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Adrien ran through the sun-soaked vineyard, laughing. The tall, blonde woman he was chasing laughed too, tossing her hair. The skirt of her gauzy white Gabriel sundress blew in a light breeze. The woman picked a juicy bunch of grapes and held one out for Adrien to take. Adrien closed his eyes as his teeth broke the skin of the grape and rich, sweet juice filled his mouth.
“Cut!” yelled the director.
“Damn it,” said Anlissa, Adrien’s costar, under her breath. She handed the rest of the grapes off to an attendant. “What do we think it was this time?” she murmured to Adrien.
“Someone get the eyelash off Adrien’s cheek,” barked the director. “Back to starting positions, everyone.”
Adrien sighed. Six hours into this commercial shoot, and they were still on the first scene. The beginning of a headache pulsed at his temples. More than anything, he wanted to lie down somewhere quiet.
“Let me,” said Anlissa. When Adrien nodded his assent, she brushed the eyelash away. “One would think that a computer could do that in post,” she said as they returned to their starting position, an incongruously placed park bench.
“Absolutely not,” Adrien whispered, resting his head in her lap so that she could play with his hair when the camera started rolling. In spite of the terrible director, he loved filming with Anlissa. She was flirty without being too flirty, and she could genuinely make him laugh. “No, the obvious solution is to replace us with porcelain dolls.”
Anlissa covered her mouth to hide a smile. “Obviously.”
“Quiet on set!” called the director. “Action!”
Anlissa carded her fingers through Adrien’s hair. They looked lovingly into each other’s eyes. Adrien leaned in for a kiss, but Anlissa sprang up, laughing. Adrien chased her through the vineyard, eyes shining with joy and longing.
The ground shook, knocking over a few of the cameras. “Akuma!” someone screamed.
Adrien wasted no time. Grabbing Anlissa’s hand, he pulled her behind the makeup trailer. “Stay here,” he said.
Anlissa’s forehead wrinkled. “And where are you going?”
“I have to help people,” said Adrien. “The film crew,” he amended hurriedly. “A lot of them are temps, and some of them aren’t from Paris. I’ve filmed here before, so I know all the best hiding spots.”
Anlissa released his hand. “Be careful.”
Adrien ran. He didn’t stop until he found a secluded place to transform.
“I’m going to be in so much trouble,” he said to Plagg.
“Tell me about it,” said Plagg. “That director scares me. At least the Craft Services people have good taste in cheese.”
In the distance, Adrien heard discordant music. It had to be the akuma. As it got closer, the ground began to shake. “There’s no time to lose. Plagg, claws out!”
Chat Noir landed on the side of the road behind the vineyard set. He stared.
A parade was barreling towards him. First came a marching band, complete with chicken-themed baton twirlers. Then a row of floats. Chat Noir jumped onto the lettuce-shaped one and accosted a dancer in a leafy green hat.
“Excuse me. What’s going on?”
She frowned. “Oh! This isn’t an attack. It’s the annual Farming Days Festival Parade.”
“Of course,” said Chat Noir, who had never heard of the annual Farming Days Festival Parade before in his life. “Right. Sorry.”
Just then, the parade ground to a halt. The driver of the lettuce float had to slam on the brakes so as not to rear-end the carrot float.
“I’ll go see what’s going on,” Chat Noir told the dancer.
He found the director and a gaggle of film crew arguing with members of the marching band.
“You can’t be here!” the director was screaming. A vein bulged in his forehead. “We’re losing daylight arguing with you. My staff thought you were an akuma attack!”
“That’s your problem,” said a tall, muscular clarinet player. He stabbed a finger into the director’s chest. “The Farming Days Festival Parade is a rich Parisian tradition with more than fifty years of history. Farmers and food service professionals are here from all over France to celebrate. The sooner you get out of the road and let us pass, the sooner your little movie can continue.”
“It’s a commercial,” the director spat. “Don’t touch me.”
He snapped his fingers at his assistant.
“Go call that horrible Sancoeur woman and tell her we’ll need an extra day of filming.”
Chat Noir’s eyes widened. An extra day? Did that mean the director was giving up?
The marching band got back into their positions. In the vineyard, the film crew began packing up their equipment. Chat Noir saw Anlissa come out of her hiding place and knew she was looking for him.
His bodyguard would be, too, once word that the shoot was canceled reached the air-conditioned trailer where he sat during filming. They would drive back into the city, and by the time they arrived, Nathalie would have arranged an extra fencing lesson or Chinese practice to fill Adrien’s time. In that moment, it felt as if Chat Noir’s stomach were filled with lead. At least an akuma attack would have meant a break from going through the motions of his hyper-monitored life.
Unless…
Chat Noir made a decision. Extending his staff, he searched for a promising-looking parade float, selected one, and leapt without looking back.
“There we go!” cried Rolland as Tom gave the group on the float a thumbs-up. “What did I tell you? No one can stop the parade! It’s traditional.”
Marinette straightened her croissant-shaped hat and braced herself as the Dupain-Cheng float lurched back into motion.
“And we’re dancing!” Rolland stretched, popping his back and making the fabric wheat stalks on his hat bounce wildly. “Now this is how it’s done!”
Sabine, who was dressed like a rice stalk to represent another key component of the special Dupain-Cheng bread recipe, exchanged a smile with Marinette as they swayed to the band’s music. Marinette had been in the Farming Days Festival Parade every year since she was small, and she never got tired of it. It was fun to celebrate all the people who made Paris’s legendary cuisine possible. It was fun to celebrate her family history.
“Whoa!” someone yelled. With a resounding clang, Chat Noir crashed into the giant metal wedding cake that topped the Dupain-Cheng float.
Marinette and her family winced, but the cake didn’t budge.
“You! The cat boy! What are you doing here?” Rolland asked, helping him up. “Don’t say you’re here for the parade. You don’t know the first thing about bread.”
“I don’t,” Chat Noir agreed. He made pleading eye contact with Marinette. “Yet. I’m, um, here to learn.”
“Wonderful!” Rolland exclaimed. He was still holding Chat Noir by the shoulders. “It will take another hour for the parade to complete the loop back into the city proper. That’s just enough time for a very brief overview of the history of bread and baking.”
Marinette shot Chat Noir a sympathetic look as she swayed to the music. She loved her grandfather, but his lectures were tedious, to say the least.
By the time their float ground to a halt outside the warehouse where parade participants stored them during the year, Rolland’s explanation had reached the Industrial Revolution. Chat Noir, to his credit, was listening intently.
“Let me show you how to winterize a parade float, Chat Noir,” Marinette interrupted during a suitable gap. “Come on, Grandpa. I’m sure he hasn’t seen this, either.”
Chat Noir looked grateful. “Thank you for the history lesson, sir,” he said. “I have a much greater appreciation for bread now.”
“That’s as it should be,” said Rolland, waving them off.
Marinette waited until the parade float was safely stored and her family was out of earshot to ask Chat Noir her burning questions. “Is everything okay? Why are you really here?”
Chat Noir looked embarrassed. “The camera crew weren’t the only ones who mistook the parade for an akuma,” he admitted. “But once I was there, I just thought…” He chewed his lip. “It was a better place to be than where I was.”
Marinette tsked in sympathy. She just stopped herself from reaching for Chat Noir’s hand. No. Things had never been like that with him, no matter how much she had come to wish otherwise.
“If you have a little more time to spare, I was planning to bake a batch of cookies for my… friend.”
Chat Noir’s eyes lit up. “Do you mean that? I’m not very good in the kitchen.”
“Sure.” Marinette waved a hand in what she hoped was a casual way. “You can’t be worse than I am.”
He was worse than she was.
“How?” Marinette demanded. She climbed onto a step stool to wipe raw egg off the ceiling. “How have you never cracked an egg before?”
Chat Noir scrubbed the egg off his face with a paper towel, looking sheepish. “Sheltered childhood,” he said.
The knock on the door came just as Marinette pulled the first sheet of cookies out of the oven.
“Mind getting that?” she asked, jerking her head towards the locked bakery door.
“Of course,” said Chat Noir. He froze as he took in the silhouette behind the frosted glass.
Nathalie. Nathalie?
How long had he been gone?
“I’m looking for Adrien,” Nathalie explained when he gathered himself enough to let her in. “He disappeared from a commercial shoot earlier today.”
Marinette’s forehead wrinkled. “I’ll ask around,” she said, tugging off her oven mitts and pulling her phone out of her apron pocket.
Nathalie nodded in thanks.
“And I’ll do a quick lap of the riverfront district,” said Chat Noir quickly, hurrying out the door before she could speak to him. “See you later, Marinette!”
Luka sat alone in his bedroom, listening to the waves and plucking a gentle tune on his viola.
Thunk.
He looked up just in time to see Chat Noir peel himself off the glass of the porthole.
“I thought it was open,” Chat Noir admitted when Luka let him in. “That’s a beautiful song.”
“It’s the river’s song,” said Luka. “I’m just borrowing it.”
Chat Noir looked out the open porthole. “Your song is beautiful,” he said to the water.
Luka couldn’t hold back a smile. Some people would have said that as a joke. Adrien never joked when it came to Luka’s feelings. It was the reason he had fallen so hard and so fast. “What can I do for you?” he asked.
Chat Noir hesitated, twisting his tail in his hands. “I’m looking for a missing civilian,” he said at last. “Adrien Agreste.”
Luka plucked a sour note, though Chat Noir seemed too distraught to notice. For the dozenth time, he debated telling him that he knew his identity—that he had known for years. There never seemed to be a good time to drop that kind of bombshell.
“I haven’t seen him today,” Luka said carefully. “What happened?”
Chat Noir shrugged, making a poor attempt at a nonchalant expression. “He disappeared from a photoshoot earlier today.”
“Of his own free will?” Luka began plucking a new tune.
“It seems that way.”
Luka smiled down at his viola. “Then let’s give him a bit of privacy,” he said. “Adrien doesn’t have enough time to play his own rhythm, you know? If you see him—”
“I’ll suggest he comes here,” said Chat Noir, visibly relaxing. “Thank you, citizen.”
“Any time,” said Luka. He pretended to tune his viola until Chat Noir was out of sight. Then he burst out laughing.
Once he had recovered, he fired off a text to Marinette:
“Hey. Have you heard from Adrien today?”
Marinette responded immediately.
“no. nathalie says hes missing??”
Luka tucked his viola back into its case, choosing his words carefully. “I just talked to Chat Noir. He’s going to send Adrien here when he finds him.”
Before Luka could finish typing his offer to have her over, Marinette wrote, “ill be there in 10 mins.”
Luka smiled at his phone. Marinette and Adrien were the two most oblivious people he had ever met. He loved them so much.
Tom and Gina returned from manning the Dupain-Cheng booth at the Farming Days Festival just in time for Marinette to slam into them as she hurtled out the door. The box of passionfruit macarons in her arms crumpled, ruining most of the treats inside.
“Where are you off to in such a rush, Marinetta?” Gina wiped a smear of flour off her granddaughter’s face with her thumb.
“Adrien went missing from a photoshoot,” Marinette panted. “Luka thinks he’s going to come to The Liberty.”
Tom and Gina exchanged a look.
“Two boyfriends,” said Gina, smiling as a memory seemed to come to her. “Someday, you’ll have to get your grandfather to tell you about the lovely couple we lived with in Germany for six months. He was quite the wildcat in those days.”
“Mother!” Tom protested.
Gina rolled her eyes. “They seem like nice boys, don’t they? Let’s let our Marinetta have her fun.” Looking Marinette up and down, she added, “but not in those sweaty clothes. Get her a fresh box of macarons, Tom. I’ll make sure she’s ready to knock their socks off.”
Marinette emerged from the bakery twenty minutes later, armed with both the macarons for Adrien and a new flavor of tart Tom wanted Luka to try. The second time she had brought Luka to have dinner with her family, he had said such insightful things about baking and “the music of flavor” that her father now set great store by his culinary opinions.
Balancing the macarons and the tarts, Marinette tugged the hem of her skirt a little lower. It was a testament to her grandmother’s willpower that she had been allowed to leave the house in such an outfit. Secretly, though, she hoped it had an effect on her boyfriends. It couldn’t hurt to remind them that she wasn’t just sweet.
Another wave of worry for Adrien washed over her, but Marinette swallowed it down. Chat Noir was looking for him. If she couldn’t look for him herself, there was no one Marinette would have rather had on the case. And Adrien had seemed so melancholy lately. Maybe Chat Noir could cheer him up? Better, maybe Chat Noir could convince Adrien to tell him what was wrong. Marinette’s superhero partner was the most empathetic person she knew. Then Chat Noir would deliver Adrien to her and Luka, and all three of them could spend the afternoon treating him as gently as he deserved.
Marinette smiled, banishing the last traces of her worry. It was going to be a great day.
“Luka!” Anarka hollered from the top deck. “Your girlfriend’s here!”
Luka abandoned the trombone he was polishing and rushed for the stairs. He made it just in time to catch Marinette and the treats she was carrying after she tripped over the loose plank she always tripped over. “That was a close one,” he said, looking deep into Marinette’s eyes.
“Someone needs to fix that step!” said Rose, poking her head out of the pantry. “What do you think, Jules? Afternoon project?”
“Sounds fun,” said Juleka softly. “Hey, Marinette.”
“Hey,” said Marinette, who was still in Luka’s arms. She blushed. “You can put me down now.”
For the first time, Luka noticed just how short Marinette’s skirt was. His hand was on her exposed thigh. He carried Marinette to the couch and set her down, not without some reluctance.
“You look beautiful today,” he told her.
Juleka coughed. “Nerd,” she hissed.
Rose took Juleka’s hand and towed her upstairs before Luka could launch a pillow at her. “Come on! Let’s look for a toolbox!”
Alone, Luka and Marinette stared at each other. Marinette cleared her throat. “Um. My father wanted you to try these.”
Luka took a mini tart from the box and bit into it, closing his eyes as a symphony of flavor burst onto his tongue. First came the sweet, buttery tart shell, a slow crescendo. Then the rich filling exploded like a trumpet flourish. The hint of lemon reminded him of a flute solo he had once tried to perfect.
When Luka opened his eyes, he realized he had been humming along.
“Good?” Marinette asked.
“Good,” said Luka. “Lemon, blueberry, and strawberry, right? Hint of cinnamon?”
Marinette nodded.
“I wouldn’t have expected it to work so well,” Luka told her thoughtfully. “The candied lemon peel on top?” He closed his eyes again, savoring the residual flavor. “It’s such a good touch.”
“I’ll tell him,” said Marinette. She patted the couch cushion beside her, and Luka sat. “How are you doing?” Marinette asked, leaning back and resting her head on his chest. “I’m so worried about Adrien.”
Luka kissed the top of Marinette’s head. Here, again, was an opportunity to tell her everything he knew. But some conversations couldn’t be taken back. “I don’t think he’s in any danger,” he said. “Besides, I trust Chat Noir.”
“Me too,” said Marinette. “Though I’d feel better if Ladybug was out there too.”
Marinette’s inner melody surged and crashed with anxiety. Luka could tell how heavily her secret was weighing on her. A braver man, one willing to risk hurting or losing her, would have told her everything. Luka had never claimed to be brave. He held Marinette tight, wishing he could soothe her fears by wanting hard enough.
“Care for a biscuit?” asked Mr. Ramier, offering Adrien a box. “I buy them from that lovely bakery down the street.”
Adrien took a cookie out of the proffered box, smiling when he recognized Marinette’s parents’ logo. “The Dupain-Chengs are the best,” he said. “I wish…”
Mr. Ramier scattered another handful of birdseed. “You wish…” he prompted.
“Family is hard,” said Adrien. “I try to make my father happy, but sometimes it hurts. I used to think that meant that there was a problem with me. But when I see my girlfriend with her family or my boyfriend with his, it’s like looking into a different world. They don’t have to earn love. It’s just there.”
A pigeon pecked at Adrien’s shoe experimentally. Satisfied that he wasn’t food, it returned to the birdseed.
“It took me a long time to find a kind of love that wasn’t transactional,” said Mr. Ramier, looking off into the middle distance. “It didn’t help that I waited until later in life to start looking.” He turned to Adrien. “Do you understand what I mean?”
Adrien swallowed his last bite of cookie. “I think so. Thanks for talking to me.”
“Any time,” said Mr. Ramier. As Adrien rose to leave, he added, “I’ll be sure to tell your bodyguard that you went the other way.”
Doing his best to lay low, Adrien made his way back to the docks. He kept an eye out for his bodyguard’s car.
All the way there, he racked his brain for the right words to tell Marinette and Luka how much they meant to him and how sorry he was to have worried them. He wished he could tell them he was Chat Noir, but that wouldn’t be safe until Hawkmoth was defeated.
All Adrien had were words. Words would have to be enough.
Rose and Juleka intercepted him the moment he climbed aboard. “Adrien! Perfect! We need someone tall.”
“I’m not that much taller than Juleka,” said Adrien, who sensed a trap.
Rose gave him a wide-eyed pleading stare. “We’re trying to get Anarka’s toolbox off a super high shelf,” she said. “Juleka can’t reach it, right, Juleka?”
“Right,” Juleka mumbled.
Adrien knew when to accept defeat. “Fine,” he said. “Where’s the shelf?”
“This way,” singsonged Rose, leading Adrien to a supply closet far away from the part of the deck where Anarka was practicing guitar. There, firmly out of eavesdropping range, Rose said, “Adrien. You know why I’m here so much. Right?”
Adrien retrieved a dusty toolbox from a shelf he was certain Juleka could have easily reached. “Because you two are together?”
Rose sighed. “Well, yes. But I started hanging out here so much because my parents are terrible.” She reached for Juleka’s hand. “They think they’re staying together for me. But they haven’t gotten along since before I got sick. So I sleep over here a lot. Trust me when I tell you that Anarka doesn’t care how often you visit, or why. You’re always welcome to escape to The Liberty. Okay?”
“Okay,” said Adrien, handing over the toolbox. He felt unaccountably lighter. “Thanks, Rose.”
Rose grinned. “I’ve borrowed you for long enough,” she said. “Go on. They’re waiting downstairs.”
When she heard the telltale creak of the fourth step, Marinette jumped up, bonking heads with Luka. When she blinked the stars out of her vision, Adrien was there, twisting the hem of his shirt nervously. “Hey,” he said. “I’m so sorry to have worried you.”
Ignoring her fresh headache, Marinette threw her arms around him. “I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said. “Where’s Chat Noir? I wanted to thank him.”
Adrien held Marinette tight, letting her breathe in his comforting scent. “He… had to go.”
“It must be a busy day for him,” said Luka.
“Yeah. I think it is.” Marinette felt Adrien swallow. “There’s something I wanted to tell you,” he said. “Someone I talked to today made me realize I’d been hiding it for too long.”
Marinette froze, scarcely able to process Adrien’s words. So many pieces were coming together, forming a picture she wouldn’t have thought possible. Adrien disappeared, and Chat Noir showed up to hang out with her. Chat Noir disappeared, and Adrien was back. In her mind’s eye, two blond boys smiled identical smiles.
Marinette sank onto the couch beside Luka, reeling. Could Adrien be Chat Noir? There was no way… was there?
“Say what you need to say, Adrien,” said Luka, taking Adrien’s hand and kissing it. “Whatever it is, I promise it won’t make us love you any less.”
“I know,” said Adrien faintly. “I do know that.”
Marinette and Luka made room for Adrien to sit between them. That way, both of them could cuddle him while he found the right words to share his secret.
“Okay,” said Adrien at last. “Okay. I realized that I think… I think my father is neglectful, if not abusive.”
He turned to look at Luka with wide green eyes.
“Do you think your mother would mind if I started sleeping over? Just sometimes. I know it’s a big ask.”
“You’re always welcome,” Luka told him, kissing his forehead. He made eye contact with Marinette over Adrien’s shoulder and shot her a look she didn’t know how to interpret.
Marinette relaxed, then felt a little guilty for relaxing. Of course Adrien wasn’t Chat Noir. The truth was so much simpler. True things were always simple.
“You’re welcome at my house, too,” she said, wrapping her arms around Adrien. “Always, okay?”
“Okay,” said Adrien. When he turned to look at her, his smile was warm and devastating. Marinette’s eyes fell on his lips, and she couldn’t look away.
Marinette, Luka, and Adrien didn’t talk much for the rest of the afternoon.