Chapter Text
Adrien Agreste had never liked silence.
The endless monotony of it had filled his childhood, day after day. Nothing to quiet the rambling, negative thoughts that constantly looped in his head.
So when Adrien was forced finally able to go out on his own, he found a job that allowed him to drown it all out, if only for just a few hours.
(The little hole in the wall cafe was also the only place that would hire him, but that was beside the point.)
It wasn't one of those places that catered to French coffee culture. This was not a place for leisurely people watchers with nothing but time on their hands, with hours to just sit and see and be seen. Though there was both indoor and outdoor seating, the coffee shop had no Wi-Fi and the owner insisted the only music that could be played was classical, so it was rarely busy and the people that did come in never stayed long.
But Adrien didn’t mind it.
There had been a steep, steep learning curve, but he liked it, actually, the quick pace and endless sea of random people. Here, he could disappear. He could put on his uniform and become just another nameless face. Someone who didn’t garner more than a glance as he handed them their change or cup.
And some people would give him a funny look as he handed them their drink or pastry, but then their gaze would drop to his name tag, which read FELIX :) and they’d shake their head, realizing it was impossible that he was Adrien Agreste.
After all, who would hire Hawkmoth’s son?
She was late.
But then again, she always was.
Every morning, she’d rush in to the coffee shop, wild-eyed and dark hair flying in a million directions, trying to snag her caffeine fix before she was due down the block at her design internship with Audrey Bourgeois.
All these years later, and Marinette Dupain-Cheng still had not learned time management.
At least some things never changed.
The first day she’d walked in, Adrien had nearly dived under the counter to hide from her. He’d been certain she was going to recognize him, but if she did, she didn’t say it. There had been a faint spark of recognition in her eye, but like everyone else, she looked at his name tag and her face had fallen at the realization that he could not possibly be Adrien Agreste.
She'd made polite small talk with him while he made her cafe au lait and Adrien figured once she left, he wouldn't see her again.
But then she came back the next morning. And then the next. And the next and the next and the next, until eventually she became a part of Adrien's daily routine again.
It was strange, that she'd reentered his life almost as quick as she'd exited it. Because up until that first morning that Marinette had walked into the cafe, and subsequently back into Adrien's life, he hadn't seen her, or any of his former classmates, in almost a year.
When he and Ladybug had finally, after all these years of battling Hawkmoth, unmasked him as Gabriel Agreste, it had turned Adrien's whole world upside down.
The police had taken control of the mansion to investigate and frozen most of the assets. Not only that, but the public finding out the head designer of Gabriel was also an international terrorist tanked the business. As one might expect. International terrorism tended to have that effect.
Adrien was left with an inheritance from his mother, but that was about it.
No family. No friends. And absolutely no direction in his life.
After all, who would want to associate themselves with freaking Hawkmoth’s son?
Evidently Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Though, as far as Adrien could tell, she still had no idea he was who he was. And if she did know, she kept the revelation to herself.
But still, she was Adrien's favorite part of his morning routine.
She’d rush in and he’d have her cafe au lait waiting, and she’d thank him and maybe they’d discuss the weather for a moment. Then she’d rush out and Adrien would find some menial task to do so he didn’t melt into a puddle of goo on the floor.
Then later in the day, she'd bring him the mug back and they'd do their same little song and dance again.
(Adrien would never tell anyone, because it was really kind of pathetic, but it was the best part of his whole day. The bar was low for him.)
And she was late.
Well, lat- er than usual.
Just as Adrien was about to dump out her cup of coffee and make a fresh one, wondering if she wasn't going to show up today, she flung the door open. Her hair was held up haphazardly in a clip and her white blouse was only half tucked into her jeans.
“I’m late!” she exclaimed, startling an old man reading a newspaper in the corner. Marinette was one of the few people who actually spoke to Adrien like he was an actual person, and not just there to serve.
“You’re late!” Adrien responded, holding her drink out to her.
She grinned and her red-lipsticked smile lit up Adrien’s whole world. For a brief second, she reminded him of... “Felix, you are the best.”
“Trust me, I know.”
Marinette giggled. Like, really giggled. Like, smiled down into her coffee and giggled. Oh, God, she was cute. In school, he'd always been too blinded by Ladybug to see it, but even thinking about being with Ladybug was out of the question, these days. There was no way that she'd want to be with her enemy's son.
“I guess I should pay you, huh?” She started digging through her purse for the money. She came up with a few bills and slid it across the counter to him. “You made me laugh, so you can keep the change.”
I can be a lot funnier, actually. Let me take you out to dinner and I can show you, he wanted to say. But he wasn't Chat Noir right now, so what he said, instead, was: “Have a good day, Marinette.”
Another smile. “You too!”
And that was it.
She rushed back out the door and Adrien, still holding the money, stared after her with a big dopey grin on his face like the lovestruck idiot he was. Now it was just getting through until she brought the mug back.
“You're pathetic.”
Plagg's voice startled Adrien so badly that he dropped all the money he was holding. He dropped down to the floor to pick it all up and glare down into the chest pocket of his apron at his kwami.
“Plagg, you can't just do that,” Adrien hissed. He was already Hawkmoth's son, he didn't also need to be labeled as the guy who talked to himself.
“How long has it been?”
“...Six months.” Six months since she'd charged through the door.
“And you still haven't made a move on pigtails?”
“She doesn't... she doesn't wear pigtails anymore,” Adrien mumbled, having collected the euros. He stood up and made his way over to the cash register to put the money in. “Besides, she doesn't even know my real name.”
“So?”
“ So I’m me and she’s…”
“She’s…?”
Talented. Creative. Smart. Beautiful.
Perfect.
Adrien quietly shut the drawer to the cash register. “She’s actually got a future.”
Adrien had been down on the floor, unboxing new coffee filters, when Marinette came back, and he stood up so fast he accidentally smacked his head into the counter. The sickening crack of his skull against the wood echoed through the coffee shop.
Marinette stared at him in horror, delicate hands pressed against her mouth. “Oh God, I’m so sorry!”
Adrien rubbed at his scalp, quietly hissing out a curse. Pull it together, Agreste. “It’s all right. Not your fault. Welcome back, what can I do for you?”
She lifted her hand, her freshly-washed mug dangling precariously from a finger. (She always washed it before she brought it back. Adrien wanted to kiss her.) “I was just bringing my mug back, but now I’m wondering if I need to walk you to the hospital instead.”
Mustering up a smile, Adrien reached for the mug. “I’ll be all right.”
She shook her head, pulling the mug out of his reach. "You should get some ice on that."
"I've had worse," Adrien said. It wasn't a lie, he just usually had a magical supersuit to protect him from actually getting hurt. "I'll be just fine. Thanks for the mug."
He reached for it again, but she just danced out of his way again.
"You should get some ice," she said. "I'm worried you're concussed."
He wanted to point out that ice wouldn't really do anything if he was already concussed, but she wasn't going to give him that mug back unless he took a break. And well, there was no one else here and he was due for a break anyways.
He begrudgingly gave in, made himself an ice pack, and sat down at one of the tables.
And then Marinette sat down across from him.
Adrien's heart rate picked up.
"Happy now?"
She rested her chin on her hand, offering him a smile. "Very."
Adrien laughed softly. He didn't think what she said was all that funny, but she was so very pretty and he was so very screwed. Her eyes were ocean blue in the waning afternoon light. And if he didn't say something he was going to sit here and mentally wax poetry about her, and then she'd think he was a complete and total weirdo and he'd lose one of the only good things in his life --
He cleared his throat. "So how do I know if I'm concussed or not?"
Marinette peered up at him. "Well, your pupils are the same size, so that's a good sign."
She trailed off as she studied his face, frowning slightly. Adrien could practically read her mind: you look so much like Adrien Agreste.
He expected there to be some sort of malice in her eyes -- that was typically associated with the last name Agreste these days -- but there wasn't. Just a burning curiosity and a sort of soft sympathy.
Marinette Dupain-Cheng was too good for this world, Adrien decided once and for all.
But still, she was studying his face a little too intently, and Adrien, blushing fiercely, quickly snagged the mug from her and got up to put it in the sink to wash. The last thing he needed was someone figuring out his identity -- either of them.
Though he knew telling the world he was Chat Noir would probably clear his name, it was too little, too late. It had been almost a year exactly since Hawkmoth had been defeated. He'd missed his opportunity, too afraid of the consequences.
What would Paris think of that? How could Chat Noir, of all people, not have figured out who his father was? People barely believed Adrien didn't know anything about it, and that was only because Ladybug defended him fiercely in the media, and in court.
What would his Lady think of that? Of him? Of her partner being the child of the villain they fought tirelessly to defeat?
Ladybug would hate you. Then you'd lose Ladybug too. Then what? Then you'll have no one.
You'll really be alone then.
Is that what you want?
“So,” Marinette said, startling Adrien out of his train of thought. The letters rolled off her tongue slowly, like honey dripping from a spoon. “Are you going to the Heroes Celebration?”
The mug clattered into the sink as Adrien dropped it. There was a tiny chip in the handle now. Damn it.
At least she still hadn't figured him out. Because if she had, she'd know that he, of all people, would not be going to the party celebrating the one year anniversary of Hawkmoth's defeat.
The entire city was shutting down for it. There would be a celebration all through the streets of Paris, all day, culminating into a gala that evening in Ladybug and Chat Noir's honor.
So no, Adrien would not be attending.
But Chat Noir was going to be there.
Adrien wished he didn't have to go at all, but it came along with the job of Beloved Hero of Paris.
Ladybug had been prepping for days -- practicing etiquette, writing speeches, and reviewing types of forks. But that kind of thing was old hat to Adrien, much to Ladybug’s surprise. She’d whipped out the flashcard set she had made and been shocked by the ease with which he’d answered.
Even if Chat Noir weren’t pretty much contractually obligated to be there, there was no way Adrien could, or would, go. Remove his barista uniform, put him in a three-piece suit, and his jawline alone would give away his true identity in a heartbeat. And no one wanted Hawkmoth’s son at the Heroes Celebration.
(The irony of the whole situation was not lost on Adrien. His emotions were pretty conflicted on the whole thing.)
“Oh, I’m… that’s not really my scene,” Adrien said. He kept his back to her, hands braced on the sink to steady himself, but he could feel her stare on the back of his neck. “Don't like crowds all that much. Are you going?”
“No,” she answered quickly. “Not my scene either.”
“Oh.”
“So... what are you doing instead, then?”
Adrien finally turned back around, shrugging. “Probably stay home. Watch the parade on TV, maybe. You?”
Marinette glanced away, arms wrapped around herself. “I'm... not sure yet. My friends want to go out, but...”
"But...?"
"It just feels kind of weird, you know? I don't know. I guess I just wanted to see if I was the only weirdo who doesn't feel like celebrating. It's not that I'm not happy, I just..."
"Emotions are complicated," Adrien said, a line he'd gotten straight from the therapist he was court-ordered to see weekly, "especially around this. It's okay not to know how to feel."
"That's good advice." A small smile played at her lips as she stood up. "Well. Just let me know if you change your mind."
"Sure." I won't.
They exchanged pleasantries as she got ready to leave, discussing that she'd try to be earlier tomorrow, and Adrien responding sarcastically, and Marinette laughing a little before bidding him adieu.
But it wasn't until she walked away that it finally hit him: she was trying to ask you out, dumbass.
Adrien pressed his face into his arms, stifling a groan at the realization. He could hear Plagg snickering at him from the apron pocket. Adrien had half a mind to withhold cheese from his infuriating kwami, but that would end well for no one.
Especially because now Adrien has to see her again.
Tonight.
Well... not Adrien.
But Chat Noir will.