Chapter Text
It was the beginning of a chilly autumn. Paris settled into the hazy lull of the dying year, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng looked down on the world from the bell tower of Notre Dame Cathedral as the last embers of sunlight flickered beneath the skyline. Of course, Paris didn't need its heroes anymore. It had been nearly a decade since Hawkmoth's defeat. Yet Marinette found comfort clad in the indestructible material of her suit, and Paris took comfort in the friendly face of its hero.
A lot had happened in a decade.
Marinette had finished school and went on to study fashion design under one of the best design programmes in the world. She had her prospects lined up: a great job working as a designer for a top brand company in Cannes; a modest apartment close to her new job; a loving, long-term fiancé who she wanted to spend her life with. Then her job offer fell through despite her degree's success, her apartment was sold off, and her fiancé packed his bags and ended things after six years, leaving behind a pathetic excuse for a note. At twenty-five, Marinette found herself working with her parents back in the bakery, with little promise for her future and the low morale that always follows a series of disappointments.
She found her solace in her old patrol spot on the bell tower, and took comfort in the past, when life was going her way and she still had so many people around her.
That wasn't the case now. Alya was away studying journalism and touring the world with Nino, who'd since become a chart-topping DJ not long after graduating. Juleka was a photographer, inspired by her curse of never being in photos, and her best friend and soon-to-be wife Rose ran a little perfume shop just outside of Paris. They were leading their lives as they'd hoped they would, and Marinette yearned for something that even resembled that.
The wind picked up, and the sudden chill drew Marinette from her thoughts. Her pencil lingered over her sketch pad, where the silhouette of a model was sketched but no designs were drawn. Typical. Inspiration was a rare occurrence.
She sighed impatiently and snapped her sketchbook closed. Climbing to her feet, Marinette took a lingering look at Paris as it settled down for the night, and felt a twinge of longing. She missed her time as a hero. It gave her a purpose beyond her normal life. But even Paris didn't need her anymore.
Unlatching her yo-yo, she leapt from the bell tower and made her way home. There was no use in moping, no matter how drastically her plans for the future had gone awry.
Darkness settled, bringing with it a muted lull of the city at night. Landing on her balcony in a crouch, she tucked her yo-yo away. "Tikki, spots off."
The little red kwami swirled from the earrings and landed on the railings with a small sigh. "Marinette-"
But Marinette had already vanished inside, and the kwami could only watch on helplessly as the girl she once knew drifted further and further away.
The cacophony that was the five o'clock alarm was enough to make anyone's ears bleed. Adrien Agreste was no exception. After taking over his father's business seven years previously, early mornings weren't a stranger to him, but that never made them more enjoyable.
"Plagg?" he yawned, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. The rosy light of dawn filtered through a gap in the curtains and dimly lit his room. Upon hearing his name, Plagg poked his head around the door to the en-suite.
"I was beginning to think you'd died in your sleep," the kwami replied drily. Adrien grinned and launched a pillow at him, swinging his feet over the edge of the bed and approaching the window. The skyline of London greeted him as the city spurred into life. Adrien's life followed his business, and a fixed residence was a thing of the past. He spent his time bouncing across the globe: from Madrid to London to meet business partners; London to Milan for Fashion Week; Milan to Tokyo to meet other designers; Tokyo to New York to meet investors for a new Gabriel branch in the Time Warner Centre. Yet it had been seven years since he'd visited Paris. The thought of going back was bittersweet on his tongue.
On the one hand, Paris was where his heart was. It was the inspiration for his work, and where he yearned to be. But it was also where he and Ladybug had battled Hawkmoth for the final time, leaving their opponent defeated and his father a broken man with an equally broken reputation. While Adrien had been rebuilding the Gabriel brand over seven years, Gabriel Agreste had been serving his prison sentence in the psychiatric wing.
Puffing out his cheeks, he headed to the bathroom. The reflection of his hair was an abomination of bedhead and sleep deprivation. "Shower it is then," mumbled Adrien.
"Talking to yourself is weird."
"Shut up, Plagg."
As usual, he spent the majority of the morning alone, aside from Plagg. He was emailed his schedule, also as usual, and met the Gorilla by the entrance to the Covent Garden tube station to head to his meeting with some keen new investors and potential business partners. The tube meant avoiding the overwhelming rush hour traffic in the centre of London and provided a sense of normalcy that deflated his head a little. In the uncomfortably overcrowded crush of an underground train at peak business hours, he wasn't CEO Adrien Agreste, the successful multi-millionaire businessman and fashion prodigy. He was just Adrien. No title, no riches, no brand name to uphold and repair. He was another tired face in a cramped train car full of tired faces headed for another work day, squashed between a multitude of sweaty and over-exhausted people.
One of the lucky passengers who'd managed to nab a seat was indiscreetly taking photos of him and giggling to the woman on their right, who looked bashful but otherwise unperturbed. Adrien simply smiled shortly and waited for his stop.
The weather outside Aldgate Station had unsurprisingly turned bleak, and the unpromising clouds shook a fine mist of drizzle from their icy manes. The Gorilla promptly provided an umbrella (from where Adrien wasn't sure because he hadn't been carrying one beforehand) and they made the short walk to the Gherkin, a beautiful architectural building that stood like a monochrome bullet, looming proudly over the buildings surrounding it.
The group were gathering in Searcys, the fine dining restaurant on the uppermost floors of the Gherkin, for a meeting over breakfast. Adrien checked his watch. Just in time. Upon the opening of the lift doors, he was ushered to his table by a waiter and immediately provided a basket of pastries and bread. How stereotypically French they think I am, he thought. Not that he was complaining. A basket of pastries was welcome any day of the week, as long as Nathalie remained blissfully unaware.
"Bonjour, Messieurs et Madame," he greeted, tugging and smoothing the lay of his bespoke blazer. There was a chorus of replies, all along the line of 'Good Morning', along with one hushed voice querying if the CEO of the Gabriel fashion empire spoke English. From his position at the head of the table, he could see them all watching him with anticipation as he quietened his appetite by allowing himself a mouthful of sliced peaches and yoghurt. Putting his spoon down, he clasped his hands in front of him. "I am grateful for your willingness to meet me in London today. I understand it was quite the journey for many of you."
"Mr Agreste, we thank you for the opportunity," replied a middle-aged man further down the table. Adrien nodded, trying to keep a too-broad smile from forming.
"Ah, please enjoy breakfast before we begin. A full stomach allows for inspired thinking, as my mother used to say." Breakfast was served, bringing out overstuffed plates of full English breakfasts, more pastry baskets and fresh fruit. His partners quickly tucked in, a low hum of pleasantries and mindless chatter accompanying their meals. Despite the people around him, Adrien felt isolated from them. Many of his business partners were much older than him, some even older than his father. They'd worked for decades building their careers, and he'd practically been tossed his privileged position with a silver spoon to suck on attached to it.
It didn't help that friends his own age were few and far between. Nino was touring the globe with his girlfriend Alya. Max was a video game designer with very little time on his hands. Kim and Alix were athletes, as expected. Marinette was undoubtedly ruling some branch of the fashion empire. The only person he could consistently rely on was Chloe, who didn't have a lot of free time on her hands between the multitude of modelling jobs and her father's incessant coddling, but she always made time for him when she could. Other than Nino, she was the only one he'd really stayed in touch with after graduating.
Nevertheless, he joined the polite small talk between his potential partners, determined to make a lasting good impression. By the time they commenced their discussions of business, an hour had passed. It was pleasant to even have that brief escapism from the constant stream of work. Escapism never lasted, however, even if he longed for as little as a moment longer.
Each investor or potential business partner offered him a portfolio of ideas, including but not limited to: opening his own shopping centre; improving pay for production workers to benefit productivity; aesthetic advertising ideas for an unreleased line of designs. Usually, Adrien's only job was to review them, nod, and slowly build a larger pile beside him. Nevertheless, he was bored, and the only thing occupying him at that point in time was the files. One portfolio, in particular, caught his eye.
One of the potential business partners was a designer in her early thirties with the coolest hair he'd ever seen, and she'd proposed some alternative designs with a strong use of colour and a modern palette for a new Gabriel line. She said she was seeking a job as one of the designers for his label. Adrien raised a brow.
"You realise that these designs are far from what is standard in the Gabriel portfolio, yes?" he queried, leaning back in his chair and clasping his hands. The woman shuffled nervously.
"Yes, I know-"
"You realise that in recent years, I've turned down designers for presenting portfolios to me that were too alternative to our usual standard and designs?"
The others at the table shifted uncomfortably, but the woman didn't avert her eyes from his. Adrien raised a brow, challenging her. She leaned forward, mimicking his clasped hands. "Of course I realise. That's why I presented them to you in the first place. The Gabriel label can't continue producing lines for the general public that are similar to each other, otherwise, customers will get bored. You seem to save a lot of your best ideas for the runway, Mr Agreste, and I think that is a perilous mistake and a wasted opportunity. People want runway styles, but not at runway prices, so a variety of designs need to be available to the masses."
Everyone at the table, even the waiter refilling a gentleman's drink, gasped. One man even covered his mouth in shock. Never in his career had anyone spoke to Adrien that way before. Despite this, he simply smiled and pushed back his chair as he stood up. The other investors at the table remained tense as if they expected him to explode.
"I'm afraid, Ms Bergé-" he began. Everyone sucked in a breath as Adrien frowned at her. "- that you're quite right. I've been working to improve this company for seven years, and in order for that to happen, an expansion of our product portfolio is strictly necessary. My father had a classic style, but that doesn't appeal to all market segments. Your style does."
Bergé narrowed her eyes uncertainly, her face slightly pale. The others visibly let out a sigh of relief. Adrien continued, seeing as everyone else was speechless. "The designs may need altering to better merge with the Gabriel portfolio, of course, but I don't see why-"
"You're... giving me the job?" asked Bergé, her brown eyes blown wide. Adrien nodded as if it were obvious.
"We need fresh creative vision at my brand. Don't let me down," he grinned. "We can discuss in depth at the end of the meeting if you have the time." Bergé nodded. "So, gentlemen, time is running short. I will consider all of your portfolios later this evening, and you'll have an email response by tomorrow morning at eight."
The meeting was adjourned, and the other hopefuls gradually left, shaking his hand and mumbling their good wishes as they left. "So, Ms Bergé, I'm quite invested in this project, so it seems only fitting that I oversee its progression and assist its development. I shall send word to the design departments in Cannes, New York, Seoul, and Tokyo that you will be recommended for one of their teams-"
"Mr Agreste, I'm afraid I can't do that."
Adrien stopped in his tracks. "Wait... what?"
Bergé sighed and leaned towards him from across the table. "I can't move across the world. I have a young daughter and I'm a single parent. Trekking across the globe is unrealistic for the time being, as my priorities lay at home," she murmured, her eyes downcast. Adrien frowned, thinking over the dilemma as quickly as he could.
"I'm sure we could bring a base of operations to you. Travel doesn't limit many of my other designers or myself, so I'm sure a compromise can be achieved. Where is it you base your work then?"
"I live in Paris. I only travelled here today because I managed to arrange for my mother to babysit my little girl," she smiled fondly as she talked about her daughter, but Adrien had stopped listening. Perhaps it was rude to not listen to a designer who could reinvent his brand, yet the past was dragging him back, filling his lungs with the same bittersweet memories that had haunted him for years.
Paris.
After seven years, it seemed he could no longer avoid returning there. He had to face it head-on because he couldn't stop himself after promising to help with the new project. "Mr Agreste, are you alright?"
Clearing his head, Adrien blinked rapidly to remove the images dancing in his eyes. He looked up at her and smiled unconvincingly. "Yes, sorry, I got lost in thought. Paris, you say? I'm sure we can... arrange something for that location."
"Pardon me for asking, but aren't you from Paris?"
"Ah, yes," said Adrien quietly. "It's been a long time since I went home."
It was unavoidable, he thought miserably. Business that could redefine the Gabriel label called him to Paris. He had no choice.
He had to go back.