” Adrien agreed.

Damocles turned to leave, before pausing. “Oh, and one more thing…” He turned back to them. “You two have both missed some school days as of late…”

Adrien and Marinette sucked in breaths.

“... so it’s good to see you both at school,” he finished, “I hope that you two are feeling better.”

“Y…yes,” Marinette muttered.

“Mhm…” Adrien nodded.

“... And I would be remiss to not remind you two of the wonderful counselors that we have on duty at our school!” Damocles added with pride, hand at his puffed out chest, “If either of you ever need someone to talk to about your problems or stresses, you are welcome to stop by the office at any time! Our school takes mental health very seriously! And tell your friends!”

“Okay…” Marinette nodded.

“We’ll keep it in mind,” Adrien muttered.

“Hm… Good!” Damocles nodded one final time. “Alright, then. Good luck with your presentation!”

And with that, the principal left, and the two of them released their held breaths.

“Well…” Marinette sighed after a moment, brushing her bangs out of her eyes, “Let’s… get going, then.”

“Ah…” Adrien nodded. “Alright.”

She grabbed his hand, giving it a squeeze that had no business being as comforting as it was, and began leading him down the hall again. They walked in step with each other in silence until they reached a door at the far end of the school, not one that Adrien had ever been in before. Marinette pushed it open, peeked inside, and led him in.

It actually was a presentation room. The most classroom-looking classroom that Adrien had seen since attending their unique school. A projector hung from the ceiling, aimed at a whiteboard at the front of the room, rows of desks and chairs filling the rest of the space.

“You know…” Marinette said quietly, walking towards the desks. She pulled out a chair, and he expected her to sit down— but instead she held it up, carrying it over to the door. “You… probably really should try that.”

“Try what?” he asked, watching in awe as she shoved the chair underneath the doorknob. He wasn’t even sure what they were doing in here, but he’d never complain about privacy.

“The… counselors,” she said awkwardly, removing her backpack and crouching down to rifle through the contents, “I mean, after everything…”

“I dunno,” he sighed, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms, an uncomfortable feeling in his gut.

“No, I mean… really,” she sighed, still rifling through her bag. He understood why. She had so many things crammed in there. “After everything you’ve been through…” she trailed, chewing her lip.

He shook his head. “Well, I… already have a counselor. No need to go to the ones at school.”

She whipped her head up to look at him. “What?”

“... Yeah.” He swallowed. “Nathalie is making me see one.”

“Really?” she gasped. “Oh! That’s… that’s good.”

“You think?” he mumbled.

“Of course.” She nodded, turning back to her backpack and pulling out her laptop and a thick binder. “I’m… happy to hear that. Really.”

“I don’t get what I’d even say to them,” he muttered, “Most of my problems aren’t really… things that I can just… talk about.”

Marinette’s expression fell. She stood to her feet with a sigh, walking towards the front desk in the room and placing her laptop and binder down. “Yeah…” she muttered, opening the laptop. “… I understand that feeling.”

He watched her, a silence hanging between them as she clicked the trackpad and typed at the keyboard.

Click click clack clack click.

“Uh…” He swallowed. “What… are you doing?”

“Take that,” she said, nodding towards the binder, her eyes not leaving the screen, “and… take a seat, too.”

Huh?

He frowned, stepping forward and taking the binder. It was heavy and unlabeled. He moved to open it—

“Don’t,” she gasped, panicked eyes flicking to his for a moment before back to the computer, “Don’t open it yet.”

“Okay…” He hesitated, and then did as he was told, walking to one of the desks and pulling out a chair to sit down.

Marinette grabbed a small remote from the desk and pressed a button. The projector stirred to life, illuminating the whiteboard in…

His mouth fell open.

Creative Writing “What If?”s

Ideas for Putting Your Self-Insert Characters in Sticky Situations, and How to Write Them Out of Them

by Marinette Dupain-Cheng

“Oh," Adrien gasped as he stared at the title slide, a wonderful piece of graphic design befitting its artist. “You… actually have a presentation?”

She nodded.

“Oh.” Well, okay. He was happy to help her with whatever she needed, but he had to admit he was a little disappointed— he had been more than ready to hide away and talk instead of doing actual schoolwork. But still, he nodded, straightening his spine and readying himself to be the perfect audience member. “Okay! I didn’t know you write.” He’d love to read her work.

“I…” she muttered, casting a quick nervous glance to the door as she walked around to the front of the desk, “I don’t.”

“Oh…?” He blinked. Then why…

“This isn’t…” She chewed her lip, leaning forward and whispering, “It’s just a cover. In case… in case someone overhears from the hall, or walks in somehow…”

His brow twisted, not quite understanding. A cover for what? They were at the far end of the school, down a hallway people rarely used. What were the chances that they would be overheard? Why was she being so cautious? “O…kay?”

She shot him a nervous look, chewing her lip and eyeing the presentation slide. And then she steeled herself and took a deep breath.

“Okay! So… imagine you’re writing a story!” she enunciated loudly, “Like a… a purely fictional self-insert story, for example! What’s a good story without conflict, right?” She forced out an awkward laugh. “Not, um… not much of a story. Right? Conflict is good!”

She eyed him. He sat up straight and nodded encouragingly, hands clasped together atop the binder atop his desk.

“That was insensitive…” she whispered to herself under her breath. With her eyes screwed tight, she took a deep, steadying breath. And then her eyes flew open, an unnaturally large smile stretching across her face as her brows twisted nervously. “So… here is my educational presentation! On possible hypothetical conflicts! To write in self-insert stories! S-Starting with…”

With a shaking hand, she reached to snatch the projector remote back up from the table, fumbling and dropping it. She caught it before it hit the ground, and the slide switched to—

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

“Wh— What if your father was Monarch?” she squeaked through her wide grin, jumping back up to her feet and straightening her back. Her words matched the slide.

“What?” he tried to mouth, unable to even move his lips in the motion, the horrible realization of what this really was dawning on him.

She stared at him for a long moment, frozen in spot.

“Th-that would be… pretty bad,” Marinette stammered quietly, finally finding her words and fiddling with the remote in her hand, “B-because that— that would have implications on your story!” she announced to the door. Then she turned back to him, her face red. “U-um, because it implies a few things… like…”

She pressed the button again, and— dear god, this presentation had animations— bullet-points slid onto the screen, bouncing as they reached their spot beneath the slide title.

“If your father was Monarch, that means he was Shadowmoth and Hawkmoth, too…” she muttered, “U-um… so he’d been… doing it for a while. That, um… takes a lot of determination, to— to— to make all of those villains and to terrorize the city so much…”

He sunk into his seat, his mouth running dry.

“And so he— he must have been after something, right? And we— we don’t, haha, know what Monarch was actually after, but, well,” Marinette barreled on, “Hypothetically… for this story… what if his motivation was…”

She clicked the remote again, turning back and viewing the new slide for herself. She squeaked, horror flashing across her features.

“Wh.. What if…” she turned back to him, a horrible attempt at the most pained smile he’d ever seen on her face, her eyes nearly watering. He stared at her, his heart in his stomach, waiting for her to voice what he could clearly read on the screen. “What if… your… m-mom was dead?”

He stared at her and then, channeling all the willpower he could, slowly nodded at her in acknowledgement.

Maybe he should put a stop to this. He should stop her before she got too deep into this, before she strained herself too hard, before he was forced to hear back every one of his family’s dirty secrets that he already knew. He knew this. This wasn’t new. There was no reason for him to have it presented like this— Félix and Kagami had already put on a play for him, for goodness’s sake, and he was so tired of being in the audience.

But she’d put a lot of work into this. He could tell by the animations, the font choices, the carefully crafted design of each slide. Who would he be to stop her when she’d put so much effort in? When she seemed to find this so important?

He could power through. He could grit his teeth and bear it. He could handle it. None of this information was new to him—

“A-and, wh-what if…” she stammered, clicking the remote again, a new set of pretty bouncy words flying onto the screen, “hewaskeepingherbodyinthebasem*nt?”

All air was knocked out of his lungs, the force of her words slamming into his stomach and splintering his thoughts.

“Wh-what?” he choked out, strangled.

“In like… like… preserved! Like in a— a cryosleep sort of thing! I’m not sure on the details, but— oh my god, she wasn’t— I mean— hypothetically, she wouldn’t be decaying or—” He gasped for air. “Oh my god, nevermind, it’s not important, but I just— just— nevermind, next slide!”

She mashed the button, but to both of their horrors, the slide didn’t change. Instead, new words slid onto the screen to fill the whitespace, and a new force slammed into his stomach.

“Oh!” she gasped at the sight of the screen, spinning around to face him, “R-right… what if… what if, before— before she died, she made… recordings?”

“Recordings?” he squeaked.

“To… Nathalie…” She chewed her lip, wringing her hands together, “Um… b-begging her to… stop your dad from… trying to revive her? Because she… knew he would?”

He gaped at her.

“A-and… asking her to…. asking Nathalie to… to be there for you… as a parent a-and…” She sucked in a deep breath, “Emphasizing that… your happiness was all that m-mattered?”

His lip quivered before he could even process what she’d just said. The world began to blur, the tears in his eyes quickly building. Marinette gasped, and he sucked in a breath, crumpling forward and burying his face in his hands.

Yeah, he could only think, that sounds like maman.

“O-oh, Adrien!” Marinette cried out, her flats slapping across the hardwood. And in an instant she was at his side, her hand on his shoulder, “D-do you… do you need a break? We can take a break! B-But, um…” She hesitated, “This is… only slide three. There are seventy-eight more—”

“What?” he squeaked out through his tears, sucking in a shaking breath, “Wh-what…” He sniffled, rubbing harshly at his face, trying to steel himself enough to lift his head again. “Why are— wh-why are you telling me this?”

“What?” she gasped, “I-I…” She went silent, and he tried to look at her despite the tears still prickling his vision. “You… deserve to know,” she whispered, her voice cracking, “I-I… I don’t want to… to keep things from you, anymore. I want… I need to…”

He stared at her, waiting for her to find her words.

“I know that I… need t-to earn your trust again,” she sniffled, “And I’d— I’d do anything to, but… b-but I… I don’t want to hurt you, so maybe I should stop—”

That’s why she was doing this?

A part of him almost wanted to say I don’t want this, but he couldn’t find the voice to. How could he say that, when this was exactly what he’d been asking for? When he’d given her so much grief over her lack of transparency? How hypocritical would it be of him to not take her extended olive branch, to hear all the things that he’d been so bitter about being deaf to?

Maybe he didn’t want to hear all the horrible things that he already knew repeated back to him, and maybe he really didn’t want to hear any new information to kick his already dead world— but that’s what this had always been. Every fact in the damned presentation was a bullet, waiting to be shot at his heart, and he’d been the one begging for the trigger to be pulled.

The least he could do was let her aim the shot.

He thought back to what Ladybug had told Chat Noir. Adrien can’t know, she’d told him, it’d break him.

He’d wanted to prove her wrong. And this was his chance.

He swallowed hard, clenching his shaking hands hard and taking a steadying breath. He swiped away his tears and sat tall, steeling himself.

“No,” he stated, “It’s okay. Go on.”

All he could hope was that the majority of the shots were blanks— mere reminders of the ammunition already lodged in his heart.

“Are you— are you sure?” she asked, “You… if you don’t want to hear it, it’s okay, y-you can always…” She gestured to the binder at his desk. “... read about it, instead.”

Dear god.

He stared at the thick, unlabeled binder for a long moment, and then turned back up to her.

“No, I…” he tried, every ounce of energy in his body concentrated on keeping his voice steady and sure, “... I want to hear it.”

He didn’t want her presentation to go to waste. He wanted to prove to her how normal and composed he could be about it all. He wanted to prove that he wouldn’t break, as if she didn’t already know that he was broken.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” she muttered.

That’s what got them into this mess to begin with.

“It’s okay,” he said, face schooled as he stared at the words on the screen, “I can take it.”

She gave him one last, nervous look, a tense silence between them. And then a deep breath sucked into her lungs, and her shoulders steeled.

And then she pressed the button for the next slide.

Posture straight, hands clasped together over the desk, his mouth pressed in a straight line, he stared ahead and listened.

And listened.

Blank after blank, muscles tense and teeth clenched as he waited in fearful anticipation for all the words and slides and animations. He tried not to let his pain bubble to the surface, tried not to physically flinch as she pulled each trigger, anticipating a real bullet each time.

What if your father’s assistant was Mayura?

He’d already figured that out.

What if she was sick from exposure to a broken miraculous?

Nathalie already told him that.

What if you were made from a miraculous?

Félix already told him that.

Just don’t think about it, he chanted in his head, her tens of slides going in one ear and out the other once they were confirmed redundant. Don’t think about it, he chanted, fighting back the tears that threatened to break through the surface each time his mind dared to even muse about the awful implications of every day of his life.

Next slide, Marinette stammered. Next slide, Marinette held back tears. Next slide, Marinette had to take a moment to catch her breath before continuing.

But they needed to do this. To step through the motions. To place everything between them on the table, to lay their cards upright, even if they’d already gotten a peek of them.

Finally, they were coming to the end of the presentation. They were in the final stretch, the slides more random tidbits than real world-rockers. His guard started to drop, confident enough that he’d be able to maintain his tearless streak since the dreaded slide three.

What if SOMEONE stole your phone to delete an embarrassing voicemail before giving it back?

He could find the humor in that.

What if Ladybug told Rena Rouge her identity?

He’d already figured.

What if Rena secretly helped out in some battles?

He’d already been vaguely aware that something like that had happened, after Carapace had revealed a camouflaged Rena.

What if the scarf you got for your fourteenth birthday wasn’t actually from your dad?

He’d sucked in a sharp breath, but otherwise remained calm. He could unpack that later. Out of all the things he’s learned about his father as of late, that was (almost) nothing.

What if a powerful authority figure threatened Ladybug to give up Chat Noir’s identity and she was so afraid of losing Chat Noir that she devised a scheme to figure out his identity without ACTUALLY figuring out his identity but then the scheme fell through anyway and nothing ever came of it and it never ACTUALLY happened but it ALMOST happened?

… What?

He simply nodded stiffly, as if he understood any of what she was saying at all through the fog in his brain. He wasn’t about to ask for clarification. He could read about it later, if he so wished— assuming he ever gained the will to.

Marinette pressed the button on the remote. They were nearing the end, only ten more slides to go, and the new slide’s title slid onto the screen and—

No.

His ribs shattered. His blood ran cold, his heart dropped, his stomach churned—

Marinette started with a stammer, her own face pale, “Wh-what if—”

“No,” he cut her off, voice thick— and it had been a mistake to speak, to allow his words to break the surface, because the dam went along with it. He felt sick, instantly nauseous, wondering how his world could be so fragile as to implode so many times in a row. His posture broke, hunching forward and squeezing his head with his palms at his ears, “Stop…”

“No?” Marinette squeaked, her high voice breaking through his defenses.

“S-skip it,” he choked, fighting the warmth in his eyes. He sucked in a breath, trying to steady himself. “S-Skip the slide. P-Pass. Please.”

He couldn’t hear her muffled response through the sound of blood pumping in his ears. He stared down at the binder, at the divots and texture of its blank cover, focusing on the minute details around him and not the overarching horror that was him.

He nearly flinched at the gentle fingertips brushing up his arm and grasping at his wrist. The pressure on his ear lessened from her pull, and she whispered, “Th-that’s okay. We’re done. That was the last slide.”

No, it wasn’t. There had been more slides. He’d known that. He’d been counting, the whole time, and there were still nine left. He shook his head— had he messed it up that bad already? Had he broken too clearly, proven her original point, lost his privileges of knowing—

“Really, it was!” she gasped, “The last slides a-are just… just… look!”

With each tiny scrap of courage he could muster, he peered up at the board, and saw…

Kittens. Pictures of kittens adorning the slides, reaching their little paws up, their tiny tongues on display. Marinette clicked at the remote, cycling through the slides, the animations, the pictures bouncing in and out of frame.

Nine slides of cute cat pictures.

“I-I figured… they’d probably be needed…” she murmured, “... after all that.”

He sucked in a shaking breath, trying to ground himself— because it was over. He made it through the presentation— but not unscathed, if the twitching of his fingers and the upset of his stomach and the kwami uncharacteristically nuzzling into his neck with a gentle purr were any indication.

“Mh,” was the only noise he could bring himself to make, staring unfocused in the direction of the innocent pictures.

The sound of chair legs squeaking against the floor bounced off the walls, and soon Marinette was seated right beside him, her knee bumping his.

“I-if you…” she whispered, grasping one of his hands and clutching it between both of hers, “... have any questions…”

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it, don’t think about—

He simply shook his head, still staring straight ahead with unfocused eyes.

Don’t think about it, don’t think about it—

“You know, it— it wasn’t your fault,” she said quickly, “It wasn’t. A-and it— it didn’t even happen, technically, because it was another timeline and—”

“Well,” he cut her off, pushing himself to his feet and shoving the binder into his backpack. “Thanks for the presentation. But I need to get going now.”

He was going to break. He could feel it. He was weak, and he was fragile— just like everyone thought he was, just like they feared— and they were all right about him, and he was only going to prove that if he couldn’t keep himself from thinking about it—

And then his world wouldn’t just be shattered. It would be burned, up in smoke beneath a red sky, and the air would taste like ash—

“What?” Marinette gasped, “N-no, wait— you should stay, I—” She fumbled with her remote. “I-I have more pictures!”

“Cerise needs my help,” he said, the first excuse that came to mind. He needed to get out of here. Right now. He needed to leave. He rounded her desk and to the door, un-wedging the chair from beneath the knob. “I have to go.”

“You can’t be serious!” The sound of her chair legs squeaking against the hardwood rang out again. “Adrien, I— I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have— I knew it would be too much—” He was proving her right, he was proving them all right, he was too pathetic to know, he never should have known, he didn’t deserve to know, monster, monster— “Don’t leave, come sit down, I— you need time to process—”

He shot her a toothy smile over his shoulder, pulling his lips up and taut. “I’m okay, Marinette. Thanks for the honesty.”

The vision of her staring at him, standing stiff with mouth agape and face pale, burned in his mind as he turned the doorknob and surged out of the room. Marching down the hallway, his grip white-knuckled at his school bag strap.

Smile. Smile. Keep smiling. People are looking at you. Don’t prove them right. Don’t prove to them all the ways they were right to pity you. Don’t further confirm to them how brittle you really are.

“M. Agreste!” Damocles greeted as Adrien approached. “How was the presentation—”

“I’m going home early,” Adrien said through his toothy smile, walking past him, “I’m not feeling well.”

“Hm?” Damocles blinked, “Oh, well, come to the office, let me call your guardian firs—”

Adrien pushed out the front doors and marched down the sidewalk.

Chapter 14

Chapter Text

Monster.

They were right to not trust you. Why would they? You’re so frail. You break at the tiniest of inconveniences— and when you break, you break hard. You don’t have the courtesy to only shatter. You explode and take everything down with you in bursts of shrapnel.

Red skies and soot. The world, buried in ash— corpses all around you, burnt to crisps, the moon split in two.

They were right to not trust you. You’re a monster. You’re a monster who killed your own father— killed your mother too. Killed them both.

“Ill-mannered children just can’t control their anger,” his father had said to him, whispering the poison in his ear amidst the cinders. Back when he was still alive, back when he’d been dying by his very hand, back when he’d been trying to keep him locked away.

Maybe he really deserved to be locked away.

He was a monster. A monster, feasting upon the lives of those he loved. His mother was dead because of him. His father was dead because of him. Nathalie would’ve been dead because of him, if only his father hadn’t saved her. Everyone could’ve been dead because of him, if only Marinette hadn’t intercepted it, hadn’t stopped the apocalyptic disaster that was him—

If only he’d never been born. If only he’d been left purely a concept. If only his parents had never created him, never placed his curse upon the world. Then his mother would still be alive, and his father would still be alive, and his father would be happy and almost kind like he used to be, and Nathalie never would’ve had to suffer such an illness, and Marinette never would’ve had to see the world turned to ash—

“Hey…” Plagg whispered, his tone so unnaturally soft, tapping his paw against his cheek, “Adrien. It’s okay.”

An ungodly sound left Adrien’s throat, and he tugged the blanket over his head, burying himself deeper into the covers.

Because he was upset. He was here, buried in his sheets, because he was wallowing in negative emotion— which is exactly what he shouldn’t be doing. Because he was a bomb. A ticking time bomb, ready to explode whenever the butterfly wielder so deemed it time— and they had deemed it time before, they’d already tried to akumatize him, and they could try again—

“I renounce you,” Adrien choked out, wresting the ring off of his finger with shaking hands and ignoring the kwami’s interrupted gasp. He dropped it unceremoniously on the counter beside his bed and burrowed deeper into his sheets.

You should never have been born. You make everything worse. So much worse, far worse, for everyone around you—

Monster.

Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster. Monster—

“Adrien,” Nathalie’s gentle voice cut through his thoughts, the mattress dipping where she sat. He’d been too entrenched in his thoughts to hear her come in. “What’s wrong?”

He should’ve known better than to have expected Nathalie to truly leave him alone. Of course his plastered smile hadn’t been convincing enough when he’d arrived home from school so early. Of course she wouldn’t buy it. Of course she’d come to check on him.

You’re proving them right. You’re proving them all right.

“I-I’m fine,” Adrien choked out, burying his face into his pillow as his comforter was pulled from his head.

“Did something happen at school?”

He shook his head.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

He shook his head. Nathalie sighed.

“Adrien…” she spoke gently, pausing for a moment before continuing, “I’m here to listen. To anything that may be bothering you.”

“H-How can you stand me?” he spoke, muffled against the pillow his face was smushed against.

“Excuse me?”

“I-I—” he choked, “… I killed them.”

“Whom?”

“M-Mom a-and Dad…” He sucked in a harsh breath, fresh tears staining the pillowcase. Not just Mother and Father. Mom and Dad. Mom, who used to read him bedtime stories until he fell asleep, who would tuck him in and kiss his forehead. Dad, who taught him how to tie his shoes, who made him pancakes and fixed his broken buttons. Mom and Dad, posed in smiles in paintings and photographs, their hands placed lovingly on his shoulders, who were both gone now, all because of—

“What?” Nathalie said, her tone harsh. “You did no such thing—”

“Th-they’re b-both dead b-because of…” he sobbed, “b-because of me…”

“No.” He felt her hand be placed at his back. “That’s not—”

“I-I’m dangerous,” he said. And he was. It was true. He was dangerous. A dangerous, dangerous monster, monster, monster—

“You are not—”

“I-I never…” he gasped for breath, the air sparse and hot between his face and the pillowcase. “... should’ve been born—”

“Adrien,” Nathalie nearly spat, shutting his trap. She pulled back from him, the weight she placed on the mattress shifting. “Adrien. Sit up. Look at me.”

He shook his head.

“Adrien. Sit up.”

He held his left hand, rings and all, up to her. “Wh… Why don’t you use my amok and make me?” he bit out.

Silence. And he almost wondered if she’d get up and leave, if she’d give up on entertaining this pathetic showcase he— the killer of his parents— was putting on. But then he felt her fingers, grasping ahold of his hand, and for a dreaded moment he thought she’d actually take him up on the offer.

But instead, she carefully closed his fist, and pushed his hand back down to the sheets.

“Adrien,” she said, her tone far more gentle than he deserved. “You…” She took a deep breath. “You are not responsible for the decisions they made.”

He sniffled.

“Gabriel and Emilie are not here today because of their own actions. Not yours.” A dreaded silence fell between them for a moment. “Adrien,” she continued, even softer, “You can’t change the past. No matter how much you may want to. Trust me on that.” Another awful quiet, and then he felt her place her hand at the back of his head. “... But of all the mistakes that they made… you were not one of them.”

A pained sound left his throat before he could stop himself. He focused on the feeling of Nathalie’s hand, gently patting the back of his head, a gesture so much more affectionate from her than she’d ever dared to be back when his father was still around.

“Please,” she nearly whispered, “Can you sit up?”

He wasn’t sure how he could say no to that, when she asked so nicely and when he’d already been so terrible. Reluctantly, he rolled onto his back and forced himself to sit up, swiping his arm under his nose one last time.

Her face fell as their eyes met. How terrible must he look right now? He hung his head, his gaze on his knees instead of her pained expression.

“Thank you,” she said over his sigh. “Now, what brought this on?”

“... Nothing.”

“Adrien.” She sounded disappointed.

“C...Can I just…” he took a shaking breath, “... be alone for now…?”

She said nothing, but he didn’t dare taking the risk to lift his gaze to her. After a moment, though, she finally said, “Alright. For now. But is there anything in particular you want for lunch?”

He shook his head. He didn’t care. He wasn’t sure he could stomach much of anything right now.

“Alright.” A pause. And then she leaned forward, her arm placed around the back of his shoulder in a half-hug. He sucked in another breath at the gesture. It only lasted for a moment before she was pulling back and to her feet. “You can come speak with me at any time, if you wish. I love you.”

His lip quivered, but he managed a small nod.

Her heels clicked, and then she was gone. He collapsed back onto his mattress, arm draped over his eyes, and tried to re-steady his breaths.

Monster. Monster. Monst—

Buzz.

Monster, monster—

Buzz.

He tried to ignore it. He didn’t want to talk to anyone right now. Why would someone be texting him, anyway? Why would anyone want to associate with him at all, when he was a—

Buzz.

Buzz.

Ring ring ring…

He groaned and patted around aimlessly for his phone. Once he finally caught hold of the blasted device, he held it over his face.

Marinette was calling him. Of course.

But he couldn’t talk right now. He couldn’t, because if he did, she would hear the thickness of his voice. He would prove her right.

Instead, he stared at the screen— at Marinette’s smiling face, waiting for the rings to pass, too pathetic to so much as ignore the call.

Ring ring ring…

Ring ring ring…

…

Marinette: where are you?? youre not with cerise

Marinette: are you ok??? did you go home?

Marinette: im so sosososo sorry i never. should have dumped all that on you. ESPECIALLY like that im sososo sorry i KNEW i would mess this up

Marinette: please please talk to me are you ok?????

{missed call}

Marinette: of COURSE youre not ok idk why i even asked!!

Marinette: im so sorry. are you home??? i can skip school and come over if you need someone to talk to to process it all and explain some things

Marinette: or not talk!! if you just want um. someone to hold or anything?

Adrien: I’m okay 😀

Marinette: ???

Marinette: you dont have to lie to me :(

Marinette: where are you? nino doesnt know where you are either

Adrien: I’m not lying. Thank you for telling me everything. You can trust me.

Marinette: um… ok

Marinette: of course I trust you. you dont have to thank me

Marinette: where are you?

Adrien: Don’t worry about me! I’m great.

“Your self-loathing is pungent.”

Adrien startled, his head whipping up and dropping his phone to his mattress. A cobalt figure stood on his windowsill, watching him for a moment before dropping down to the hardwood floor.

“No, I…” Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, “I’m fine…”

Argos quirked an unamused brow, and Adrien could only shrink under his scrutinizing gaze. He couldn’t argue it. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, he couldn’t. Not to Argos. Not to the person who could quite literally take a peek inside of him and see how broken his parts really were.

Not that he’d even need superpowers to see how pathetic he was, curled up in bed with puffy eyes in the middle of the school day.

You’re proving them right.

Why couldn’t they just leave him alone? A part of him almost longed for the days when Father was still around— what he wouldn’t give to be forgotten and ignored right now.

But Father isn’t around anymore. He’s dead. Dad is dead. Because you killed him. Because you’re a—

“Seriously,” Argos huffed, waving his hand under his nose, “I could smell you all the way from home.”

“It’s not even like that,” Adrien muttered, exhausted, collapsing back down into the mattress, his gaze reaching the high ceiling. “Your powers don’t make emotions literally smell.”

“You never heard of a metaphor?” Argos asked over the sound of his footsteps approaching the bed.

Wait.

If Adrien’s current anguish was so noticeable to the peaco*ck, did that mean he’d caught the attention of the butterfly, too? Were they just lying in wait, ready to send an akuma out, to take advantage of his breaking— or worse— one was already on the way—

Adrien gasped and scrambled over to the counter beside his bed, snatching the ring from the surface. He hunched forward, holding the miraculous out to Argos. “Take it.”

Argos’ eyes shot open wide. “What? Why?”

“Take it!” Adrien spat, his heart racing— because an akuma could be coming for him, right now, and he couldn’t risk the power of destruction being anywhere near him. The entire world could end, a literally apocalyptic event, everyone he loved slaughtered by his own hand, Félix, Nathalie, Nino, Marinette—

“Woah.” Argos stared at him, still not taking it. Why wasn’t he taking it? “Calm down.”

“Take it!” Adrien cried out, scrambling forward on the mattress and grabbing Argos’ hand, pushing the ring into his palm. “You— you have to take it somewhere— to Marinette o-or— no, somewhere where I can never ever find it—”

“Why?”

Adrien leapt to his feet and rushed to the windows, pacing alongside them, staring up and out, his hands wringing together and twisting his rings as he watched for any fluttering wings.

“Now!” he demanded— because he didn’t have time to explain. The world could literally end. He would kill everyone, fill the world with ash and soot, because he was broken and they were right—

“I don’t take orders from you,” Argos scoffed, and Adrien wanted to strangle—

Wait.

“Orders,” Adrien gasped, spinning on his heel to face him. And then he wrested his parents’ wedding bands from his finger, jutting out his hand and presenting them to Argos in his palm. “That’s it! Take them—”

“What?” Argos’ face scrunched in disgust. “No.”

“You have to!” Adrien spat, which was clearly not the best course for convincing Félix, if the way his expression soured further was any indication. “I’m dangerous. I could hurt someone. I could kill you. But if you take them, you can tell me not to—”

“Or,” Argos scoffed, brushing Adrien’s outstretched hand away from him as if it were an inconvenience, “you could simply choose to not murder me, your favorite cousin.”

“It’s not that simple!” Adrien cried out, jutting the rings back out to him, his heart slamming in his chest, his eyes flicking around the room and head turning to survey his blindspots for any butterflies.

“Adrien.” Argos spoke deliberately, slowly, “Calm down. Explain to me. What are you afraid of?”

“I— I can’t calm down!” Adrien spat, his vision beginning to blur through warm tears. “I— I can’t— that’s the— the problem—”

“Because?”

“I’m going to get akumatized!” Adrien cried out, “D-Do you know what that’d be like? If— if the power of destruction were amplified by the butterfly?”

Argos didn’t answer him, instead staring at him with poker-faced interest, his hand appraisingly to his chin. The swirling fear in Adrien’s heart and vibrating anxiety in his stomach made him nearly want to throw up, and still Argos wasn’t getting it. And they may not have much time left.

“Sounds bad,” Argos finally agreed. But he still didn’t make a grab for the bands, still didn’t make a rush to hide the miraculous already in his grasp. “So don’t get akumatized.”

“That’s what I’m trying to do!” he cried out in frustration, jutting his hand further to Argos. “I want to do what you’re saying!”

“You don’t need me to tell you that.” Argos’ eyes fell to the bands. “You can tell yourself.”

“It’s not that easy!” Adrien spat, “You can’t just choose not to get akumatized—”

“Yes. You can.” Argos raised a brow at him. “I’ve done it before.”

“Okay, fine,” he relented. “I can’t.”

Maybe Félix could resist akumatization. Maybe Félix was strong-willed enough, maybe he was able to control his emotions. But not Adrien. Adrien was weak, and he was broken, and he was crumbling apart just like everyone expected and feared that he would, and he knew for a fact that he wouldn’t be able to resist an akuma because—

It happened before. Or, at least, it almost had. It could have.

But Argos wasn’t aware of that, clearly. “Sure you can.”

“Marinette told me,” Adrien barreled on, “She— she told me, about an— an alternate timeline. You know Bunnyx?”

Argos’ brow furrowed in interest.

“There was a— a— another timeline a-and…” Adrien choked in a breath, scrambling over to his schoolbag, throwing it open and snatching the binder from inside. He flipped it open, eyeing the table of contents and throwing the pages open to the correct page.

Chapter titled: Chat Blanc.

“See? It— it happened before!” Adrien presented it to him, and Argos leaned in to read the words— words that Adrien, himself, hadn’t been able to brave himself to read. “I— I’m not like you, Félix. I can’t. If— if they try to akumatize me, it’ll happen, and then I’ll— I’ll—”

“Wow.” Argos breathed, turning the page and squinting at the words. “What is this?”

“Marinette wrote it down for me, but that’s not the point. The point is—”

Argos hummed, reading. “This happened last year.”

“That doesn’t matter,” Adrien spat, “The point is—”

“Last year, Hawkmoth had your amok.”

Adrien’s jaw hung open.

Argos’ eyes lifted from the pages to him. “Of course you couldn’t say no.”

“I…” Adrien swallowed. “N-no… No, that doesn’t even— that wouldn’t matter. Haw…Hawkmoth demanded Chat Noir’s miraculous before, and I never handed it over. I don’t think that’d work unless he—”

“He knew your identity.” Argos pointed out, finger tapping the paper. “Says here. Chat Blanc told Marinette that Hawkmoth figured it out.”

Adrien gaped.

Argos raised a brow at him, and repeated, “You couldn’t say no.”

Silence.

“But…” Adrien gasped for breath, his mind racing— and despite everything, it kept landing on the same dreadful thought. “But…”

“Like I said,” Argos said, standing tall and gesturing to Adrien’s hand, “You have the choice now.”

“... he knew?” The pathetic words fell from Adrien’s lips before he could stop himself. He turned the binder around, eyes falling to the pages, flipping through them and reading the awful text for himself. “He… dad knew, and he… he still…”

“Fathers,” Argos scoffed, bitter.

“But…” he breathed, eyes stinging. How could this hurt so much? How could it, when he’d already known that his father was a terrible, awful person— already knew he was Monarch and all the horrible extents to which he was willing to go? But somehow, this stung. Because the last fantasy that Adrien had of his father— a fantasy that he hadn’t even realized he had— had just fizzled out and died.

Maybe Father would’ve stopped, if only he’d realized I was Chat Noir. Maybe he would’ve been horrified to know all the ways he’d hurt me. Maybe he would have stopped for me.

‘You were akumatized by Hawkmoth,’ the words on the page read, ‘You told me that we were in love. You knew my name. We knew each other’s identities in your timeline, apparently, and you told me that Hawkmoth had figured them out, too. Your suit was all white, the moon was split in two, Paris was flooded, and you were all alone because—’

He shut the binder.

“Adrien,” Félix’s voice cut through the fog, and Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, lifting his gaze back up to Argos’ magenta. “Resisting akumatization isn’t easy. But it’s possible. And you’re more than capable of doing it.”

“I’m…” Adrien shut his eyes, feeling a warm tear trail down his cheek. I don’t think I’m strong enough. I’m broken, broken, broken—

“Besides, what is akumatization other than a tempting offer made to a person in need? And what’s your need right now? The need to not be akumatized?”

Adrien sniffled, fluttering his eyelids open. “I…”

“Sounds to me like it’d be pretty difficult to make you an appealing offer, then.” Argos eyed him, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against his white couch. “Would be pretty easy to say no to, don’t you think?”

“Can you make me a promise?” Adrien asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Argos watched him.

“If I… If I ever do get akumatized…” Adrien sucked in a breath. “... Can you… please, just…” He eyed the brooch on Argos’ lapel. “... snap me away?”

“Absolutely not,” he answered instantly.

“Did you— did you read it?” Adrien croaked, whipping the binder back open and flipping through the pages, “What would happen if I—”

“Yeah. I did. Apparently, Bunnyx and Ladybug would swoop in and fix it.”

Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, thumbing through the paper until he found the right pages. His fingers ghosted over the letters. “It would— it would be apocalyptic—”

“Yeah,” Argos shrugged, “Which, I imagine, is why even the ever-elusive Bunnyx would decide to step in.”

“But she wouldn’t have to if you—”

“I would want her to.” Argos leveled him a hard stare.

He shook his head. “Time shouldn’t be messed with unless absolutely necessary—”

“It would be necessary.”

“But not if you—”

“Christ, Adrien,” Argos snapped, “I’m not going to kill you.”

And why not? Adrien almost wanted to argue, his lip quivering. I’m a monster, and I’m dangerous, and I make everything worse—

“Hey,” Argos said with startling sympathy, now standing tall and approaching him with outstretched arms. And before Adrien could even register what was happening, he was being pulled into a firm hug.

“I— I’m…” Adrien choked out, wanting to excuse himself. But the words failed him. Instead, he crumpled into his cousin’s arms, returning the embrace.

He allowed himself the moment, then, to squeeze his eyes tight and let the tears fall.

“You’re fine,” Argos said, a kindness in his voice that felt so out of place from him. Adrien sobbed. “You’ll be okay.”

“Wh-Why am I…” Adrien choked out, “s-so… …”

“I mean, you’ve been privy to everything for… what?” Argos huffed, “A week? Give it time.”

“Wh-why…” Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, forcing himself to pull away from the hug to wipe at his eyes. “... Why have you been s-so nice to me a-all of a sudden?”

Argos made a face. “All of a sudden?”

“Yeah…” he breathed, stepping back and finally forcing himself to slot his parents’ wedding bands back on his finger. “... I’m not used to it.”

“You should be.”

Adrien shook his head. “Doesn’t it…” he hesitated, “... don’t I… scare you, a bit?”

Argos quirked a brow. “What?”

“That… I’m just one bad day away from…”

Argos shook his head and averted his gaze, a dark look in his eyes. “Just another way that we’re alike.”

Adrien didn’t know what to say to that. He opened his mouth to respond, trying to find the words to say. “I…”

The door opened, and Nathalie stepped in. Her eyes widened for only a moment before they relaxed. “Félix. Will you be joining us for lunch?”

“... Eh,” he shrugged. “Hold my feather.” The magic washed off of Argos, and Félix checked his watch. “Sure. I have time.”

“O-Ooohhhh it’s just s-so-soooo ssaaaAaaAAaaaaad!” Duusu wailed, choking and sobbing, a waterfall of tears falling from her eyes and splashing on the floor. “P-Poooor A-Aaaaddriiiieeeennn!”

“And that’s why I didn’t detransform,” Félix sighed. “It’s alright, Duusu. Adrien will be okay.”

“Duusu, I have some sunflower seeds for you,” Nathalie said, and Duusu instantly perked up. “And some cheese for…”

Nathalie seemed to look around the room for a kwami that wouldn’t appear. Adrien sucked in a breath, and Félix tossed the ring in his direction. After a short fumble to catch it, Adrien slipped the miraculous back onto his finger where it belonged.

*****

His throat burned from the cinders he’d inhaled, the taste of soot fresh on his tongue as his knees sunk deep into the new ground— a mixture of ash and rising water, pulling him down and keeping him there as if made of quicksand and concrete.

He choked on his own breath, white clawed hands shaking as he grasped onto Ladybug— or what had once been her, instead now a sculpture, crafted in her likeness from her ashen remains.

But the rain continued to fall, a downpour of water soaking into her figure. The splashes sinking into her dust, wetting her like clay and loosening her form. Her body sagged in his arms, sticky and loose, the almost peaceful look on her face ruined as she melted, melted, melted.

He tried to grab the drops of her as they dripped down, to catch her nose as it slopped off her face. But just as she always seemed to, she slipped through his fingers— mixing into the quicksand bellow as it raised higher and higher—

Adrien awoke in a gasp.

He heaved himself onto his back, patting around with heavy breaths— but all he felt was a mattress and sheets.

Hand grasped at his heart, he gasped for more air, blinking away the tears. The world wasn’t ruined— he hadn’t done anything— he hadn’t been akumatized, not yet, he hadn’t— right?

“You okay?” Plagg asked, and Adrien hated it when Plagg sounded like that— so gentle and sympathetic, without even a complaint about the cheese-filled dream that Adrien had likely just ruined for him.

Adrien tried to reassure him. A ‘yeah, I’m great, just feel like I’m dying’ or a ‘yeah, totally fine, but just to be sure, the streets aren’t filled with melting corpses, right?’, but instead, all that left his throat was a terrible whine.

“Bad dream?” Plagg asked, dropping down and landing on his chest. Adrien blinked through his tears, scrubbing at his eyes and trying to calm his breaths enough to get a good enough look at his tiny black figure through the darkness. He could make out just enough motion to figure that Plagg was puffing his little chest out, his nose turned upwards in pride. “Don’t worry! Anyone tries to mess with ya, you got me on your side. They won’t know what hit ‘em!”

“Yeah,” Adrien breathed out, squeezing his eyes tight and letting a stray tear fall. “Th-that’s… that’s kind of…” He inhaled. “... the problem.”

“Oh, pssh…” Plagg stilled. “... Still. Akumas included. Won’t let them near you.”

He wasn’t sure Plagg had much of a choice in the matter. What would he do? Use his unrestrained cataclysm on a mere butterfly? The results of that would be only marginally better than the alternative. Adrien sucked in another breath.

“Fine, fine, I get it, topic change,” Plagg said, hesitating, “... You think you’ll be able to fall back asleep?”

He shook his head. He didn’t want to. He was certain that if he did, he’d be right back there— sinking into the sodden remains of everyone he loved, Marinette breaking apart in his arms like wet clay—

He sucked in another breath and turned over, patting around for his phone.

Marinette had sent him a few more texts throughout the day, and he’d returned with his dishonest reassurances. But she hadn’t messaged him in quite a few hours, and it was the middle of the night— just past midnight. She was likely asleep. She was surely asleep.

He allowed himself a moment to stare at her icon— at her smiling face, looking back at him.

Her face, ashen and wet, dripping away and losing form, sinking into itself as she sank through his fingers—

He hit the send button before he’d even realized he’d typed at all.

Adrien: You awake?

And he waited, just a couple beats— staring at the screen, certain that he was playing a losing game. Of course she was asleep. Why wouldn’t she be asleep? Why was he trying to delude himself? Why was he even—

Dots bounced by Marinette’s name, and his heart nearly leapt out of his throat.

Marinette: YE

Marinette: yeas

Marinette: are you?

Marinette: oh m ygod prwtnd i didnt just ask that ilet me try again

Marinette: Yeah I’m up! Why, what’s up?

Dear god, he loved her. He loved her so much. He loved her, and his lip quivered and his eyes burned— and he needed to see her, alive and whole and solid and there—

Adrien: Can I come over?

But the moment his thumb hit send, he realized how awful it was. Terrible, needy, clingy Adrien— insisting on invading Marinette’s space just as he always did. Hadn’t last night been disastrous enough? Was he, her alternate-timeline murderer, really going to try to inconvenience her all over again—

Marinette: YES

Marinette: of course

Marinette: is everything ok?

Marinette: actually you dont have to answer that over text. just get over here!!!

Marinette: ill be waiting

Well. He was in too deep now.

He swallowed and shifted in bed, throwing the sheets off of himself and scooting to the edge of the mattress. Plagg flitted off of his shoulder where he had perched himself, clearly having read the texts. Any other day, he knew Plagg would be complaining or teasing him. Instead, the kwami was totally silent.

“I…” Adrien swallowed, taking a glance out his expansive windows and eyeing the full, whole, unsplintered moon. He wet his lips, weighing the options in his head. “Should I… Can I… Do you think it’s safe for me to… …”

“What?” Plagg scoffed, “Transform? Yeah. You’re fine.”

Adrien sucked in a shaking breath and nodded, willing it to be truth. “Okay… Plagg, claws out.”

Chat Noir took a moment. His muscles stayed stiff, his steel-toed boots planted to the floor, as he tried to will himself to stand and make his leave. A deep breath, a clenched jaw, and another glance at the moon, and he mechanically lifted himself to his feet.

This would be quick. He wouldn’t have to be transformed for long. Marinette’s place wasn’t that far. He could rush there and detransform. It wouldn’t be a problem.

A quick jaunt over rooftops, vaulting and leaping over alleyways, and Chat Noir landed atop her balcony.

You’re bothering her, a thought reminded him, and his ear twitched. You should turn around and leave before you ruin her sleep.

He hesitated. He chewed his lip. He eyed the streets below. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He waited, rooted in his spot, afraid to make a move one way or the other.

The trap door to her bedroom remained unopened. The light was on, illuminating the balcony through the darkness of night. But from his angle, he couldn’t see inside. It felt rude to peek.

She was expecting him. So surely she would come up and say hi? And if she didn’t, maybe she didn’t really want him there. Maybe her eager texts were just her being polite. Maybe she didn’t care.

He picked at his claws. He rubbed at the back of his neck. He looked up at the sky. He looked down to the floor. He waited.

Dear god. He would be stuck here, anxious and upset and transformed, if he didn’t make a decision. It was either go inside or go home. He shouldn’t be standing here.

He knew what he should do.

But, instead, he stepped forward and rapped his knuckles against the trap door.

And he waited.

He sat on his knees in front of the latch. He flicked his tail. He tapped his claws rhythmically on the wood flooring. He peeked inside. He saw no one.

It felt like hours had passed. In one last act of desperation, betraying to himself just how much he really wasn’t willing to let this go, he whipped out his baton.

Adrien: I’m here

And he waited.

Maybe she was in the bathroom. Maybe she was waiting for him to give up and leave. Maybe something had happened to her. Maybe she was injured, or hurt, or—

A loud crash from inside startled him onto his feet and out of his thoughts, and before he even had time to panic about the implication, he saw Marinette crawling onto her bed through the glass.

He stepped back, heart in his throat as she pushed open the trap door and gaped at him.

“I’m— oh my god!” Marinette cried out, slapping the heel of her palm to her forehead. “Of course you’re— I’m an idiot!”

“Huh?” Chat Noir asked over his heart racing in his ears, staring at her— alive and well and whole and real.

“You— my stupid brain…” She groaned, climbing up out of the room and onto her feet. She motioned with her hands as she explained, “I thought to myself— oh, Adrien’s coming over, and Adrien is my boyfriend from my civilian life, and he’s come over plenty of times before, and he always uses the…” She took a deep breath. “... I was waiting at the front door. What’s wrong with me? I know that you’re—” She motioned to all of him. “—so of course you’d be—” She motioned to the entire balcony, and then groaned again. “What’s wrong with me?”

“Oh…” He didn’t know what to say. Should he have used the front door? The thought hadn’t even crossed his mind.

“And I was waiting and waiting, and I almost had half a mind to transform and go to your place to see if you were okay or if something happened and…” She sucked in a deep breath. “... and then I saw your text and realized— and, oh my god, how long have you been here?”

“Not long,” he lied.

“I’m sorry,” she sighed.

“It’s okay.”

She shivered and hugged her arms around herself, staring at him for a long moment with a gentle flush to her cheeks and nose that further confirmed for him how alive she really was.

Maybe that could be enough for him. Maybe he could go home, now, satisfied that he hadn’t killed her yet. Maybe he didn’t have to bother her anymore, force her out into the cold night air in only her pajamas.

“So…” she began.

“Thank you,” Chat Noir said, breaking the silence, “for letting me…” Bother you. “... come over, but I should probably get going now.” He bowed. “Good night.”

“Wh— What?” she sputtered, baffled, “You just got here!”

He wasn’t sure what to say to that. At least, not without revealing just how pitiful his reason for coming really was. “Well…”

“Are you okay?” she asked, stepping forward, and he sucked in a breath as her fingertips grazed his cheek. Her teeth chewed her lip, eyes nervous as she looked into him. “No, don’t answer that, I mean— what’s wrong?”

He sucked in a shaking breath, trying to keep his voice steady. “I…”

“No— augh— you don’t have to answer that either.” She shook her head. “I— I probably know the answer. I just— I mean— did you want to talk about it? Is that why you came?”

His gaze flicked back up to the moon, wondering what he ever could’ve done to deserve such a wonderful person in his life. After he killed her. He’d killed her, killed her, and still here she was, looking at him with all the love and empathy in the world.

“No, I…” Chat Noir hesitated. “I just wanted… to apologize.”

He spared a glance back at her. She stared at him, her gaze harsh and brow furrowed. “For what?”

What a loaded question. But she was still staring at him, waiting for his answer. “Everything.”

“You don’t have anything to apologize for,” she huffed.

No, I do. I killed you, killed everyone, and then came here to bother you about it. But she already knew all that, so he wondered why she wasn’t admitting it. “I broke your sunglasses,” he confessed instead.

Marinette’s eyes widened. “What? What sunglasses?”

“The…” He swallowed. “... ones you lent me? Before…”

“Oh... Right.” She hugged her arms around herself again. “Well, I already forgot about them. They were just some cheap things anyway…”

“I didn’t mean to,” he whispered, eyes falling down to her slippers.

“It doesn’t matter. Really. It’s fine.”

“No, really, it was an accident,” he was quick to say, not wanting her to think it was some petty act of revenge, “I just— I fainted while I was wearing them, and when I woke up they were—”

“You fainted?” she gasped, and his eyes snapped back up to her startled blue.

“Yeah, I— and I cracked the frame. Sorry.”

She gaped at him. “When…”

“... Monday?” He shrugged. “Anyway, point is, I’m sorry—”

“Why did you faint? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I just cracked my rings—”

“Your rings?” she choked out in a gasp, sounding almost strangled. “What— what rings?”

“My parents’ wedding bands—”

“You what!?” she cried out, her hands lunging out to grab at and yank his left hand. She held it up to her face, inspecting the fingers, but— “Are you— are you wearing them now? Detransform!”

He blinked. “But—”

“Detransform!” Marinette spat, casting all arguments out of his lungs.

“Claws in,” Chat Noir muttered in defeat, the destructive magic zapping off of Adrien— leaving his fingers completely bare save for—

She squinted at the rings, her nose scrunched and a wild look in her eyes. She twisted and pulled at his hand and stared at them from all angles, doing all she could to inspect them without actually touching them.

“Marinette,” Adrien said, his words catching back up to him, “They’re fine. Nathalie had them fixed—”

“She—” Marinette sucked in a shaking breath, giving his rings another once-over. Her lip quivered. “O-oh, thank god…”

He ripped away from her grasp, shoving both his hands into his pajama pockets.

“You— oh my god, Adrien, you have to… y-you can’t… you have to take care of those—”

“I know,” he muttered, staring down at her slippers again.

“No, really, you— that— th-that was in the presentation, right? Did I forget—”

“You didn’t. But I didn’t know it at the time.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, as if he’d delivered a slap. “How… did they get…”

Dear god, he wasn’t about to tell her that. He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. They’re fine now—”

“What… How did…” She swallowed. “What… was it like? That’s… I can’t even… how did it feel?”

“Bad,” he croaked, “Um… really bad. I… can’t really describe it, but I don’t… recommend it. Not that… it could happen to you.”

“It… made you faint?” she whispered, “B-but… you were still… you still e-existed, you were just…”

“I… kept falling unconscious and I…” He swallowed. “I didn’t know why. I thought… I was going to die.”

Her face crumpled, and they both understood the truth. He almost had. Maybe it wasn’t dying in the traditional sense, maybe his condition wasn’t worsening by the moment, but he was caught somewhere between life and death. One wrong move away from ceasing to be.

What if Nathalie had never come for him? If Plagg had never made a ruckus to catch her attention? What if he really had been alone, and nobody nearby knew the truth of his condition? Would he have just stayed like that, flickering in and out, until… what? His rings were somehow damaged further or he starved?

“Oh, Adrien…” Marinette whispered, and he’d barely even registered her stepping closer to him until he felt her hands at his cheeks. “That… that sounds so scary.”

It was. He nodded, weakly, looking away from her and to the pots of plants on the balcony, afraid that eye-contact would break him further.

“The… point is,” he continued, voice thick, “I’m sorry.”

“Huh— what? Why would you apologize to me for—”

“The sunglasses—”

“Wh— I don’t care about the sunglasses!” she cried out, “You— you— oh my god. You almost died, and you’re worried about some five euro glasses?”

Well, that wasn’t all he was apologizing for, really. The glasses just were easier to talk about than everything else.

“Why did you come?” she asked, voice soft but thick, her hands placed on his shoulders. “You… you didn’t come over in the middle of the night just to… apologize about sunglasses. Did you?”

He shook his head and closed his eyes. “... It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be bothering you…”

“You don’t bother me,” Marinette was quick to say, “I’ve been— I’ve been thinking about you all day, I— after you… left…”

Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, and after a long moment, managed to whisper, “... Why aren’t you scared of me?”

“What?” She shouldn’t have sounded so baffled for such an obvious question. “Why would I be—”

“I killed you,” he whispered through his teeth.

“Huh? I’m alive, aren’t I—” She stilled. “... Oh. Oh. No, Adrien, you didn’t.”

“I did. I— I read what you wrote.” Part of it, at least. “I killed—”

“No,” she cut him off, “Hawkmoth did.”

A pain stabbed through his heart— the statement not as comforting as she had probably hoped. And then he thought of him again, and all he’d done, and all that a part of Adrien still almost wanted to forgive him for but couldn’t—

“Chaton,” Marinette whispered, so gentle, so soft, the nickname laced with so much love that he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard in it before. Her breath tickled his cheek, and only then did he realize that his lip was quivering. “It wasn’t your fault. None of it was.”

He doubted that. But she pressed herself closer to him, her chest brushing his abdomen and her arms hooking around his shoulders. And he didn’t dare move, holding his breath to not ruin the moment as she stood up to her tippy toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“It… it never even happened, technically,” she muttered, “But if… even if it had… it wouldn’t have been your fault. At all. Nothing has been your fault, I— I’m the only one wh-who— I’ve hurt you far more than… than you’ve hurt anyone—”

“That’s not true,” he whispered, hanging his head. He’d hurt plenty of people. A lot. All the time. Especially as of late.

“You’ve just been…” She swallowed. “You’ve been dealt the worst hand. Nobody can blame you for that.”

He turned to her, forcing his gaze on her and a watery smile to his lips. “Think I’m bad luck?”

Marinette shook her head, combing her fingers through his hair. “Not bad luck. Just… unlucky.”

“Good thing I have a ladybug on my side,” he muttered, hoping to lighten the oppressive mood.

He was hoping for a smile. But instead, her hand dropped from his hair and her sad eyes fell to his lips. “I’m… I’m so sorry, Adrien. For everything. For… lying to you s-so much and… keeping everything that you had more than a right to know from you. And for t-trying to dump it on you all at once, and being the worst girlfriend, and yelling at you and fighting with y-you— Chat Noir you— when y-you were so, so rightfully upset and…”

“No, Marinette—”

“You haven’t done anything wrong,” she continued, voice thick and shaking, “You— I-I don’t know why you’ve been apologizing when it’s all been so clearly me. I’m the one who lied to you, to everyone, and I’m the one who— who—”

“Marinette,” he whispered, catching her hands into his before they could fall completely to her sides. “You can’t be upset with yourself for not telling me and also for telling me. That doesn’t even work.”

“B-but it’s true, isn’t it?” she choked, shaking her head. “Lying to you was terrible, but— but telling you was terrible, too. I— I don’t even know what I— I know what I did was wrong, b-but I also don’t even know what I could’ve done to avoid— oh my god, how can I be saying this to you?”

He didn’t have an answer for her.

“This is so insensitive,” she sniffled, stepping back and tearing her hands from his. And he missed the warmth of her fingers so much— fingers that were now pressing into her eyes and covering her face. “I— I’m just trying t-to say… I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry. I-I can’t— I can’t imagine h-how you could ever b-be able to forgive me. Y-You’re right to not trust me. All you’ve ever been is h-honest with me, and I just lie and lie…”

“That’s not true,” he offered, “I— I’ve lied to you. I haven’t always been honest with you.”

“I— You—” She sniffled, peeking at him from between her fingers. “... Being Chat Noir doesn’t count.”

He shook his head. “That’s not what I meant.”

She continued to stare at him, and he realized that she was expecting further explanation.

“I… um…” He swallowed, shifting on his feet, mind racing for examples and cheeks heating. “... I… never told you when I was… when Fath… when I was being sent to London.”

She sucked in a breath. “... Well…”

“So I…” His head hung. “... I do get it. Telling people bad news is hard.”

“That’s different. You did tell me,” she muttered, “Maybe last minute, but… you told me—”

“You had no warning,” he argued, “That was awful of me. I just— I dumped it on you out of nowhere, when it was already too late. And I lied to you by omission so many times following up to it—”

“Yeah, well,” she breathed, “... It was… You just… you hoped you could stop it from happening, right?”

He hesitated, but nodded.

“It’s different,” she concluded, “I— okay, maybe it wasn’t great, but… compared to everything I did?” She scoffed. “I was… I wasn’t failing to warn you about a problem I thought I could solve in time, I was willing to go the rest of our lives without… without you ever finding out about… so many facts about your family and past. That’s a whole other level of awful. I’m sorry.”

She was downplaying it for sure. Hiding London from her could’ve easily been an unforgivable offense, if only she were feeling a bit less charitable with him. He was sure of that. Couples had broken up for less. She was going too easy on him.

“I’ve lied about other things,” he argued weakly.

“Like…?”

“I…” He hesitated. “I… didn’t actually go to help Cerise, today. After the presentation. I just went home.”

She stared at him. “... Yeah, I… I figured.”

“That’s a lie.”

She shook her head. “It’s a really small one.” She was right. It was. He needed more examples of his terrible behavior.

“And when… when you gave me the snake…” Her eyes widened. “... I accepted it and let you think it was a good idea, even though I was Chat Noir—”

“You— oh my god,” she gasped, “That’s— Well, obviously that doesn’t count, because we established that protecting your identity doesn’t count— but oh my god! That happened! I didn’t even think about that!”

“It wasn’t just to save my identity…” He fiddled with his rings. “I was flattered. I wanted… to impress you. Make a good first impression.”

“You wanted to—” She actually laughed. “You wanted to impress me?”

His cheeks burned. “Of course.”

She shook her head, a smile tugging her lips and her eyes so much more affectionate than he deserved. “I’ve always been impressed with you.”

He sucked in a breath. “Oh.”

“But that’s…” she laughed again, “Oh, that’s… that’s a relief, actually.”

“Huh?”

“I really believed that you’d… all those loops…”

Huh?

“But you were just trying to impress me and get back to being Chat Noir?” She chuckled. “That’s… kind of clever, actually. I’m not mad.”

He stared at her, trying to make sense of what she was saying. “The loops weren’t a lie.”

Her smile fell. “What?”

“I really…” He blinked. “I really did do all those loops. I wanted to impress you by saving you.” Her jaw dropped. “But… I couldn’t. I failed. Every time…”

“You really…” she breathed, “... that many times? Just to…”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he muttered, “But I… did anyway.”

“You didn’t,” she whispered.

“I should’ve been upfront about the fact I wasn’t the one for the job. Luka was way better than I was. Tens of thousands of times better.”

She shook her head. “Or maybe we just needed Chat Noir.”

He shrugged, his eyes falling back to the rings he was fiddling with.

“You…” She tried, voice thick. “This isn’t working, Adrien. If you’re trying to prove to me how awful you are, you’re failing spectacularly.”

“I went to New York, after Ladybug entrusted me to take care of Paris alone—”

“You— oh my god!” she gaped in realization, “I’m the one who— wow— I entrusted Paris to you and then immediately convinced your dad to let you— and your dad was—” She let out a long groan. “Our lives are so messed up! And also— I already knew that, dummy, and we ended up being needed in New York anyway! I’ve already forgiven you! You know that!”

He shook his head. “There’s more. I’ve done more awful things.”

“Like?”

He hesitated. “I cataclysmed the statue.”

“I know.” She gave him a look. “I was there. And you had every right to. If I had known your identity, I wouldn’t have tried to stop you.”

He hesitated again. “Ryuko and Argos and I—”

“I already know about that, too.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought you were fessing up about lies? Things I haven’t already forgiven you for?”

“I was Cat Walker.”

“I already—” She cut herself off, her eyes widening. “... What?”

“I was Cat Walker,” he swallowed, twisting his miraculous on his finger.

Her mouth hung open, and he felt suffocated by her stare. “You… No, you weren’t.”

He swallowed. “I was.”

“That’s not…” Her mouth flapped like a fish. “You can’t… you can’t be both Chat Noir and Cat Walker.”

“I can be,” he nodded, “and I am.”

“But that’s… Plagg said…”

“Plagg lied.”

“But… that doesn’t…” Her brow furrowed hard. “What…”

“I’m sorry,” he practically whispered.

“No, I… What? Why would…” She looked him up and down. “You… why would you…”

“I didn’t want to disappoint you,” he said, feeling like a broken record. He shrunk in on himself. “And I… After I gave up my miraculous, Plagg showed back up in my room and convinced me to… try again. As someone else. To… make a new and better first impression. To be a better black cat for you.”

She gaped at him.

“It’s… pretty hard to do, actually.” He cleared his throat. “To change your suit that much. I had to get in a whole different mindset. Channel more… how I was at home than… how I usually was as a superhero, I guess. If that makes sense.”

“... Oh my god,” she breathed out. “I…” She shook her head. “That’s…”

“What?”

“I just…” She dragged her hands down her face. “I think… I think if Chat Noir told me that he was Cat Walker, I wouldn’t believe him. But Adrien telling me that he was Cat Walker makes sense, but Adrien is Chat Noir so of course that means both should make sense but they… don’t…”

“Huh?”

“You’re just…” She stared right into him, her hands still cupping her face at her jaw. “You’re… so much.”

He shifted uncomfortably where he stood. “Um… I’m sorry.”

“That’s… What? No! That’s not…” She took a deep breath. “That’s not a bad thing.”

“It’s not?” He frowned. “I lied to you. I pretended to be a different person entirely.”

“That’s…” She took another breath. “I mean… not great? But I… I still feel like compared to all my stuff, it’s nothing and…” She whined. “... You’re still doing it.”

“‘It’?”

She shook her head, squeezing her eyes tight. “J-just… making me like you more and more. And I already like you too much.”

He sucked in a breath. “Oh.” He stared at her for a long moment, before trying with an awkward smile, “Well, uh… if it helps, you can just remember that I’m also… Chat Blanc.”

Her gaze turned sharp. “No, you’re not.”

“I am.”

“You’re not any more Chat Blanc than I am Princess Justice,” she scoffed.

He furrowed his brow. “What? Who?”

“Exactly,” she whispered, “Something that maybe could’ve been but never was.”

He didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t understand— but he found himself trusting that, if it was important, it would’ve been in the presentation.

A silence hung between them, until Marinette finally spoke up, “... Since we’re being honest right now…”

Adrien stiffened, trying to ready himself for yet another blow.

“... can you finally tell me the real reason why you came over?”

Oh.

“I… had a nightmare,” he answered truthfully.

Her eyes widened for a moment before softening. “Oh, yeah?”

He nodded. “... I just… needed to see you, after that.”

“What was the nightmare?”

“I…” He swallowed. “You were…” He tried to motion with his hands— her in his arms, melting and falling apart like wet clay. He shook his head, the gesture insufficient. “... dead.”

She gave a small hum of acknowledgement and stepped closer.

“I just… wanted to see you to convince myself that you really… … that it was just a dream.”

“It was,” Marinette whispered, her hands brushing up his chest and looping around his shoulders. He shuddered. “I’m here, minou. I’m okay.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, voice thick, his arms slipping around her waist.

She nosed his jaw, and he let out a shaking breath.

“I’d killed you,” he whispered, head falling forward and pressing against the side of hers.

“I’m okay,” Marinette whispered again, her fingers brushing through the hair at the nape of his neck. “You never hurt me. You haven’t.”

“That’s a lie,” he muttered, his lips brushing against her ear.

“Nothing I can’t come back from.” She hesitated. “... And nothing I haven’t also done to you, a thousand times worse.”

“You’re not the one who hurt me,” Adrien whispered, “... he was.”

He didn’t need to elaborate on who. She understood. Because it was obvious, wasn’t it? That’s what it had always been. That’s who had always been at fault. Marinette was just a poor messenger for the job.

“... A-and…” he added with a swallow, “... nothing I can’t come back from, either.”

At least, he hoped so.

And for a moment, he could almost convince himself that the pain of everything he’d learnt was nothing compared to the agony of her pulling back and out of his arms.

“It’s… a bit cold out,” she said, stepping back and watching him, “... do you… want to come inside? Spend the night?”

“Yes,” he answered instantly, a swirling warmth in his heart, “Yes. Of course. If it’s— if it’s not a problem.”

“I think it’d be a problem if you don’t,” she laughed shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, her cheeks pink. “If you left, I-I think I’d… I think I’d die from missing you too much.”

“I don’t want you to die,” he agreed, stepping forward. He smiled, and so did she. “That’s why I came, after all.”

*****

Red skies and soot, the taste of ash in the air—

Adrien awoke in a gasp, his eyes snapped open beneath the moonlight spilling through the glass trap door. He heaved in a breath, and then a second, one hand grasping at the shirt fabric at his chest and the other grasping for—

Marinette snored, her cheek pressed against his shoulder and her arm and leg draped over him. He placed his hand at her shoulder, giving it one gentle squeeze to affirm for himself how there and alive she was, before placing his hand back down against the sheets.

He didn’t want to wake her up. He wiped the sweat from his brow and took in a deep breath, closing his eyes again, ready to lie in silence for perhaps another few hours before sleep eventually came for him.

…

…

…

Ladybug in his arms, her face crumbling to pieces—

Adrien awoke in another gasp, still shrouded in moonlight.

Was this his life now? Was he never to rest again? He was so tired, so exhausted, with more sleep debt than he’d ever care to admit. And yet still, here he was, unable to just sleep—

A low whine left his throat. He squeezed his eyes tight, licked his chapped lips, and gave Marinette’s shoulder another comforting squeeze.

Marinette hummed, a low murmur escaping her lips, and his already racing heart only stuttered further. He stared up through the glass at the moon-lit sky, holding his breath.

“Mmadri’n…” Marinette murmured, and he almost wondered if she was talking in her sleep again. But unlike the unintelligible chatter before, she continued sensibly, “....you ‘wake?”

He held his breath. “No,” he whispered, and then resisted the urge to punch himself.

“.... m’okay,” Marinette sighed. And he held his breath further as she fell back into silence.

And then she snored.

… Okay. Crisis averted. He sighed and rested back against the mattress, closing his eyes and waiting in agony once more for his hypothalamus to have mercy on him.

…

…

…

The streets of Paris, littered with statuesque ashen corpses, their screams sculpted permanently to their faces, with his father whispering acid in his ear—

Adrien awoke in a gasp beneath a nearly sunlit sky.

He resisted a groan, squeezing the sheets in frustration with his hand not currently blessed by Marinette with a lack of circulation.

So much for getting any sleep.

He took a deep, unsteady breath, and wiped all the stray moisture from his forehead and eyes.

There was no point in trying to fall back asleep. It’d take him another few hours to manage it, and then it’d be too late anyway. It was still early, earlier than he likely had to wake up, but…

He shifted, trying to slip himself out from under Marinette without disturbing her.

“Mm…” Marinette murmured, and he sucked in a breath as her eyelids fluttered open. “... Adrien?”

“I should get going,” he whispered, already missing her warmth as he freed his arm from her weight. “Nathalie will notice if I’m not home in the morning.”

Nathalie may not be as strict as his father had been— but he couldn’t imagine that she’d be too thrilled about him sneaking out to sleep in his girlfriend’s bed.

“Oh…” Her eyelids fluttered back closed, a sigh escaping her wonderful lips. “Right…”

“I’ll see you at school?” he asked, hopeful.

She nodded, tugging her blanket over herself. And he couldn’t help but wonder how she did it, how she managed to look so radiant despite her tangled hair and drool, bathed in morning sunlight.

He wanted to kiss her. Just a peck. It didn’t have to be on the lips, he wasn’t deluded enough to believe himself worthy of that right now. But a kiss to her hair before he left? He could do it. She probably wouldn’t push him away. She probably wouldn’t mind too much.

But then he thought of red skies and ash. So, instead, he said goodbye and left.

Chat Noir made his way across the rooftops, heavy footsteps weighed down by his heart. He focused on the standing buildings, on the quiet chatter of the early-birds on the street, on the pigeon coos and the taste of a living city on his tongue. He tried to focus on the here and now, and not the could’ve been and might soon be.

You could just say no, Félix’s voice rang in his head. And he tried to remember that, tried to chant it in his head. You can resist akumatization.

But what if he couldn’t? What if he wasn’t strong enough?

Then Bunnyx would have to step in and fix it. Again. How many times would she be willing to do that? How many times before she gave up and stopped the problem at its source?

If I had never been born, he thought, and then thought again and again. Because it was true, wasn’t it? Chat Noir wasn’t the hero who saved Paris. Chat Noir was the catalyst for putting Paris in danger to begin with.

“Catalyst,” he murmured to himself, automatically, as he touched down into his bedroom.

And then his baton chimed.

He stiffened, still in a crouch from his landing, not yet possessing the willpower to force himself fully to his feet. He hesitated for a long moment, wondering who could possibly be trying to contact him right now.

After a deep breath, he whipped the baton off his back and checked.

Unknown: Poor little kitten…

He closed the screen.

“Claws in,” he choked, the magic zapping off of him as he spun around to check over his shoulders, out the windows, for any fluttering wings.

“You’re fine,” Plagg tried to console over the pounding of Adrien’s heart in his ears. “You’re good.”

“I’m…” Adrien sucked in a shaking breath, raising his hands to his grip at his hair. And then he sucked in another breath. And another. And another.

“Seriously, it’s okay!” Plagg tried to reason, flitting around the window panes and checking the skies himself. “I don’t even see anything!”

“I’m…” Adrien rasped, his eyes welling with tears, his thoughts filled once more with ash—

He wasn’t worth this. He couldn’t be worth this. How was he the only one who could see that?

Two people had already died for him, nearly three— and once it’d almost been eight billion, and it could almost be again—

If I had never been born, he thought, again and again and again. And it could’ve been so easy, such a simple change. If only his mother had known. If only his father had known. If they’d known what trouble they’d make, they surely never would’ve bothered.

“You can’t change the past,” Nathalie had told him— but the aphorism was hollow, rendered meaningless by the simple fact that you could. Maybe he couldn’t, specifically, but it could be changed. It could be changed by—

His phone buzzed, and he stiffened, a dreadful fear of ‘the butterfly wielder has my civilian number’ decking him in the gut. He approached the device, left at his bedside table, carefully, as if it could bite him if he moved too quickly.

He checked the screen.

Alix: meet me at school

His throat ran dry.

Chapter 15

Chapter Text

After a rushed early breakfast, ignoring the concerned looks Nathalie and his bodyguard shot him, Adrien rushed to school the earliest he ever had.

The front doors weren’t even open yet. He paced the sidewalk in front of the building among the few other early students, hands shoved in his pockets and eyeing the streets for any approaching sets of pink hair.

“Oh, Adrien!” A voice chirped up, and he looked to face the source. Cerise approached, smile wide as she settled herself right at his hip. “You’re here early!”

“Yeah,” he agreed noncommittally, turning his gaze away in search of Alix. He couldn’t help but think it a bit cruel for her to make him wait. Time wasn’t nearly as precious to her.

“You seem anxious,” she hummed, her hand somehow finding itself at the small of his back and brushing up his spine. He shuddered, but kept his attention focused— including the odd glance to the sky for any stray butterflies. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He wouldn’t even know where to begin, if he could.

“Are you sure?” Her hand snaked across his shoulders. “Your muscles feel soo tense!”

He tried to shrug her hand away. It didn’t work. “I’m fine. Just waiting for someone.”

Cerise sighed. “Oh yeah?”

Where was she? How early did Alix typically show up to school? He had no idea.

“... You know, Adrien…” Cerise continued, a sadness to her tone that caught his attention. He finally looked at her, almost caught off guard by the sympathy in her eyes. “... I’m worried about you.”

He’d heard that line plenty of times before, from just about everyone in his life as of late.

“Don’t be.” He tried to force an easy smile despite the anxious thrumming still in his heart. He turned his attention back out over the streets. “I’m okay.”

How did Alix usually arrive to school? By car? On foot? On skates?

“You know… my ex and I…” Cerise sighed, “... before we officially broke up broke up… we kind of had this weird… on and off phase. You know?”

“Mmh.” He nodded in acknowledgement.

“He hurt me… so much… and yet, time and time again, I kept trying to force myself to forgive him for something so unforgivable.” She eyed him. “You know what I mean?”

Silence hung between them, and he realized with a start that she was expecting him to respond. “I—” He cleared his throat. “Yeah.”

Where was Alix?

“It wasn’t good for either of us. I ended up just making excuses for him, and then he just kept hurting me. Over and over again. And the good times could be so good, and I loved him, I loved him so much, but…” She sighed. “At a certain point, I had to admit that the bad outweighed it all. I deserved someone who actually respected me, and I just had to protect myself, you know? It’s not a crime to cut toxic people out of your life.”

The doors had to open soon, right? His fingers itched to yank out his phone and check the time, but he knew Cerise was talking to him. He didn’t want his distraction to be too obvious.

“... Does that story sound familiar at all to you, Adrien?”

“Huh?” He perked up, his eyes catching on a head of pink hair the next street over— but the shade was off, and the masculine figure kept walking until they turned into a nearby office building.

“... You know, I couldn’t help but notice that you’re talking to her again.”

A car pulled up to the curb right in front of the school. The door opened, and someone he didn’t recognize stepped out. “Who?”

“Mar—”

“ADRIEN!” Marinette’s voice called out over the sound of her shuffling backpack and nearing footsteps. He felt Cerise’s hand grip his shoulder tight, and he watched as a helmeted individual rolled by on a skateboard a block over. “H-Hi!”

“Marinette! Hi!” Cerise greeted cheerfully, leaning towards Marinette, pressing herself further against him in the process. “Since when do you come to school this early?”

Marinette took a steady breath. “Hi, Cerise,” she greeted flatly. Another car pulled up to the curb, and another stranger stepped out. “I just woke up early, I guess.”

He could’ve sworn he saw her out of the corner of his eye, but it was just someone in a pink shirt. And then the gentle tickle of calloused fingertips slid against his palm, and Marinette’s familiar hand slotted into his. “... Adrien? Are you okay?”

“Hm?” He stared at an approaching figure in the distance, but the closer they got, the further they were from matching his target.

“You… look like you didn’t sleep a wink,” Marinette noted quietly, squeezing his hand.

“I know! He’s clearly stressed,” Cerise sighed sadly, reaching up and fussing with his hair. His lip twitched, but his gaze stayed locked on the task. “I can’t help but wonder if something… or someone… has been bothering him?”

“Someone?” Marinette scoffed, “And who would that be? What are you implying?”

A group of students at the street corner seemed to startle and part like the Red Sea, a rollerblading figure rolling right through them—

“Huh? I’m not implying anything! It was just a theory,” Cerise quickly said, and then hummed, “... What, did someone come to mind for you, Marinette? Who do you think has been bothering Adrien?”

And the figure came closer and closer, at top speeds, with a helmet sitting over wild pink hair—

“Well—”

“ALIX!” Adrien shouted, yanking himself out of the girls’ grasps.

“Alix?” Marinette and Cerise sputtered in unison, their voices quickly growing distant as Adrien launched himself towards—

“WOAH!” Alix screeched, kicking her leg up, her straight path wobbling as she turned just enough to avoid his direct oncoming collision, their shoulders smacking uncomfortably together. “WATCH IT, BUTTERCUP!”

She continued to careen past him, but he spun on his heel to give chase to her wheels.

“Aaannnndd…!” Alix announced, pivoting her heels and skidding to the front doors, somehow spinning artfully to a stop. Clearly just showing off, she struck a pose right as she halted, pointing to the knobs in perfect sync with their click. Then, she shoved the now-unlocked doors open, and looked right over Adrien’s shoulder with a self-satisfied smirk.

Max, who had apparently been standing right there, nodded approvingly at his watch. “Only six point nine milliseconds off. Well within the agreed upon threshold.”

“That— that— hahh…” Kim panted from just behind him, sounding like he’d just run a marathon. Adrien hadn’t noticed him at all until then. “That— hahh— doesn’t… prove… Adrien got in the way, it doesn’t count!”

“What are you talking about?” Alix scoffed, as the entirety of the early student body began filing into the doors around them, flowing around them like they were rocks in a river. “Adrien has nothing to do with this! You’re just making excuses!”

Adrien cut in, “Alix—”

“If he hadn’t— hahh… If he hadn’t messed with your path, you would’ve been early!”

“Nuh uh! He didn’t slow me down at all!”

“No, he totally did—”

Adrien tried again, “Alix—”

“Technically speaking, Alix did accelerate during Adrien’s interference—”

“Yeah! What Max said! Adrien totally sped you up—”

“Sped me up? I thought you were arguing that he slowed me down!”

“Alix—”

“Max said he accelerated you!”

Max adjusted his glasses. “Adrien’s interference did result in a change of Alix’s velocity, but your initial observation was correct in that the vector’s direction was opposite to—”

“Yeah, whatever! Point is, Adrien accelerated you!”

“Yeah, well, how do you know that I wasn’t expecting him?” Alix grinned. “Maybe I just took his presence into account. That makes the fact I did it even more impressive.”

“No way!”

“I am sorry Kim, but as the referee, I would award the point to Alix,” Max said.

Kim threw his head back and groaned. He fished into his pocket and pulled out a euro note, begrudgingly slapping it into Alix’s waiting palm. She stuffed it into her pocket.

“Thank you,” Alix said smugly, turning on her heel and rolling into the school without even removing her blades.

Adrien hurried after her, just as Kim seemed to.

“I’ll get you next time!” Kim huffed, “You bring the fireworks?”

“Of course I brought the fireworks,” Alix snorted, “You bring the lighters?”

Adrien was certain now that if he didn’t make his presence clear enough, her attention would be lost forever. “Alix!”

“What?”

He grit his teeth, trying not to let his frustrations bubble to his surface. And failing. “You wanted to talk to me.”

She gave him a baffled look.

“Wait, so you really were expecting him?” Kim gaped. “You told him to stand there, just to slow you down?”

“Yeah, totally, that’s what I did.” Alix rolled her eyes.

“Really?”

“Alix,” Adrien butt in again.

“Kim, just meet me in the courtyard, will ya?”

“Fine. Don’t keep me waiting!” Kim called, and then pushed out through the back door.

Alix got down on her knee, finally removing her rollerblades. “So, what’s up?”

“I…” Adrien blinked. “... Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb,” Adrien scoffed, his patience frayed. He hadn’t gotten enough sleep to be polite today. “You expected me.”

“Uh, that was a lie? To win a bet?” She moved to her other blade. “I wasn’t actually expecting you. I know people expect me to know all kinds of random stuff because of, you know, but I don’t make a habit of charting where everyone’s gonna be standing every day.”

Adrien crossed his arms. “You were expecting me because you texted me.”

Alix rose to her feet, tossing her blades into her backpack and giving him a weird look. “Uh. No, I didn’t?”

“What? Yes, you did.”

“No,” she scoffed, “I didn’t.”

Adrien absolutely had enough of this. He fished his phone from his pocket, opened up their texts, and showed her the screen.

“... What…” She blinked at the screen. “... Huh? But I…” Her eyes widened in realization, and then she threw her head back and groaned. “Augh! Why do I have to have such a convoluted sense of humor? Why am I like this?”

He didn’t know what any of that meant, but he figured he made his point well enough to re-pocket his phone. “Why did you want to meet me?”

She shrugged. “How should I know?”

Adrien scowled.

“I— geez, you know how weird that expression looks on your face?” she huffed, “Look, man. I don’t know. Just meet me at school.”

“... What? That’s what I’m doing. I’m meeting you. And we’re at school.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugged. “Meet me at school?”

He stared at her, mouth open but all words lost on him. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to say to that, what sort of argument he was supposed to come up with for something so obviously nonsensical. “... Huh?”

“Anyway, I got something to do. Talk to you later, I guess,” she repeated with another shrug, and then turned and pushed through the courtyard door.

“Wh— Wait!”

As the door opened, a cry rang out— followed by the startled gasps and shouts of a growing crowd outside.

What?

His attempt to rush forward and see what the commotion was was thwarted by something grabbing his wrist in a vice, and he yelped as he was tugged forcefully away and into the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

He whipped around to face his snatcher.

“Hey,” Bunnyx— clearly older than the Alix that he had just been talking to— said, an amused look on her face as she leaned casually against her umbrella like a cane. “I was expecting you.”

Adrien blinked, baffled. And any relief that he felt at this frustrating situation getting resolved washed away as instantly as it came, replaced instead with the horror of the implication. Alix didn’t want to talk to him. Bunnyx wanted to talk to him.

He’d read a little bit about what it meant when Bunnyx wants to talk to you.

“Psh, why are you so surprised?” She shifted her weight, tossing the umbrella back and resting it over her shoulder. “This was your idea. You’re the one who wanted to see me. Right?”

“I…” Adrien closed his gaping mouth and swallowed. “How did you know that? You can’t read minds.”

“True.” She shrugged. “But I remembered you telling me.”

“What? But I only told you because—” he began, the argument dying on his tongue. It wasn’t worth it. He knew very well how easy it was to get lost in thinking about the time-travel logistics. “... Was all this necessary?”

“What can I say? I have a convoluted sense of humor,” she hummed, “Anyway, point is… there’s something that’s been needing done.”

She pushed her hand out behind her, and a burrow hole opened up from her palm. He gaped.

“Come on,” she said, waltzing around him and holding her hands over his eyes. And then she pressed him forward, and he mechanically walked through the tear in time. “Let’s get out of here before someone walks in and sees us.”

“Wh… But… I…” he stammered, his heart slamming in his chest. This was your idea, she’d said, There’s something that’s been needing done. He knew what he’d been thinking of when she’d texted him. He knew the necessary action that she may be referring to. “Wait— But— I need to— c-can I… say goodbye, first?”

“Too late,” she said, guiding him through the burrow, “Time marches forward.”

He hadn’t actually expected Bunnyx to agree to this— and he certainly hadn’t expected her to make him do it himself. Where was she even taking him? To the day of his conception?

She pushed him into taking another step, and the air shifted around him— the change of scenery perceptible even with his vision obscured. And then he heard the telltale sound of a burrow hole closing, and her hands dropped from his face.

He opened his eyes, his heart slamming in his chest, and saw—

“I don’t think I like your sense of humor,” he said flatly, and she let out a laugh.

“What? We needed some privacy!” she declared, walking through the bathroom— the very same bathroom they’d left— pushing open the door and exiting without a care for all the students around. He gasped and rushed after her—

… But the halls were completely empty. Not a single student or staff in sight, the light spilling out the windows that of an orange sunset.

“I mean, come on, the middle of the school day? When I asked you to meet me at school, I was hoping you’d pick a time with fewer crowds.”

He blinked. “Then why did you send the text just before the school day? Just to be confusing?”

She didn’t answer, instead turning out the courtyard door. He followed. “You seem surprised to be here. Where did you think I was taking you?”

“I…” His cheeks burned, and he hugged his arms around himself, slowing to a stop just as she did. “... I don’t know.”

She gave him a look over her shoulder.

“... I just thought you’d take me somewhere more important,” he admitted truthfully, looking around the courtyard. Everything seemed normal. The world didn’t look completely destroyed— the grass was still green, the birds were still chirping. There didn’t seem to be a threat in sight.

“Sometime,” she corrected.

“Yeah, okay.” He huffed. “I thought you’d take me sometime more important. Sometime that would… actually… make a difference. To fix things?”

“Of course we’re here to make a difference. There’s a problem that needs to be fixed, alright. And it’s been long awaited.”

“Uh…” He watched as she bent down and rifled through a bag sitting in the grass. “Okay. Well... should I… be transformed for this?”

“Eh...” She stood back up. “Up to you, I guess.”

And then she tossed something at him. He fumbled to catch it and inspected the device now in his hands. It was a gas mask of sorts, with two vents on either side of the mouth and a clear plastic visor.

“Put that on,” Bunnyx said, and he did, instantly, because when a time-traveler tells you to put a gas mask on, you do it without question.

He didn’t know what he was expecting, after that. Maybe a sense of urgency, or an explosion of fumes in the distance. Instead, Bunnyx continued to sift through the bag with an air of nonchalance. “What color?”

“Huh?” Adrien tried, voice muffled by the mask.

“What color do you want?”

He stared at her, waiting for her to clarify.

“Eh, nevermind,” Bunnyx shrugged instead, tossing something new in his direction. Once again, he fumbled to catch it. “I remember you using black.”

Adrien furrowed his brow, inspecting the aluminum can now in his hand, turning it over…

“Spray paint?” he asked through the mask— which he was now realizing was the same kind that Alix always used when she did her graffiti art, to protect her lungs from the fumes. “But… what…”

What would he possibly do with a spray can?

He turned his head to the nearest wall.

And felt nearly slapped.

Because there, in striking colors, practically leaping out of the wall, was the visage of his father. A kind smile on his angular face, icy blue eyes turned up and out towards the sky in a heroic posture, the words Comrade Tartar Sauce painted in bold font…

The mural.

“Seems like you’ve got the right idea,” Bunnyx laughed through his bristle.

“I—” Adrien sputtered, as he whipped back around to face her. “I can’t do that.”

“Why not?”

“I…” He turned his eyes back to his face, a terrible indescribable pain in his chest as he looked upon it. It was almost uncanny how well his father’s features had been captured. If only they’d gotten his temperament right, too. He pulled the mask off his face, allowing it to sit around his neck. “... I can’t do that to Nathaniel and Cerise. They worked hard on it…”

“Eh, don’t worry about Nath,” Bunnyx waved it away easily, “I already apologized to him. It’s fine.”

He shuddered. “And Cerise?”

“Trust me,” she said, “It’s not a problem.”

He swallowed, his eyes locked on the warmth behind his father’s icy blue.

“You know why he did it, right?” she asked.

Adrien sucked in a breath. “Huh?”

“Nathaniel. He made it for you,” Bunnyx said. “He thought it’d make you happy, or something like that. He wanted it to be cathartic for you.”

Just another way in which he was a disappointment.

“Good thing, too,” she continued, “Because it still can be.”

He said nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to, unable to tear his eyes away from the terrible awful wonderful visage. How could he destroy something so well-made, so beautifully crafted, so wonderful in all the worst possible ways?

Maybe he wasn’t giving the mural enough credit. It wasn’t as if he’d never seen his father smile in such a gentle, kind way. It wasn’t as if his father hadn’t had good days, had never done anything right— especially before Mother had disappeared.

Just like he had trouble envisioning his father as a hero, he had trouble envisioning him as a true villain, too.

His father had had good days. He’d smiled before. He’d hugged Adrien before. He’d told him he’d loved him, more than once, at least, and Adrien had a few crystal-clear memories of bubbling laughter as his tiny hand slotted into his father’s.

He wanted to cling onto those moments. He wanted to commit them to memory— just as he found himself, now, trying to commit the carefully painted smile of the muse before him to memory. He didn’t want to forget the good times. He didn’t want to forget that he had, at least at one point in his life, felt loved by him.

But then, he imagined a shining silver wedding band on his father’s finger as he guided Adrien’s hand, or the flashes and clicks of cameras as his father pulled him into a hug, or the wind whipping through his hair as he plummeted down the side of Montparnasse shortly before he and his father sat down to watch a movie, or the taste of stale pancakes on his tongue as he was locked in an all-white room.

And Adrien’s eye twitched.

He remembered the day that he had cataclysmed that wretched statue. He remembered the white-hot rage boiling within him, the red tinting the corners of his vision, the seething need to destroy, destroy, destroy. He’d regretted it, after. Memories of that day were still clouded in a near-debilitating shame.

… Because he made Ladybug cry. Because he embarrassed himself in front of a slew of cameras.

… But not because of the crumbling. Not because of the way his father’s form shattered and disintegrated— not the rotten rust spreading through his silver, poised arm, not the way that Adrien suddenly found himself able to pass the park without a crippling pain in his chest.

Maybe it’d be nice to actually be able to wander the school courtyard, too.

“Well?” Bunnyx invited.

“... Do I have to?” Adrien asked automatically, stalling, his eyes trailing up and down the grotesque art.

“Pff—” Bunnyx scoffed, “I don’t control you. I’m not gonna force you to do anything. If you want out, just say the word, and I’ll drop you right back off when I left you.”

But he remembered what Bunnyx had said before. She remembered this. The decision had already been made.

By him.

Because nobody could force him to do anything, anymore. Because Gabriel was dead. Gabriel was dead, and Adrien was the one who had the rings, now. Maybe Adrien had loved him, loved him so much, and maybe he had tried so hard to try to make sense of everything he’d learned in a way that could still make some semblance of sense for that love he still had, but—

“Cerise was right,” Adrien growled, placing the mask back over his mouth.

“... Uh… huh…” Bunnyx agreed slowly, “About what, exactly?”

He shook the can. “Sometimes you gotta cut toxic people out.”

Bunnyx threw her head back and laughed.

*****

Ripping the mask off his face, Adrien plopped down onto his behind, sitting in the grass and taking deep breaths as he looked over his work.

He wasn’t an artist— not like Nathaniel or Marinette or Cerise or Alix. On a purely objective level, the layer of paint that he’d added to the mural was a clear downgrade to the artistry beneath it.

But Cerise had been right about two things, apparently.

Art could be so cathartic.

“Hey, I said that too,” Bunnyx scoffed, “What am I, chopped rabbit liver?”

No, she wasn’t. There was no way that Adrien ever would’ve been able to do this without Bunnyx. He was sure he wouldn’t have had the gall to cataclysm a structural wall of the school, or the foresight to purchase spray cans in advance.

Or the courage to make his first spray. He’d needed a fair bit of ‘Come on, just do it already, don’t overthink it’s and ‘It’s fine if it’s ugly, dude. You’re not creating anything. You’re destroying. Making it uglier is kind of the point’s to push him past the initial hurdle of trepidation.

But once he’d started, it had been difficult to stop.

Spray after spray, scrubbing the wall of that horrible, awful, insincere mug. Devil horns and a tail, a scribbled out face, a giant green lopsided pawprint and the words ‘Chat Noir was here’. Random ugly shapes and motions, encouraged by the adrenaline in his veins, the music that Bunnyx started to play on a boombox, and the need to test out the cans.

Whatever he imagined would upset Gabriel the most, if he were somehow still alive to see it. And to be fair, there was nothing Gabriel hated more than ugly.

And boy, was it ugly.

“I love it,” Plagg said through a grin.

“I’m going to regret this,” Adrien breathed, the remnants of spray paint in the air burning his nose as he fell back against the lawn, splaying his arms out amidst the blades.

Bunnyx snorted. “If one day you’re ever overcome with remorse, then just come find me. I’ll come back and make sure this never happened. Promise.”

And yet, here he still was.

He stared up at the moon. “... Why did you do this?”

“Uh, me? That was all you, dude. I can’t take the credit.”

“I mean…” He sighed. “... Why did you help me?”

“You needed it.” He heard her footsteps approach. “Besides, what are friends for?”

But you know what I’m capable of, he almost wanted to argue. You know even better than Marinette.

But Bunnyx was aware of that fact. She knew that and more— so much more— and she could’ve stopped it all, she had the power to go back in time and keep all the dominos that he’d knocked over from falling. But here she was, helping him vandalize a mural instead.

“... I’m so tired,” he said instead, closing his eyes and sinking down into the ground.

“No kidding,” she snorted. “You should sleep.”

“... What?” He peeked an eye open. “Like, generally?”

“Right now. Go to sleep. Who cares?”

Adrien stared at her.

“Seriously,” she said, “You look even more exhausted than I remember. Just sleep.”

“But…” He looked around. “... In the grass?”

She hummed. “I guess I could find you a bed at some point in time.”

He didn’t want to bother her with that. “No, it’s… fine, but… aren’t I supposed to be at school right now?”

Bunnyx rolled her eyes. “Hey, you forget who you’re talking to? I’m with you. You got all the time in the world.”

He looked back up to the night sky. “... What if it rains? Wait— is it going to rain?”

“Augh! Why do people always ask me about the weather?” she groaned, “How should I know? You think I’m a meteorologist? I’ve got better things to do than memorize weather patterns.”

Adrien gave her a pointed look.

“... Look, if it rains, I’ll stop by and warn you… …” she trailed, pointing off towards the empty air at her left, “... Now!”

… Nothing.

“... Hey, look! No extra me! Looks like it’s not gonna rain,” she concluded. “Goodnight, then!”

And before he could make another protest, she was tearing open a burrow in time and stepping through. And as strange as it was to be abandoned in an unknown time, he found himself too tired to care.

“Sleep tight, kitten!” she called, “I’ll be back when you wake!”

The portal closed, and Adrien looked back up at the moon.

“She’s right, you know,” Plagg said, “You really need the sleep.”

Adrien sighed, and his eyes fluttered closed.

*****

Adrien awoke to a dawn sky and a tear in time zipping open before him.

“Alright,” Bunnyx said, as Adrien blearily blinked his eyes open, “Up and at ‘em. Time to either wake up or let me move you to a different time, because this school is going to open soon and you don’t want to get caught.”

“I’m up…” Adrien murmured, pushing at the grass and sitting up, rubbing at his eyes. He was still tired, and there was a crick in his neck and moisture on his back from the grass, but…

He felt oddly refreshed.

“Here,” she said, tossing something at him— just as she always seemed to. He caught it against his chest. “Second breakfast.”

A croissant. He smiled at the kind gesture for what it was. Bunnyx didn’t have to do that.

“Thank you,” he said, forcing himself to his feet and taking a bite. The buttery flakes practically melted in his mouth.

“No problem. So, here’s the deal, I’ll drop you right back off where you left and—”

“When I left,” he corrected, and took another bite.

“Nice catch. I’ll drop you off when you left, and you’ll be…” Bunnyx tapped her chin, a grin splitting her features. “... ten hours older than you’re supposed to be! Feel special?”

He shrugged. “I’m already months older than I’m supposed to be.”

Her smile fell, a furrow to her brow. “What?”

Adrien blinked. “Uh… the snake?”

“You used the snake? When? Wait— for months?”

“You didn’t know that?”

“No, I didn’t. Believe it or not, having literally all of time at my disposal means I have better things to do than watch your life play out.” She crossed her arms. “In the grand scheme of all of history, your life isn’t as interesting as you think it is.”

He took a moment to chew on both his breakfast and her words. And then he swallowed, shooting her a grin. “Isn’t it, though?”

Bunnyx stared at him. And then she relented in a sigh, her arms dropping to her sides. “Okay. Fine. Your life is pretty interesting. I guess I’ll just have to tune in more sometime.”

“My life may as well be worth watching if it isn’t worth living.” He shoved the last of the croissant into his mouth.

“Psh.” She shook her head. “Nah, man. Your life is well worth living. Trust me.”

Adrien blinked, watching her, wishing he could understand all of her reasons for saying such a thing. “I thought you didn’t know anything about my life.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t know anything.” She shrugged. “What can I say? I’m an impatient person. I like to skip to the end.”

His eyes widened. “You know how I die?”

“What?” she groaned, “Why does everyone always ask me that? Why is everyone so morbid? Death is the boring stuff— life is what’s interesting.”

His eyes fell to her feet, trying to take in everything that he’d just heard. “I… yeah. I guess.”

“Now, c’mon.” She nodded towards the burrow hole. “Let’s get you back to your time.”

“Speaking of…” Adrien said, following her guiding hand into the burrow and making no fuss as she covered his eyes with her hands, “When did you even take me to, anyway?”

“You’ll find out soon enough,” she answered, leading him through the timeless space— and he found himself not too worried about it.

As soon as his feet exited the burrow, she removed her hands from his eyes. And he was back in the bathroom.

And then the door flung open.

“Adrien! There you are! Dude, you gotta see—” Kim shouted, before stilling, “Wait, Alix!? Why are you so old?” He laughed. “What are you, someone’s grandma?”

“What?” she scoffed, still halfway in her burrow, “I’m not old, you twerp, I’m twenty-six. Also, that’s Bunnyx to you.”

“What were you doing with Adrien? Helping him help you cheat at a bet?”

“I was just taking him to your mom’s house.”

“What!?” Kim whipped around to Adrien. “Why, is she okay?”

Adrien left the bathroom without looking back.

He sighed, pushing his fingers through his hair as he walked. Maybe it would’ve been nice to stick in the bathroom a little bit longer to check his appearance— but then again, who cared? Nobody could make him do anything, anymore. He didn’t have to look good all the time, right? Maybe he could even—

The halls were strangely empty, and he wondered where everyone had gone, when he heard the startled gasps and shouts of a crowd, just outside the courtyard door that he was passing.

Oh. Right. He remembered that. It felt strange, to realize no time had actually passed, when he felt… well… ten hours older.

And as he opened the door and took a tentative step outside, his heart in his throat, he wondered if…

A large group of students, and even some staff, were gathered right in front of the mural.

No, not the mural— what should’ve been the mural. Instead, he saw his monstrosity in full daylight for the first time— the awful scribbles, the random shapes, the pawprint, the signature…

It was hideous.

But his glee at the fact was overshadowed by the heat in his cheeks, the shame dawning on him as the crowd whispered and pointed and chatted about his vandalism.

Bunnyx took him to last night? And here, he’d been hoping that he’d have until Monday to deal with the consequences—

“Woah…” Alix— the Alix that was his age— said, having appeared at his side in an instant. Her eyes locked on his hands— his hands that he, only then, realized were stained in spray paint. He shoved them into his pockets. “I didn’t know you had that in you.”

His face burned hotter, and he spun to face her. “You made me do it,” he hissed.

“I did?” Her eyes lit up in glee as she spun back to the mural. She threw her hands up. “That’s sick! Good ridda— oh, wait! Shoot!” she gasped, “I gotta apologize to Nath!” And with that, she spun on her heel and ran.

He should leave. Now. Before more people noticed him. He turned to leave—

And collided with a body.

“Oof!” Marinette stumbled back, but otherwise maintained her balance well. She looked up at him, a crease in her brow, “Adrien?”

“O-oh,” he croaked, before swallowing back the lump in his throat, “Hey, Marinette, uh…”

“What’s going on out here?” she asked, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Nothing, I…” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Wait— what happened to your shirt? Are those grass stain—”

“DUDE!” a voice bellowed over the chatter of the crowd, and Adrien cringed. He turned his head to see Nino rushing at him from the crowd, Alya on his tail, “Dude, oh my god, did you see it?”

“See what?” Marinette asked, brow furrowed, “Can someone please tell me what’s going on?”

Alya cringed. “It’s…”

“Oh, Adrien!” another worried voice gasped, Cerise slipping past bodies of students to hurry up to his own growing crowd. She blinked up at him, her eyes wide and shining from unshed tears. “I can’t believe— I’m so sorry! I— I can’t— why does he keep doing this?”

Adrien shrunk in on himself.

“Who?” Marinette spat.

“That… that… Chat Noir!” Nino practically roared, his face tinted red. Marinette stiffened, Alya placed a hand on his shoulder, and Adrien shrunk further. “Who does he think he is!?”

Adrien swallowed, his red-hands resolutely stuffed deep in his pockets. He felt the gentle brush of Marinette’s skin as she stepped closer and hugged his arm.

“What… did Chat Noir do?” Marinette asked carefully.

“The mural…” Cerise sniffled, hands over her mouth, “He did it again… j-just like the monument, I… Oh, Adrien, I’m so sorry…”

Adrien opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out.

“What?” Marinette gasped, standing up on her tippy toes to try to peek over the heads of the crowd. “He— Oh…”

Adrien’s face only burned hotter.

“I…” Adrien managed out, “I’m… sorry that your mural was ruined, Cerise.”

“What? Oh, Adrien, this isn’t about me!” she gasped, “It’s about you! How could Chat Noir do such a thing to you?” Cerise sniffled, “And the statue too— why hasn’t Ladybug been stopping him? Why has no one been stopping him?”

Cerise’s eyes, at some point during her speech, landed on Marinette. But Marinette said nothing, her expression neutral and eyes locked on the graffiti in the distance. She never let go of his arm.

“That’s a good freaking question!” Nino snapped, “Why hasn’t anyone— I— aauuuugh!” Nino roared, “I’m gonna KILL HIM!”

“Nino,” Alya gasped, grasping his shoulder, “Calm down.”

“I’m not going to calm down!” he snapped, “I’m— he just keeps— he can’t keep getting away with this!”

Marinette squeezed Adrien’s arm.

“Nino…” Alya yanked him close, leaning in close and whispering into his ear.

“Context!? What context!?” he hissed aloud, “There’s no context that could justify—”

Alya shushed him and tugged him a good meter away, their discussion continuing in hushed hisses.

“Oh, it’s just so awful…” Cerise practically whimpered, hands clasped before her heart. “You know, if you ever need someone to talk to, I will always be here to listen…”

A small nod of vague acknowledgement was all Adrien could manage.

“Hey,” Marinette whispered behind a cupped hand, her tone low and breath tickling his ear, “You wanna get out of here?”

He couldn’t imagine wanting anything more.

*****

There was something so delicious about the rush of adrenaline that came with rebellion. Slipping out of the school, hand in hand with Marinette, rushing down the sidewalk and dodging the eyes of possible snitches and staff was exhilarating.

It was a good thing the staff was preoccupied with the mural situation. And another good thing that the school was so poor at taking proper attendance.

“Was that really you?” she asked as the two slipped into an alleyway, a smile on her face. He nodded. “When did you do that?”

“Um…” He hesitated. “Last night, I think. It wasn’t there yesterday, right?”

She gave him a weird look. “Um. No?”

“Okay, yeah. Last night, then.”

She gave him a small smile, her gaze falling to his stained hands.

“Wow,” she said, as he pulled back to stuff them in his pockets again. “You slept over, and I never even noticed your hands…”

He let out an awkward chuckle, not sure what to say.

“You want a tip? Olive oil and dish soap.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, assuming Nino lets me live long enough to.”

Her eyes softened. “... What do you want to do now?”

They couldn’t go home— not without her parents or Nathalie knowing that they’d skipped. But they couldn’t exactly explore the city either, because… “I don’t know. I’m a little worried about someone seeing my hands… or recognizing my face…”

“Then I guess we’ll just have to mask our faces, then,” she said with a grin.

He couldn’t help but grin, too. “You’re right. I guess I do have a pair of gloves on hand.”

“Tikki,” Marinette began, and his heart instantly surged, “Spots on!”

He watched, enraptured as sparkling pink magic washed over her— as the red and spots materialized, leaving Ladybug in her wake, standing beside him, playing hooky with him in an alley.

“Wow,” he rasped, all air having left his lungs as he looked her up and down, and down and up.

Ladybug blinked. “What?”

“You,” he said, unable to control his smile as his eyes locked onto hers. “Somehow, after everything, it still almost doesn’t feel real.”

She giggled, a pinkness blossoming beneath her mask. Her gaze left his, a spotted hand raising to tuck a stray hair behind her ear. “Hard to believe?”

“Not at all.” He couldn’t stop staring at her. “If anything, it makes too much sense.”

“Well…” Ladybug stepped forward, her gloved red hand brushing up the fabric of his shirt at his chest. A shiver ran up his spine. “... I’m still waiting for mon chaton. Where is he, do you think?”

His cheeks hurt. “Plagg, claws out,” he said, feeling the rush of energy zap up his body.

Her lip twitched as she watched him, her blue gaze locked on his. And then her hand raised, her thumb brushing against his cheek, running along the edge of his mask.

Chat Noir caught her wrist in his claws and turned her hand, pressing a kiss to the heel of her palm.

“I— I don’t think I’m ever going to get used to this,” Ladybug laughed awkwardly, her voice a few pitches higher than usual.

“No?” he asked, eyeing her, his lips still brushing down her wrist.

“You’re the— um— I don’t know how to describe it. You’re just the— you know— you’re so much. Of everything. You’re the most person of all time,” she continued to laugh, shaking her head. “How am I supposed to handle this?”

“I’m not a person,” he corrected.

Her mirth popped, her glittering smile dropping into a harsh stare.

“I’m a cat,” he finished with a grin.

A long breath pushed out of her lungs, and she rolled her eyes before they softened, a smile returning to her lips. “Fine. You’re the most cat of all time.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, tugging her hands behind him so she’d step even closer to compensate. He continued in a purr, “You a fan?”

“Hmm… I don’t know… am I?” she hummed playfully, tilting her head up towards his, “I guess it depends on if the rumors are true.”

He raised a claw to carefully caress her cheek, admiring all the freckles that he’d already long since memorized but somehow never recognized. “What rumors?”

“I heard you don’t kiss your fans,” Ladybug whispered.

She was going to be the death of him. He tried, desperately, to control the tugging at his cheeks from betraying just how giddy he felt. “Some rumors are exaggerated. Of course I would make an exception for the miraculous Ladybug herself…”

“Oh yeah?” she breathed, “Why’s that?”

“As it so happens, I happen to be a bit of a fan myself.” His nose brushed against hers. “Do you kiss your fans?”

“I suppose I could…” she murmured, her arms looping around his neck. And then her eyelids fluttered closed, and she puckered her lips…

She looked so beautiful, like that. Ladybug, his first love, Marinette, his current love, wrapped up into a wonderful glowing package, any tension in the air between them washed away in the warmth of her arms…

“Wait,” Chat Noir said, prying her off of his shoulders. Her eyes snapped open, hurt flashing across them as he took a step back from her.

“What’s wrong?” she asked, quiet.

“We haven’t kissed since everything went down, and, well…” He stepped back again, shooting a sour face at the dumpster just to the right of them. “I would hope for somewhere more romantic.”

A small laugh burst from her throat. “Oh, yeah? Not enough rose petals, chaton?”

“Not nearly enough,” he agreed with a purr, plucking his baton from his back, “But, of course, roses aren’t the only way to have a sweet time. How would you feel about some ice cream, my lady?”

“Ice cream sounds wonderful,” she agreed in a sigh, snatching her yo-yo from her hip.

*****

Vaulting across rooftops, racing and chasing and overtaking Ladybug’s swings, rushing together, side-by-side, towards a common goal— Chat Noir hadn’t realized just how much he’d missed this.

You and me against the world, he couldn’t help but think, a warmth blooming in his chest as he touched down on the sidewalk that Ladybug had decided to land on. Ladybug and Chat Noir, Adrien and Marinette, it didn’t matter. Nothing could tear them apart for long.

Least of all the fact that they were supposed to be at school right now.

Chat Noir strutted forward, towards Ladybug— Marinette— the love of his life, looking to him with shining eyes and inviting smile beneath her red mask.

Not even the startled gasps and whispers of civilians could ruin this for him.

Unfortunately, the same didn’t seem to be true for her. Ladybug’s smile fell perceptibly, her eyes trailing out over their spectators, as Chat Noir stepped forward and looped his arm around hers.

“Let’s go,” he purred, beginning their stroll towards the park where they’d spotted André’s cart from above.

“Am I going crazy, or is everyone looking at us weird?” Ladybug murmured, her nose scrunching in thought as she observed the startled looks of their fellow Parisians. “I thought they were used to us by now.”

“It’s me,” he answered, still smiling, not allowing the prying eyes to ruin his date.

His date. With Marinette, because their relationship was on the mend— and with Ladybug, because Ladybug was Marinette, and she was the most amazing person in the world and he felt so warm and maybe life was okay—

“Huh? What do you mean?”

What kind of ice cream would Ladybug and Chat Noir receive?

“They don’t like me.” Maybe their order would be the same as Adrien and Marinette’s, and their destiny would only feel that much more solidified— because at the end of the day, no matter who they were, they were always still them.

“What?”

“You know, after everything I did.” Or maybe their order would be different, because there were so many facets to their convoluted wonderful amazing relationship. And then they’d just have that many more flavors to add to the dessert table at their wedding.

Ladybug sucked in a breath, her hold on his arm tightening to an almost painful degree. She stood all the closer to him, her hip bumping against his, as she shot pointed looks at the fearful citizens they passed. “Well. That’s silly. You’re a hero like everyone else. The best, even.”

“Even better than Gabriel?” he snorted, his smile never fading.

She didn’t even bother with a response to that. Instead, she simply rested her cheek against his shoulder, walking arm-in-arm with him as they approached the cart, passing the space where the monument once was, the sun shining above them.

*****

As it turned out, the heroes did get different flavors than Adrien and Marinette’s usual. He couldn’t help but wonder if they could keep accumulating more and more flavors if they kept coming in different suits. André probably wouldn’t appreciate that, though.

“You got some on your nose,” Chat Noir said.

“Oh,” Ladybug laughed, brilliant, her long red legs dangling off the edge of the rooftop that they’d found themselves. Her eyes crossed in an attempt to look at her own nose, her tongue sticking out and up in an attempt to reach.

“Here,” he chuckled, chest warm as he scooted closer. “Let me help.”

She turned to him with pinkened cheeks and a smile, her eyelids fluttering closed as he leaned in and pressed a small kiss right on the tip of her nose.

“There,” he said as he pulled back. “I got it.”

“Oh no…” Ladybug sighed, taking a small scoop of the ice cream and tapping it against his nose. “Looks like you got some on your nose, too.”

Love, love, love. He was so desperately in love, just as he always had been.

“Oh, no!” he laughed, his heart soaring and cheeks warm. He threw his head back in his dramatics, a hand to his heart. “If only somebody could help me!”

She laughed, her firm hands grasping his cheeks and holding him still as she leaned in and pressed her soft lips to his skin. He beamed, shutting his eyes and relishing in the tenderness of the action.

But then, regrettably, she pulled back. “I think you missed a spot,” he said.

“Oh? Did I?” She batted her lashes. “Where?”

“Hmm…” Chat Noir took a small scoop of the ice cream and dotted it against his cheekbone. He grinned. “About here.”

“Silly me,” she whispered, turning his head with her hands and pulling him in for another kiss. “How could I miss that?”

He only hummed in response, returning her kiss with one of his own— right on her cheek, in the space where her mask met her skin.

“Oh?” she breathed, “Was there some there, too?”

“Oh, totally,” he purred, taking careful hold of her chin and tilting her head so he could trail further kisses down to her jaw, “You’re absolutely covered, my lady.”

“I-I must be a pretty messy eater,” she laughed quietly, her skin so warm against his lips.

He wondered how they could find themselves here, so enraptured by each other, so drawn together when they’d felt so irreparably apart not so long ago.

“I love you,” he whispered, desperate to bridge every remaining gap between them, as he moved to kiss her other cheek.

She sucked in a breath. “I-I…” she stammered, as he trailed his kisses down her freckles.

“... It’s okay,” he murmured, “You… you don’t have to say it back.” He wouldn’t blame her, after everything.

“What? No!” she gasped, “I can say it back! Because I do! I— I love you.” He sucked in a breath, feeling her posture straighten against him as her resolve strengthened. She continued, voice steady and sure, “I love you.”

A small ‘ha’ escaped his mouth— an involuntary reaction to the swirling emotions in his chest. Everything was going to be okay. It was okay. Maybe he wasn’t a completely unlovable monster, maybe he could find himself trusting again, maybe there really were still positives to his life.

Before he could think of what to really say or do to such a wonderful thing, Ladybug grasped his cheeks again and yanked his lips into hers.

And he melted.

He melted into her touch, into her lips— Marinette’s soft skin against his, the kiss so tender despite the explosions in his chest. They slotted so easily together— the kiss so familiar in all the ways he’d so dearly missed.

He missed this. He missed her.

He leaned further into the kiss, instinctually moving to wrap his arms around her waist—

“Ah!” Ladybug gasped, pulling back from him and looking down at the street below, “We dropped the cone!”

Chat Noir cringed, taking his own peek down at the splattered remains of their ice cream on the sidewalk, as well as the perturbed civilians. “Sorry!” he called down to them.

“Oops,” she giggled, and he turned to look at her again— her shy face and pink cheeks beneath her spotted mask leaving him putty in her arms. “I should’ve paid better attention…”

“No, it’s my fault,” he said, a grin splitting his face, “I’m just too distracting.”

She rolled her eyes despite her smile. “It’s true.”

“I told you, my lady,” he purred, pulling her closer against him, their bodies pressed flush together, “that you’d fall for this cat one day.”

“Well, you were wrong,” she snorted, slipping her arms around his shoulders, “because I already had.”

He laughed, pressing his forehead against hers. Everything felt so warm. “That’s true, isn’t it? I… wow. The whole time…”

“I know,” she giggled, pushing her fingers through his hair, “We’re so stupid.”

“Stupid in love,” he corrected.

“Yeah,” she sighed, tilting her head back up to kiss him— but just as her lips grazed his, his baton chimed. He didn’t care— he was happy to lean in and return the kiss, but she pulled back before he could. “Who’s messaging you?”

“Don’t know, don’t care.” He tried to kiss her again, and his baton chimed again.

She dodged his lips, the misfire instead landing on her cheek. “You should check, just in case. What if it’s something urgent? It could be Bunnyx, for all you know.”

“I doubt it,” he snorted, “I just talked to her.”

Her eyes widened. “You… did?”

He smirked. “Who do you think gave me the spray paint?”

Her shock turned to a small laugh, her eyes soft as she looked at him. But then her gaze fell down to his waist, to the baton still on his back.

“Fine, fine,” he relented with a sigh, snatching up his baton and opening the screen. Ladybug leaned against his side, hugging his arm and watching as he opened up the notification.

New messages from Unknown

Ladybug let out an audible groan. “Nevermind. I guess it’s not important, then.”

“Tell me about it,” he scoffed, “Wanna play a game? See if we can guess what the message is? Because I’m willing to bet ‘poor little kitten’ is in there somewhere. They loooove calling me that.”

“How condescending,” Ladybug scoffed, snatching his baton from his grip. He watched as she promptly blocked the contact. “What do they even want from us? If they wanted to akumatize us, couldn’t they have done it by now?”

“I mean…” he trailed, a discomfort in his gut threatening to ice his warmth, “... they… did try to akumatize me. Remember?”

“I know, but…” She chewed her lip. “... Did they really?”

“Uh, yeah?” He swallowed. “The akuma was in my bell— I heard them in my head, Vesperia had to sting me…”

“Yeah, but…” She scrunched her nose. “... Isn’t that so weird?”

“What?”

“You… and me… we’ve both been…” Her eyes flicked away from his, uncertain. “... upset, lately. There have probably been so many opportunities for them to take advantage, but… the one time they actually do is when you’re surrounded by a bunch of other heroes? I mean, did they think everyone would just sit back and watch it happen? What else did they expect? Of course it didn’t work.”

“I…” he trailed, unsure of what to say.

“They could’ve jumped at the chance to akumatize either of us while you were cataclysming the statue, or while I was— I mean… when I first confessed… the situation to you. Or while it was just you and Argos fighting. Or when I was… reading their texts that one time and…” She huffed. “... But again, the only time they ever actually tried was the one time they were guaranteed to fail.”

“... What? You think they wanted it to fail?” He didn’t understand that at all.

“I don’t know,” she hummed, glaring out at the distance in thought.

“What would the point of that be?” he asked, “It didn’t accomplish anything.”

“I mean…” she trailed, “... it… kind of did, though. Didn’t it? It freaked me out. Freaked you out. It— I mean, it scared everyone. The whole team was in a panic, because they all witnessed it, so everyone was shouting and they were asking me so many questions and I…” She took a deep breath. “... Just… if their goal was to upset us, then it certainly did the trick.”

“But what’s even the point of upsetting us, if not to akumatize us?”

She hummed, holding her chin in thought. “Maybe they’re just trying to wear us down emotionally, to break us and our team as far apart as possible before they make a real move.”

He snorted, “Or they’re just obsessed with us and like seeing us upset. Maybe it’s really just that petty and pathetic.”

“Honestly? From how much they were messaging me?” she let out a short, pained laugh, “Maybe.”

“Well, we blocked them, so they can’t message us anymore,” he said, scooting forward and wrapping his arms back around her. He pulled her close, nosing at her hair. “And they can’t tear us apart. So they’ve already lost.”

She didn’t resist his pull, but she didn’t return with one of her own, either. Instead, she sat still and muttered, “... Well… there’s more that they can do.”

“Like what?” he whispered.

“They…” She swallowed. “... They know. Remember? They know about… about Gabriel, a-and…” Her eyes flicked out over the city, nervous. “... They could tell others. They could tell anyone. It could… become public.”

He stiffened.

He hadn’t even considered that.

What would happen if it did become public? What if everyone suddenly knew the terrible truth of Monarch’s identity? What if everyone knew that Adrien Agreste was related to a terrorist? Would everyone look at him differently?

Not the people that matter, he had to remind himself. Because Marinette already knew, and so did Nathalie, and so did Alya and Félix and Kagami and Alix. So many people already knew, knew longer than even he had, and they’d never treated him differently. He couldn’t lose the people he loved.

… except maybe Nino.

“... I’ll live,” he whispered, “... assuming Nino doesn’t end up hating both of me.” He tried to force a lighthearted laugh— like he didn’t actually believe what he was saying— but the sound wasn’t as convincing as he would’ve hoped.

Ladybug shook her head. “No. That wouldn’t happen. Nino would never hate you for that. But you know what would happen? Everyone would hate me. Because I’m the one who lied. I’m the one who— I’m the reason everyone— all of Paris will look back and think, rightfully, ‘oh, I guess Chat Noir was right to cataclysm that statue— wait, why was Ladybug trying to stop him? Why was she lying to us? Why was she siding with Monarch?’ That’s what would happen. And all the heroes would— they would all stop trusting me, and they’d all wonder why I’m the leader when I’m so incompetent and so untrustworthy and they’d all form a coup and take me down and I’ll deserve it and—”

“My lady,” he gasped, taking hold of her shoulders and pushing her far enough back to look in her eyes. “Breathe.”

“I—” she choked, sucking in a few steadying breaths, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I-I’m… I’m sorry. I don’t— I don’t d-deserve this power. I just— I just keep p-proving it, time a-and time again—”

“No,” he whispered, keeping his eyes on hers. “You’ve proven yourself worthy of it, time and time again—”

She barked out a laugh. “O-oh yeah? Would you like a— a recap of the past few months?”

“Hey,” he said, “I forgive you. And if I can forgive you, when he was my father, then surely everyone else can.”

She shook her head. “N-No. I don’t think you realize how much of an— an outlier you are. You’re the m-most understanding and forgiving person o-on the planet. You set a… a very high bar.”

None of that felt true. Maybe if he was ‘the most forgiving person on the planet’, he wouldn’t have initially tried to sever all his ties to those who lied to him, or graffitied the smiling mural of a man who had once been his father.

“You know who I know will stand by you, if it all comes out?” he asked instead, “Rena Rouge, Argos, Ryuko, and Bunnyx. They already know, so nothing will catch them by surprise. And if you have Rena Rouge, I’m sure Carapace will follow. And I can’t imagine Pigella ever being a part of a coup— and I can’t imagine Vesperia not being willing to listen to reason. And don’t even get me started on how ridiculous the idea of Viperion of all people attacking you would be.”

She let out a wet laugh, a sniffle in her nose as he brushed away a stray tear with his claw.

“And you know who else you’d have at your side?” he whispered, leaning in so close to her his nose practically bumped hers, “Me. You’ll always have me. And even if I’m somehow wrong about everyone else— Paris, the heroes, everyone— and they really do all turn against you, you know where that’d leave us?”

She watched him.

“You and me against the world,” he said, a smile tugging his lips as one tugged hers. “And I’ve always liked those odds.”

“They’re pretty terrible odds,” she chuckled, her eyes crinkling in affection.

“And yet,” he whispered, leaning in and pressing a tender kiss to her lips, relishing in it for a solid moment before pulling back. “They haven’t beaten us yet.”

Her smile was bright, her eyes glistening as she stared at him. And before he could even react, she was throwing herself forward, her arms clutching around his shoulders and her lips right back on his. And this time, there was no one to interrupt them.

*****

Adrien returned home with a skip in his step. When was the last time he’d had one of those?

But he just felt so good today. The shame of the crowd around his graffiti aside, today had been a good day. The mural was gone, Bunnyx implied some things that gave him some hope, and he’d spent the whole school day waltzing around rooftops with Marinette.

It was a good day, and he refused to let anything ruin it for him.

He pushed through the large oak doors of the mansion, whistling as he moved to head up the steps.

“Adrien,” Nathalie’s voice called. He stopped at the first step of the stairs, turning his head towards her approaching footsteps. She tapped away at her tablet, before looking up to meet his eyes. “How was school?”

He beamed. “Great!”

She quirked a brow at him. “Are you sure?”

Suddenly, this felt like uncharted territory. Did he just seem too happy to be coming straight from school? Did she not believe he was capable of having a good day? Was she somehow onto him? “... Yes?”

Nathalie turned her tablet around to face him, and his eyes fell to the screen.

Fire seared his cheeks.

“These were taken today.” A photo of Chat Noir and Ladybug, sitting atop a rooftop, filled her screen. And then she swiped a finger to another photo of them kissing. And then another. And another. And Adrien had already shrunk in on himself, already crumpled into a mortified ball, when she continued, “How are things with you and Marinette?”

Dear god. How was he supposed to answer that? He gaped at her like a fish, any words or excuses dying on his tongue, unsure what he could possibly say that wouldn’t either reveal Marinette’s identity or make him out to be some sort of—

“On second thought, you don’t need to answer that.” She turned the tablet screen off as he released his held breath, her eyes scrutinizing as she continued, “... Let me ask again. How was school?”

“Ah— erm…” He shifted awkwardly where he stood, raising a hand to rub at the nape of his neck, averting his eyes. At least she didn’t have the photographs pulled up anymore. He was certain to die of embarrassment if she hadn’t. “... I promise it won’t become a habit, Nathalie, I just… today was… something happened, and I couldn’t… bring myself to stay.”

“I got a call from your principal,” she said, and his eyes flicked back to hers. Her gaze locked on his hand. “About a vandalized mural. Tagged by someone alleging to be Chat Noir.”

Adrien visibly cringed, shoving his stained hands into his pockets. “Ah, w-well… It’s…” He hesitated. “... Am I in trouble?”

She stared at him for a long moment, her face made of its usual unreadable stone. But then she deflated, a sigh escaping her lips. “What Chat Noir does is not within my jurisdiction. However, I do not like you skipping school. But I’ll be honest that I am still deciding how lenient of a par— guardian I am.”

He blinked, taking in her words. And then he couldn’t help but smile, leaning against the bannister. “Well, if you want my opinion, I’ve always wondered what it’d be like to have a permissive parent.”

She watched him for a moment, and he almost wondered if he’d crossed some sort of line. But then her eyes softened, a small smile on her face as she said, “It’s been a while since I’ve seen you so happy. I suppose it’d be remiss of me to take that away from you.”

“I had a good day today!” he exclaimed, excited by its truth, his smile unbidden on his face as he leaned further into the railing, “An actually good day! I know I’ve been a rollercoaster lately, and I’m sure I’m due for a dip soon, but for now…”

She nodded. “Well, I’m happy that you are happy. As long as you don’t make it a habit, I won’t get in your way. For now.”

He beamed. “Thank you!” He turned and began ascending the steps.

Nathalie wasn’t like Gabriel. She actually cared about his happiness. Gabriel would’ve said he did, too, if asked— and he would’ve patted Adrien’s head and made him some stale pancakes if he’d been cataclysmed enough to bother— but then he’d turn right around and threaten to pull Adrien out of school, or threaten to take his friends away, or his girlfriend away, or scan him to digitize a version of him that would complain less, or ship him off to a small all-white room in London, or literally puppeteer him—

He stilled. “... Actually… Nathalie?”

“Yes?”

He turned back to look at her. “Remember when you mentioned… going clothes shopping?”

“I recall.”

“Can we… do that?”

“Of course.” Nathalie smiled. “When?”

Adrien shrugged. “How’s… in an hour or so?”

She nodded and turned her tablet back to herself, giving it a tap. “Of course. Just let me know when you’re ready.”

“I will,” he said, and then paused for only a moment before leaping down the steps and throwing his arms around her. She stiffened for only a moment before returning the hug, and he only squeezed her tighter. “Thank you again. I love you.”

She patted his back. “I love you too,” she said softly.

He pulled back and smiled at her one last time, warmth blooming in his chest as he turned and leapt up the steps of the staircase to his bedroom.

“And don’t forget,” she called, “You have a counseling appointment on Monday.”

“I know,” he called back.

Maybe he’d learned of so many horrors of his past, but that’s all they were. In his past. In the present, he felt loved. Loved by Nathalie, loved by Marinette, even loved by Félix. And who could forget about the kwami resting on his shoulder, rhapsodizing about the cheese cabinet soon to be in reach?

He felt light as air. Nothing could bring him down right now.

Adrien opened the door to his bedroom, and Plagg suddenly disappeared into his bag.

Carapace whipped around to face him, a look of horror on his face.

“Adrien,” he croaked out, his voice hoarse with emotion, “I have some bad news.”

Here comes the dip.

The window was open, and Carapace was standing in the middle of his bedroom, the nervous energy wafting off of him nearly tangible in its intensity, suffocating the lightness of the air beneath its weight.

Adrien clicked the door shut behind him.

“... What?” he asked, his voice nearly just a whisper. He wondered what other bombshell could possibly be dropped on him— but he supposed that every time he dared to think ‘the worst is over,’ the universe took it as a challenge.

“You… I…” Carapace stammered, before squaring his shoulders and taking a deep breath. “... You might want to sit down, dude.”

Adrien blinked. The trek to the couch suddenly seeming monumental, he slowly made his way to his bed and sat down.

Carapace surged forward, plopping down right beside him. He turned to Adrien, a sadness in his eyes that had absolutely no place on Nino’s face. “I just learned something. S-something bad. Something really bad.”

“O…kay…” Adrien spoke slowly, trying to brace himself for impact.

Carapace took another deep breath. “... It’s about… … I— I mean…” He hesitated. “I found out why Chat Noir keeps… breaking things related to your dad.”

What?

Adrien’s eyes widened, the tension in the air shifting. “... Oh…?”

“Al— I mean— someone told me— an anonymous informant—” he stammered, before averting his eyes for a moment, “... You know how… Ladybug told everyone… that your dad, er… d-died defeating Monarch?”

Adrien stared at him.

“I’m so sorry, dude,” Carapace choked, “That’s… that’s not… totally true. He didn’t defeat Monarch. He was Monarch.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped.

“I— I know it’s hard to believe!” he exclaimed, throwing his hands up in defense, “But I— I’d trust my informant with my life and I— I’d never lie to you! And it makes sense, doesn’t it? I mean, it’s why Chat Noir has been pulling that stuff, and your dad was always kind of a terrible person—”

“Oh my god,” Adrien whispered, the warmth of unshed tears suddenly pooling in his eyes, startling even himself. He choked, bringing a hand up to his chest, feeling his racing heart pound against his chest.

“I’m so sorry, dude,” Carapace cried out, snatching Adrien’s hands into his and squeezing them tight, “I— I didn’t want to hurt you, but I just found out and— you deserve to know—”

“Y-you just found out?” Adrien choked out, his hands shaking as he returned Carapace’s squeezes. “A-and you— you c-came to tell me immediately?”

“I had to! I’m so sorry, I— wha… what’s so funny?”

Adrien clutched his stomach, shoulders shaking and tears spilling from his eyes. “Y-You…” he laughed, “You’re s-so— you’re so bad at keeping secrets!”

Carapace gaped. “... What?”

“I love you,” Adrien choked through his laughter, grasping hold of Carapace’s shoulders and yanking him into the tightest hug he was sure he’d ever given. Nino was powered up right now, he could take it. He cried, “I— o-oh my god— I love you s-so much… You’re the— haha— the best, dude…”

“Uhh…” Carapace reluctantly returned the hug— though his embrace was just as firm. “I— uh, I love you too, dude. Are you… okay?”

“I-I’m…” Adrien sobbed, burying his face into the fabric of Carapace’s suit. “I-I’m th-the best I’ve— I’ve e-ever been…”

“Um…” Carapace offered, but seemed to find himself lost for words. Adrien didn’t mind— he took the moment to clutch tighter onto him, to enjoy the embrace for what it was, to find himself safe and secure in the warmth of Nino’s familiar arms.

“I… Th-thank you, Nino,” Adrien sniffled after a long moment, swiping the remaining moisture from under his eyes, and finding the will to finally pull away, “I… thank you for telling me.” He sniffled again. “I can always count on you.”

Buzz.

“Um… yeah, of course…” Carapace looked at him, a mixture of confusion and concern. “Do you, uh… believe me?”

“I—” His voice caught in his throat. “I-I do. I just… I already knew.”

Carapace gaped. “You did?”

Buzz.

Adrien nodded. “I-I only found out recently. It’s…” He sniffled again. “It’s why I’ve b-been having such a bad week.”

“Oh…” Carapace’s face crumpled. “I’m so sorry, dude. I can’t even— that’s… wow.”

“I-it’s okay,” Adrien said, willing it to be truth. “I’m… on the upswing. I think.”

Buzz.

Adrien swiped the moisture from under his nose and fished his phone out of his pocket. He was intent on silencing the thing, to continue this moment with Nino without further interruption, but the messages caught his eye.

Marinette: MAYDAY MAYDAY

Marinette: ALYA SAW PICTURES OF LADYBUG AND CHAT NOIR KISSNG AND SHE HAS A LOT OF QUESTIOSN FOR ME

Marinette: I DONT KNOW WHAT TO TELL HER AND I DONT KNOW HOW TO STOP HER FROM FIGURING IT OUT

A huff escaped him, but there was no upset behind it. His lips twitched towards a smile, and he found himself typing a reply before he even had to think about it.

Adrien: That’s ok. I’m sick of secrets anyway

“Hey, Nino,” Adrien said, repocketing his phone. “I have something to tell you, too.”