Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

At the Studio for Paris World News:

“I am Nadja Chamack, and I’m here today with Dr. Edward de Vere of Anamnesis Labs. Welcome, Dr. de Vere.”

“Thank you for having me, Ms Chamack.”

“Anamnesis Labs, as our viewers are probably aware, is responsible for the research and development behind the SPA Program—SPA of course being Selective—sorry, it was…”

“Selective Programmable Amnesia.”

“Yes, thank you. Absolutely groundbreaking work accomplished by your team.”

The doctor turns to the camera and smiles.

Once, in a dream, Adrien had discovered the meaning of life. He forgot it immediately upon waking, but the feeling of possibility and excitement lingered all through that morning—long after the dream had faded from memory, as dreams often do.

Sometimes it was there, just before his waking, just out of his reach. Sometimes he felt like his heart had been chasing that feeling ever since.

Another day, another ostentatious party.

At least this one was on a boat, Adrien mused, staring at the red snapper fish on his plate. It stared back.

Beside him, Chloe lifted the champagne flute to her lips and took a sip. She caught Adrien tracking the movement and her lip curled in irritation. “You’re counting my drinks.”

“No,” he said too quickly.

She raised a carefully drawn brow. “What, are you my babysitter now?”

“No—”

“Because I can do what I want, Adrien, I’m a grown woman!” Her sharp tone was beginning to draw attention from the surrounding tables, and more than a few conversations quieted at the opportunity to eavesdrop.

Adrien sighed. It wouldn’t be one of his father’s parties if there wasn’t a little drama for the gossip rags, but he usually did his best not to be the cause. He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “Sorry, sorry, you’re right! It’s just that I really care about you, and the last time you had a break up…” He shuddered at the memory, and his voice dropped until she was certainly the only person who could hear him. “You really scared me, Chlo. If I hadn’t found you in time… and you didn’t even like that guy.”

Chloe rolled her eyes and sniffed, taking a pointed draw from her water. She set the glass down roughly and flicked condensation droplets at him from the tips of her fingers. “Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m fine.”

Adrien brushed a few drips off his cheek and watched her look from table to table, her eyes bright as she mentally roasted the outfits of their fellow dining companions. She really did seem fine. Either she was telling the truth or she was an excellent liar (he knew she wasn’t).

He found himself a bit thrown. It hadn’t been two days since she’d told him that she was happy with the artist she’d been seeing. She’d whispered to Adrien that she might be falling for Nathaniel, in a tone that suggested falling in love was something dirty and embarrassing that only happened to poor people. Then yesterday she’d texted Adrien “broke up w Nath” and dropped off the face of the earth for 24 hours.

He had feared the worst. He’d gone to her suite this morning and pounded on the door until she answered, wide awake and sober and irritated that he’d interrupted her gala preparations.

As much as it confused him, he was relieved. Maybe Chloe was finally growing up. Maybe she’d decided to take care of herself and had learned some healthy coping mechanisms.

Her phone vibrated on the table against Adrien’s elbow and he glanced down at it absently as it lit up with a notification.

Reminder: Your follow-up appointment at Anamnesis is scheduled for Wed at 07:15 to reschedule call 7…

The screen went dark again. He blinked at it, processing what he’d just seen. “Chloe…”

She reached over and picked up the phone. She stared at the screen for a moment before sliding it into her beaded clutch.

“Chloe?” he asked a little louder.

She ignored him and waved to someone across the deck. “Ew, Bernard is here with his ‘girlfriend.’ Wonder how much he had to pay her—”

“Chloe!”

“What,” she snapped. She met his eyes at last and her cheeks flushed red.

He stared at her for a moment, his mind still trying to catch up. “Did you have Nathaniel deleted?”

She blinked. “Was that his name?”

Adrien shook his head in disbelief. “That’s not what SPA is for!”

She rolled her eyes. “Nobody calls it that anymore, Adrien. Why are you always such a nerd?”

“SPA was created to help veterans and like… actual trauma victims. You can’t run off and get your memories erased every time you don’t like something in your life!”

“First of all, I absolutely can . Everyone’s doing it.” She flicked a manicured nail at a crumb on the white tablecloth.

“That’s just not true—”

“Everyone—who can afford it—is doing it. If poor people had the money to forget their miserable lives then they’d be lining up right behind the rest of us. Second of all, if my hairdresser is to be believed, I was dating an artist. Trust me, I’m sure I had trauma.”

“Chloe…”

“ Chloe ,” she mocked in a whiny tone. “I don’t have to ask your permission to do stuff, Adrien. Don’t you want me to be happy?”

“Of course I do! But—”

“Well, I am . So either drop it and ask me to dance or—”

Adrien stood up abruptly, bumping the table so the silverware jingled and the ice clinked in its crystal glasses. Heads all around the dining area turned to stare at him. “I need some air,” he said. He set his napkin down and walked away as calmly as he could, well aware of the photographers and camera phones that tracked his every move with rabid curiosity.

“Drama queen,” she hissed at his retreating back.

He ignored her and pasted a vaguely pleasant expression on his face as he made his way off the main deck. His progress was halted several times so he could shake hands with designers and distributors and one very impatient silk merchant who had confused him with his father. Adrien redirected the man to the correct Mr. Agreste and then made a hasty exit towards the back of the barge, where the wait staff bustled out the kitchen door with silver trays of canapes. He wove past the kitchen to the stairs and followed them to the upper deck, which he found open to the stars and, to his immense relief, empty of people.

Adrien wandered to the starboard rail and climbed onto the bottom rung to stare down at the river. The party lights flickered cheerfully on the black water below and Adrien couldn’t help but think how much better the gala sounded from up here. From a distance, the laughter could be sincere and the flattering voices could be genuine. He wondered if anyone down there even remembered what cause the Agreste Foundation was supporting with tonight’s gala.

Adrien shook his head, trying to rattle loose the negativity. At least they’d all come and pledged money, if only for the PR spin and the tax breaks. He always wanted to see the best in people, no matter what.

No matter what, he reminded himself. His stomach gave a guilty twist as he wrestled with Chloe’s decision. She had once again decided to throw her money at a problem instead of facing it. When she’d admitted her feelings for Nathaniel, he was hopeful that she could be happy with the artist, though there had been that look in her eye… usually when she sabotaged her own happiness it ended with a lost weekend on an island where she tried to drink her memories away. He never thought she’d resort to having those memories completely erased through a radical medical procedure.

Deleted.

Extreme as it seemed, Adrien had to admit he preferred it to finding her overdosed on a hotel bathroom floor.

He sighed and stared out into the night.

“Mr. Agreste?”

Adrien jumped at the sudden voice and his feet slipped off the rail. He landed unsteadily on the deck and felt a small hand clutch at his suit and tug, as though to stop him falling overboard. He stumbled back and landed against a petite figure, who caught him under his arm before he could fall completely to his knees.

“I am so sorry!” she cried. She released his arm but didn’t step away—her hands fluttered anxiously, swiping at his jacket where she’d wrinkled it in her grasp.

“It’s fine,” he said, leaning down to brush dust from his pant legs. He felt a small snag—a rip in the fabric by the knee, and winced. “At least I didn’t fall in.”

“I would have,” she chuckled, still wiping uselessly against his sleeve. “Of course I’m a clumsy mess, but you’re so—”

Adrien began to straighten up but froze half-way when he found himself nose to nose with his rescuer. Close enough that, if given the time, he could memorize the lace-trim pattern of her freckles. Her eyes widened, a flash of sapphire in the dark.

 “—tall,” she finished, the word a caramel-coated breath of air he could feel on his lips.

He stood the rest of the way and took a slow step away from her, but…

Oh.

The damage had been done.

The amused twist of her lips, the sweep of her butterfly-wing lashes against her cheek as she blinked—he felt like they’d had been drawn on his mind in permanent ink. He wondered vaguely if she had been too late to save him—if he had fallen overboard after all, and now he was drowning. He swallowed, half expecting his lungs to fill with Seine.

It took Adrien a moment to realize he was staring at her, and his cheeks warmed. He glanced away quickly, but not too quickly to miss that she was watching him like other people watch the sun rise—he could feel the weight of her eyes as though they were her actual fingers burning up his sides as they swept from his face to his feet, and back again. He fought a grin, and suddenly it was her turn to blush.

“Sorry,” she repeated, and he wondered if she was apologizing for the near-drowning disaster or for the less-than subtle ogling.

“It’s really okay,” he answered, meaning it either way.

She made a sound somewhere between a throat-clearing and a nervous chuckle. “Anyway, I came up here—that is, they sent me up to find Adrien Agreste? Everyone is looking for him.”

Right. Chloe had probably sent everyone she could wrangle to hunt him down.

“Oh. Why is that?”

She looked to be fighting a smile as she answered. “Because he’s lost.”

 “Haven’t seen him,” he said casually. “I’ll keep my eyes open though.”

“Nice try, but I definitely recognize your face,” she smirked.

He groaned. “The perfume ad?”

“Fashion week. Plus your face is on the gala poster. That, and I’m having you for dessert.”

He blinked.

“Wait!” She slapped a hand to her forehead, her eyes wide in panic. “What I meant is that I’m going to eat your face! I mean, no! Haha. That would be crazy. Everyone’s going to eat—my face—that I make of you!”

“Sorry….. what?”

“CROQUEMBOUCHE!” she shouted. “I’m from the bakery. I was hired to build a croquembouche that looks like your head.” She exhaled, blowing her bangs out of her eyes. “For dessert.”

Adrien dissolved into breathless laughter. “Sorry… but that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Well I’m not the one who ordered an 800 euro tower of sugared vanity, so…”

He laughed even harder. “Neither am I!”

“I just mean,” she said, “that it’s a lot to choux on.”

His laughter cut off as her words sunk in and he caught the impish light in her eye. “Was that a pastry pun?”

“Maybe.”

who is

this girl

and is it too soon

to propose

Adrien tried to rein in his reckless heart so he could say something normal. “What's your name?”

Yes, that was good.

“Marinette.”

“Marinette,” he echoed.

She smiled at him, but it was a dazed, pink-cheeked smile that made him wonder if she knew he had mentally added “Agreste” after her name just see how it sounded (perfect, by the way), and that he was trying to figure out why the moon shone differently on her than it ever had on anyone else.

“And you’re Adrien Agreste,” she said softly.

“I am.”

“I found you.”

“You did.” He stepped closer.

“And now that I’ve found you…”

Adrien’s heart stuttered. Now that you’ve found me you can do anything you want with me.

“…I’m supposed to send you downstairs so you can make a toast.”

Right. He was here as the Face™ of his father’s company and he was due to thank their guests and encourage everyone to write big fat checks to their charitable foundation. “I’m late.”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“And my pants are ripped.”

“Where…?” She glanced down, her attention going right to the tear by his knee. “Oh! That’s… that’s my fault, isn’t it.”

“No, you’re fine—”

“Actually… do you have a minute?” She reached into the pocket of her sleek black jumpsuit and pulled out a tiny pouch. She popped it open and he realized it was a sewing kit, from which she extracted a needle and a measure of black thread. She presented the needle with a grin of triumph. “I can fix it.”

“Really? That’s amazing! You just have that with you?”

Marinette nodded. “I’m a designer. You never know when you’ll need to sew.”

“I thought you were a baker.”

“Fine. I’m a current baker and a someday designer. Sit,” she commanded.

He chose a spot on a nearby bench and sat down, propping up his leg to allow her access to the damaged area. She knelt in front of him and squinted at the offending spot. When she bit her lip, her brows furrowed in concentration, and he thought that may be the most adorable thing I’ve ever seen.

He tried to focus on something else, and his attention was drawn to the pretty little ladybug earrings that sparkled in the soft light of the deck.

“It’s almost on the seam,” she said. “That’s good. It will make the repair less noticeable. I’ll have to make super small stitches—ideally I’d come at it from the inside but since I’m guessing you want to keep your pants on…” she paused, and a blush flooded her face as she realized what she’d said.

“..…yep.” His voice cracked.

Marinette was frozen for a long moment, clearly rethinking her life, her needle hovering by his leg. She seemed to finally resolve that some things were best left unacknowledged and set about her task with careful deliberation. She pinched the fabric and folded it by the tear, pulling it clear of his skin so she could work. “So, what’s this fancy speech you need to make?” she asked. If her bright tone was a little forced by the awkwardness, he didn’t point it out.

“I’m supposed to thank our donors and toast to their generosity.”

“You don’t think they’re all toasted enough as it is?”

Adrien laughed. “Probably.” He watched the quick flash of her needle with fascination. She was already nearly finished. “You’re really good at that.”

“Thanks.” She wrapped the tail of the thread around her pinky finger and, with a clever motion Adrien couldn’t follow, created a tiny knot.

“So you’re a designer?” He left off the someday part. He could already tell she was too talented to put any hypothetical behind the title.

She glanced up at him, a delighted smile on her face that said she’d noticed the omission. “I mean, I’m no Gabriel Agreste, but I get by. I made this jumpsuit.”

Adrien’s eyes widened as he looked at her outfit with new appreciation. He wouldn’t have known it wasn’t a professional piece—it was expertly fitted, hugging at the waist and then flowing seamlessly down her legs, and the smooth lay of the fabric on the neckline was… not where he should be looking.

He cleared his throat and focused back on her fingers as she snapped off the extra thread. “It’s really beautiful.”

“Merde,” she hissed.

“Are you okay?”

“Dropped my needle.”

“Oh!” Adrien reached into his suit pocket to fish out his phone. “We can use the flashlight on my phone, hang on—”

“No, don’t worry about it.” She shrugged and stood up. “I was finished anyway.”

“Still…” Adrien trailed off as he saw the stream of notifications lighting up his phone. He could ignore the angry texts from Chloe, but his father… he gave Marinette an apologetic look.

She understood. “You have to go.”

“Yeah.” He got to his feet but found himself struggling to actually leave.

“You have to go,” she repeated with a laugh. “I can save you from a wardrobe malfunction or a watery grave, but even I can’t save you from the drunken clutches of the Paris elite.”

“How much would I have to pay you to throw the croquembouche overboard?”

She gave him a playful shove.

He… wasn’t sure what came over him. With a boldness he didn’t know he possessed, he caught her hand in his and drew it to his lips. He heard her breath catch as he pressed a soft kiss to her knuckles.

“Enchanté, Marinette.” He brushed his thumb over the place he’d left the kiss, and then released her hand and reached up to rub his neck bashfully. “I have to go,” he said, a reminder to himself more than anything.

“Right.” She let her hand fall to her side and blinked rapidly, clearing the glazed look from her eyes to regard him with the same careful concentration she’d given the imperfect fabric—analytical, curious, and fascinated.

He felt his cheeks warm under the scrutiny. “What is it?” he asked.

She shrugged one shoulder. “This may sound strange.”

“That’s okay.”

She met his eyes, and her focus softened into a gentle smile. “I was thinking that… we live in a crazy world where pieces of our lives can be erased like they never even happened. I just wanted to memorize this moment so… so I could keep it, if that makes sense.”

His heart gave a little flutter. She wanted to keep this moment, meeting him. She wanted to keep… him. “I understand exactly what you mean,” he grinned, but his expression faltered as his phone lit up in persistent demand. “My father is going to kill me,” he said, taking a step back toward the door.

Marinette nodded. “Go,” she said.

“I just—”

“Go!” she gave him a little push, bubbling over with exasperated laughter.

He nodded and almost ran for the stairs, but not before turning for one last look at her. She smiled at him fondly, her eyes reflecting starlight and some unidentifiable magic, and he ordered his heart to memorize the image.

So he could keep it.

His father’s assistant met him at the bottom of the stairs, her face drawn tight in disapproval. She didn’t ask where he’d been, but trailed after him all the way past the kitchen and into the dining area, her hand hovering by his elbow like she was ready to grab him if he tried to disappear again.

She handed him a wireless clip-on microphone and a small stack of notecards. “I’ll tell the sound team that you’re ready.”

“Thank you, Nathalie.”

“And your father wants to speak with you immediately afterwards.”

Adrien sighed. “I’d be surprised if he didn’t.”

She straightened the lapel of his suit where he’d hastily attached the mic. “Do you need anything else?”

“No, thank you, Nathalie.”

She nodded and began to walk away, passing close to the dessert table, where Adrien saw his own face smiling back from a truly uncanny pile of caramel-drizzled profiteroles.

“Wait!” he called before he knew what he was doing.

Nathalie paused and looked back.

“Can I get the name of the bakery that made the croquembouche?”

She nodded once, one brow raised in bemusement, but didn’t question the request. “I’ll have it on your desk tomorrow morning.”

Adrien grinned.

Despite the years she’d spent working in her parent’s bakery, Marinette had never managed to become a morning person. This morning was especially difficult—she hadn’t gotten much sleep due to the Agreste Foundation Gala the night before.

It was meant to be a quick thing: drop off the dessert, stage it on the table, and go home. But the moment she’d entered the kitchen to sign out with the caterer she’d been ordered to join the hunt for the errant Agreste heir, who’d disappeared and sent the event staff into a tizzy fueled by the temper of Gabriel Agreste.

And then she’d been the one to find him. And then…

When her parents asked why she was so tired this morning, she cited a vague “incident” at the gala. She omitted several important parts, like how she’d been completely undone the first moment she heard Adrien laugh, or how she’d lingered by door so she could catch his speech—which had been heartfelt and so incredibly charming, to her utter dismay—and then she’d gone home, her silly heart distracted and ruined for the rest of the evening.

She’d spent half the night restlessly pacing a track in her room, scolding herself for allowing her heart to be touched by a famous model, heir to a fortune and foundation and a fashion dynasty, who had probably forgotten her by the night’s end as thoroughly as though she’d been deleted.

She should probably try to forget him. Too bad she’d done an incredibly efficient job of memorizing the shape of his face, the light of his smile…

The way he’d smiled at her.

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette blinked, suddenly remembering where she was (at the counter of the bakery) and what she was doing (staring into space, daydreaming, halfway through tying her apron). She shook her head in an attempt to clear it and come back to the present.

“Sorry,” she said to the man in front of her, whose reflective vest and helmet suggested he was a bike messenger. “That’s me.”

He pushed a clipboard under her nose. “Sign here please, Miss.”

She accepted his proffered pen, glancing askance at the box he set on the counter while she signed.

“Merci,” she said, her eyes on the package.

“Yep,” the man said, turning for the exit the moment she returned the form. Distracted by her curiosity, she didn’t even look up when the bell rang, signaling his exit.

She shuffled through the drawer by the register and came up with a dull letter-opener, which she used to pop the tape on the package. She opened cardboard flaps and tipped the box so the contents tumbled out on the counter.

Her heart flipped over as she recognized the grey box and purple butterfly insignia of the Agreste fashion brand. It was a jewelry box—the kind that usually contained platinum cufflinks or diamond earrings from their acclaimed Papillion line.

Her mouth went dry. She took a deep breath and opened the box.

And laughed out loud. Inside was a phone number, pinned to the silk lining of the box by a silver sewing needle.

She freed the slip of paper, careful not to prick her finger, and flipped it over to find a neatly written note. She pressed a hand to her over-warm cheek and read:

I was hoping you could be troubled to save me one more time. I was thinking dinner? Anything but croquembouche. Yours, Adrien

Chapter Text

“Of course the most popular question from our viewers has been: how does it work?”

Dr. de Vere nods. “While the development of the process was extremely delicate and complicated, the actual procedure is simple. The patient is given an injection containing a compound that increases their focus and makes them more susceptible to suggestion.

Next, they are taken through a guided meditation where they focus on the painful memory. This allows us to map the firing patterns in their neurological response to it. We then ionize the neurons with a gamma knife so they are unable to recreate those patterns.”

“If the patient is rendered unable to create those neural patterns again, does that mean that emotion, say, fear, is lost to them forever? Fear can be a healthy thing sometimes.”

“No, not exactly. Our brains are constantly adapting and mapping new neural paths, so the person would have no trouble making new memories. The human brain is an amazing thing.”

Marinette tugged her coat tightly around herself as she hurried through the slushy streets. She had been working on a large order at the bakery when her parents rushed her out—she’d lost track of the hour and was nearly late for her second job.

For the past several months she’d been picking up hours at a touristy little clothing boutique down Rue Gotlib from the bakery. It was a convenient walk from home and the owner allowed her to sell a few of her own designs there. She was hoping to save enough money to move out of her parents’ house and get a place of her own. Or, more likely in the Paris real estate market, a flat with several roommates.

Not that she didn’t love living with her parents— it always smelled like fresh bread there, and they were supportive and didn’t say anything about the noise she made when she lost track of time and spent all hours of the night working on her designs. Her ancient but ever-reliable sewing machine was loud. She scrunched her nose at the thought. Maybe roommates weren’t a good idea after all.

Maybe just one roommate. Who was really well off.

She warmed at the idea.

Marinette arrived at la Sirène without a moment to spare and paused outside the door to knock the slush off her boots. She stepped inside only to be greeted by a sour look from the shop owner. 

“Sorry,” Marinette said with a puzzled glance at her watch. She wondered if the cheap timepiece had gotten slow since that incident last week when she’d accidentally baked it into a red velvet cake. “Am I late?”

Ondine sighed. “You’re on time. Barely.”

“Then what’s with the look?”

“The look is because it’s almost Valentine’s Day, and I don’t have a boyfriend, and someone’s decided to really rub it in this year!”

Marinette looked up from fishing her name tag out of her purse and noticed, for the first time, what was taking up most of the boutique’s limited counter space. “Oh.”

“Oh is right.”

How had she missed that? There, in a crystal vase the size of a horse bucket, sat what had to be a hundred long-stemmed red roses. Marinette wandered over to them in a daze and breathed in their aroma. “These are for me?”

“They certainly aren’t for me,” Ondine said, her usual sweet, good-natured smile taking over her face. “I guess I can’t be too mad. Now I don’t have to pay to decorate the store for Valentine’s Day. And it smells like Eden in here.”

Marinette nodded, not really listening, and freed the heavy cardstock tag from the arrangement.

Marinette - I tried to get a rose for every day since I met you but they said they could only fit one hundred in the vase and I’ve known you for one hundred and twenty two days. Isn’t that amazing? The best one hundred and twenty two days of my whole lif character limit reached

She snorted when she read the end of the card. It was just so perfectly him.

“Well?”

Marinette looked up, suddenly remembering that she wasn’t alone. “Well what?” she said evasively, knowing perfectly well, what.

Ondine threw her hands up. “I ignore you blushing when you stare into space, I don’t say a word when you’re constantly texting with that dopey grin, but you can’t expect me to see this criminal level PDA and not demand an explanation. I thought you said you weren’t seeing anyone?”

Marinette laughed. “I wasn’t, when I first started here!”

“You went from single to someone sending you entire gardens without mentioning it to me? I thought we were friends, Marinette. That hurts.”

Marinette could tell she didn’t mean it, but she still felt a twist of guilt. Not because she hadn’t told Ondine, but because she hadn’t really told anyone .

And Adrien… Adrien hated that. The only person she’d confided in was her best friend, but Alya hadn’t even met Adrien yet. She’d been traveling the world doing journalistic research for months. Marinette missed her terribly, but she was happy that her bestie was living her dream, traveling the world with her long-time boyfriend Nino and doing the work she loved.

It was just hard, sometimes, not having her around to share this with.

She shook her head to dispel the lonely feeling and smiled again. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Obviously.”

“And… it’s getting serious?”

“What’s his name?”

“Um,” Marinette trailed off and busied herself with straightening a display of camisoles.

Ondine’s face fell, seemingly realizing that Marinette wasn’t going to continue. “That was supposed to be an easy question, dear.”

“I forgot it,” Marinette said stupidly, and Ondine giggled.

“What, did you have his name deleted out of your memory?”

“Yes, that’s it.”

“Speaking of SPA,” Ondine said, and Marinette gave her an encouraging nod, grateful for the subject change if it took her out of the hot seat. “I was talking with this boy at the gym the other day and he brought up a really good point. Which is rare for him, because he can be…” she shrugged, and Marinette felt the fondness behind the gesture. Ondine tended to bring up this “boy from the gym” a lot.

“Sure,” Marinette smirked.

“So, like, what if you go in for a SPA procedure and you’re supposed to be focused on the thing you’re deleting, but then your mind accidentally wanders and you start thinking about something else? You’re like, I have to focus on this horrible accident I was in, but then you remember you were supposed to buy marshmallows at the store and boom! You forget marshmallows exist.”

Marinette laughed. “That would be fine with me! Marshmallows are squishy and weird.”

“You’re squishy and weird.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at her friend. “Anyway, I think they give you some kind of drug first that makes you really focused. They’ve made it pretty foolproof, from what I’ve seen online. But that would be funny, I suppose.”

The doorbell chimed then, and several older women entered the store, cooing over an apron that hung in the window. Marinette wandered over to assist them, relieved that she’d been given a reprieve from questions she wasn’t quite ready to answer.

For now, anyway.

ladybug

Have I mentioned that I adore you?

minouminou

yeah but you can say it again if you want

ladybug

I adore you

minouminou

did you get the thing

ladybug

thing

Is that what we are calling flower mountain now?

minouminou

no I didn’t know we were calling it flower mountain that is way better

ladybug

It is amazing and you are amazing

minouminou

wow I am so glad you like it because I was like is this too much? but the flower store lady said there was no such thing as too much when it comes to flowers and she had really wise eyes so I believed her

ladybug

Oh no it was definitely too much

minouminou

nah

ladybug

You know, you could have fit more on the card if you didn’t write out your numbers long-hand

minouminou

what do you mean

ladybug

Like you put one hundred and twenty two and you could put 122 and not run out of space

the end cut off a lil

minouminou

oh no when did it cut off

ladybug

After “The best one hundred and twenty two days of my whole lif”?

minouminou

which time

ladybug

…how many times did you say it

Adrien how long was the original note?!

minouminou

I am looking at the receipt and it says right here “limit 200 characters” I feel so dumb

I stapled extra pages to the form bc the box was so small

ladybug

Adrien HOW MANY PAGES

minouminou

can you come over after work? I want to tell you something

ladybug

Are you going to tell me

how many pages?

Of course I can come. Everything ok?

minouminou

yeah it’s nothing bad

Nobody answered the door at Adrien’s townhouse, so Marinette let herself in with the key he’d given her for emergencies and (he was very adamant about this part) also non-emergencies.

She smelled smoke.

“Adrien?” she called, her voice shrill with worry even to her own ears.

“Kitchen!” he yelled.

She was already on her way back to the kitchen when she heard him. She rushed in to find him shoving open a window, and then he turned to her, his expression frantic, his apron splattered in red. She pointed at the stain in alarm.

“Blood or sauce?”

“Sauce,” he said miserably.

She nodded and rushed to the oven which seemed to be the source of the smoke. She wrapped her hands in mitts and pulled an overflowing stoneware from the mess. Whatever had been inside was flaking and charred. “Oh mon Chaton,” she tutted, setting it on the stovetop with a clatter. “You made dinner.”

Marinette giggled at his answering groan.

She grabbed a dishtowel and tried to wave some of the smoke towards the window, but she was interrupted by Adrien, who wrapped his arms firmly around her waist and pulled her back into him. He hunched to rest his chin on her shoulder. “Sorry,” he murmured. His breath tickled her cheek.

“It was a thoughtful gesture.” She smiled and tilted to rest her head against his. “What did you make?”

“It was meant to be cassoulet?”

Marinette nodded, smiling at his unsure tone. It wasn’t his fault, she knew. He’d been raised with a staff of personal chefs and had never needed to cook for himself until he’d moved out of his family mansion last year. Even then, he mostly survived on take-out, meals his father insisted on having sent over and, more recently, Marinette’s cooking. She’d tried to teach him the basics but the man had a special gift for culinary disaster.

“And… I followed the recipe, but when I got to the end I found out it was supposed to have been cooking for hours . And I only had a little while before you got here so I figured, if I only have a quarter of the available baking time, I could calculate the rate of temperature increase by convection and figure out a new baking temperature, only the oven wouldn’t go above three hundred—”

“Celsius?!”

“…is that wrong?”                                           

Marinette shot a hand forward and jabbed forcefully at the oven’s cancel/off button.

His forehead dropped to her shoulder. “I’m an idiot.”

She twisted, turning in his arms so she could look at him properly. His eyes were rimmed red from the smoke, and the contrast made the green of them brighter than ever. She stared into them, mesmerized. “You are so smart, Adrien.”

His bottom lip pouted out a little, so she kissed it.

“Honest. You are constantly blowing me away with your quick thinking, and your cleverness. Your good heart, and your kind words...” She punctuated each statement with another little kiss—a diabolical plan that seemed to be working, if the light in his eye was any indication. “Your heartbreaking smile, your—”

He cut her off by covering her mouth adamantly with his own, gripping her hips and pulling her to him. She sighed against his lips and brought her hands up to drag through his hair, which she had found to be an efficient method of diverting his attention in the past. It was super effective—he melted under her hands with a hum of contentment.

She reached behind him to toy with the strings of his apron but they were interrupted, rather rudely, by the shrieking of the smoke alarm.

Marinette thought she heard Adrien growl under his breath as he pulled away, and she laughed at him as he ran to the hall to disable the alarm.

By the time he got back she was scraping the burnt remnants of their dinner into the trash.

“Maybe we should order take-out,” she chuckled.

He gave her a crooked grin, his earlier sulk effectively dispatched. “I’ll grab the menus.”

“If you want home cooked cassoulet some time, I’d be happy to make it for you.”

He looked up from his drawer of take-out menus. “I know, but I wanted to surprise you.”

“It’s not Valentine’s yet. What’s the occasion?” she asked. She tried to sound nonchalant, but there was something in his voice that caused a nervous flutter in her stomach.

Adrien stopped rifling and closed the drawer with a click. He turned to face her, his expression serious. “We’ve been together awhile, Marinette.”

She nodded. “One hundred and twenty-two days, but who’s counting?”

Adrien stepped towards her and took her hands. “I want to let you know…” he trailed off.

Marinette felt her heart begin to race and she swallowed. “You’re making me nervous.”

“I think you’re it for me.”

Her eyes widened.

He let go of her hands to rub the back of his neck nervously. “I mean… sorry… I just wanted to tell you that I think… I want to go public. I want to introduce you to my dad, and take you to company functions… I know you wanted to stay out of the spotlight but—”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” His face broke into a beautiful grin. “Just like that?”

She nodded. “I know… I haven’t made things easy on you…”

“I meant it, Mari, I don’t mind—”

“No, you’ve been really patient. I was afraid at first, of being followed by photographers, of having my personal life be fodder for magazines—”

“—of my father—”

“He’s intimidating!” Marinette gave him a playful shove, and he caught her hands and pulled her back to him. “The point is, your life can be kind of crazy. But it is your life , and I want to be part of it.”

Adrien planted a kiss on her forehead and then leaned back to look down at her. “I want you to be part of it, too.”

“So…”

He looked at her expectantly.

She sighed. “So… call your father. Schedule a dinner.”

“Really?”

She nodded, pulling his hand up so she could lean her cheek into it. “And then we go on a date.”

“In public? So I can show you off?”

“You’re an outdoor cat now, Chaton.”

He rolled his eyes, despite his wide smile. “One time. I purred one time! And it was more like a hum anyway.”

“Mmhmm.”

“And you made me do it!”

She looked up at him from under her lashes. “Would you like me to make you do it again?”

That got his attention. She leaned up to kiss him, but to her surprise he took a nervous step back. “Wait.”

“What’s wrong?”

He looked at her, his chest rising in quick, shallow breaths that betrayed some inner turmoil.

“Adrien?”

“There’s another thing I wanted to… and it’s okay if you don’t.”

Marinette blinked at him, completely lost. “Sorry, I don’t—”

“I love you.”

Oh.

“And you don’t have to say anything back. It’s just that when I look at you my heart feels like it’s going to burst from loving you so much, and I had to tell you.”

Marinette thought maybe her heart would burst. “Adrien,” she breathed.

“And I knew we’d have to tell everyone soon, because I think about you all day—your smile, your voice, the way your hands feel when I hold them, and I’m sure everyone around me can tell by looking at me what a lovesick fool I am. I’m transparent as glass, and it’s all Marinette in there. The first time I saw you I thought, who is this girl, and is it too soon…” he paused to take a breath, and Marinette cut him off.

She kissed him fiercely, deeply—a kiss that told him everything he needed to know in return.

Chapter Text

“Does it hurt?”

“Not at all. Only the emotional pain during the procedure of having to dwell on memories that cause them distress. So far every subject has agreed that the brief discomfort is worth the payoff.”

“Which is?”

“A lifetime at peace. Knowing that it’s the last time they will ever be haunted by that memory.”

minouminou

can you do 7:30 tomorrow for dinner with my father?

ladybug

Oh that was fast!

minouminou

sorry

like too fast?

ladybug

No I can do 7:30

minouminou

okay great!

I can pick you up?

if you want

ladybug

I’ll be coming from work so I’ll just meet you at the restaurant

minouminou

it’s actually at the mansion I hope that’s okay

ladybug

at the what

marinette

I have some breaking news for my fav intrepid reporter! Can you talk?

alya-bestie

Marineeeeeette my beloved

Sorry, actually in a meeting. Can text though. What’s up?

marinette

Adrien told me he loves me

alya-bestie

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

OMG 😍 how are you feeling? How did he say it?

marinette

He was so sweet he made dinner and it was a disaster and he was so nervous

I am kind of just 🥰

alya-bestie

Aww that’s too cute

You said it back right

marinette

…

alya-bestie

MARINETTE

marinette

No no no it’s not that

I had just already planned this big valentines day confession and I’ve been working on it for ages and I didn’t want to spoil it

But he HAS to already know I’m in love with him I am SO NOT subtle

He can wait two more days to hear the actual words, right?

Now I’m seriously overthinking

alya-bestie

Was it so awkward that he said it and you didn’t though?

marinette

no? like we started kissing and the oven caught on fire so

alya-bestie

pretending to be surprised

well I’m so happy for you

marinette

he’s like the ONE the one, Alya

alya-bestie

wow

I’m so glad you found your Nino

We will have to buy Adrien a little hat

marinette

I think you guys will like him a lot

Seriously though you have to meet him now that we’re going public 

WHEN are you coming home

alya-bestie

Actually :/

marinette

Nooooooooooooo 😭

alya-bestie

I heard literally today that the Journal got bought by some deep-pocket enterprise and they are going to extend my grant two months and add three more countries to the SPA series I’m writing

It’s a huge deal like they are PAYING me now

marinette

Um my BFF the big time investigative journalist? I am so so proud of you! You completely deserve it!!!

Is it okay that I’m still a little sad?

alya-bestie

I know babe I miss you so much

marinette

Miss you too

alya-bestie

I love you! in case you haven’t heard those three words enough yet this week ;)

marinette

Love you too!

alya-bestie

so you CAN say it back

marinette

🔪

Marinette glanced down at her outfit for the tenth time, wondering if the charcoal sheath dress she’d chosen was too plain for meeting the great Gabriel Agreste. She’d designed it herself and she’d been really proud of the lines but now, in the florescent light of the public bus, it looked exceptionally uninteresting. She thought she slightly resembled the cold steel pole she gripped for balance on the swaying bus.

She would be very late if she went home to change now. That would be a terrible first impression and Gabriel Agreste would undoubtedly be offended.

Would he be more offended to find out his son was dating a human bus pole?

The bus arrived at her stop and it was officially too late to wonder.

It was only a short walk from her stop to the Agreste mansion, a fact Marinette found herself increasingly grateful for as her designer kitten heels dug into her foot. She’d purchased them second hand, but you could hardly tell.

Gabriel Agreste would probably be able to tell.

Her insides squirmed, but she tried to shake the feeling. “He’s just a man,” she reminded herself, “and his son is in love with me.” A nearby pigeon cooed skeptically in response. Marinette ignored it, squared her shoulders and walked on.

The front gate opened as she approached, startling her. Someone must have been watching her through the camera on the gate. She took a hesitant step through, her bravado failing as she took in the courtyard around her.

It was not at all what she was expecting. How did Adrien, her marvel of unfailing sunshine, come from this place of cold, imposing stone? It felt more like a prison than a home. Yet he’d somehow sprouted up like a dandelion in a sidewalk-crack.

“Marinette!”

She looked up to see Adrien trotting down the steps toward her. He broke into a jog as he approached her and she thought they were going to collide with far too much momentum, but then he lifted her up and spun her in a circle, catching her completely off-guard. His whole face was alight with excitement, and Marinette suddenly wished they’d done this so much sooner. She laughed despite her nerves, and the sound echoed around the courtyard, bouncing off the walls so it sounded like there was a whole chorus of Marinettes giggling, and a whole dance troupe of kitten heels clicking back onto the walk.

He took her hand in his as he stepped back to get a better look at her. “Chic,” he said, raising an eyebrow in appreciation. “Is this the one you’ve been working on?”

“Um, yeah.” She used her free hand to brush imaginary wrinkles from the skirt. “You don’t think it’s too plain?”

He shook his head, his face softening from admiration into his signature Marinette look—halfway smiling and a little bit awestruck, like he’d gone short of breath. “You look too good for me.”

“Be serious.” Her voice was stern, though she ruined the effect by kissing his nose.

“Seriously, the design is sleek and the craftsmanship is pristine. The only part my father won’t like will be admitting that my girlfriend might be more talented than him.”

“Ha, ha.”

“He’s going to like you.”

“How do you—”

“Because I love you.”

It wasn’t the first time he’d told her, but Marinette’s stomach still flipped over at the words, and the Marinette look that went with it, and she found herself seriously considering spoiling her Valentine’s Day surprise by saying it back now.

“Adrien—”

She heard his quiet intake of breath, saw the brightness of hope in his eyes, and realized that she absolutely couldn’t make him wait any longer.

She’d never told someone she loved them before, not romantically. But she was certain. She knew with all her heart, even as it began to race, quick as the wings of a bumblebee.

While she was wrestling her thoughts into place, he was apparently coming to all the wrong conclusions. She saw his face fall, the hope there wavering into uncertainty, and it forced the words from her mouth.

“Adrien, I—” she began, at the same time he blurted a rushed “It’s okay if— oh, sorry, go ahead.”

“No, I just wanted—”

Marinette jumped as the door to the house swung open behind him, revealing a stately silhouette in an opening of bright light.

Gabriel Agreste was taller in person. 

“Dinner was scheduled for seven-thirty, Adrien.”

Adrien glanced at his watch and winced. “Sorry, father.”

“Sorry won’t reheat the soup course.”

“No,” Adrien agreed. “But I’m sure the chef will.”

Marinette had to bite her lip to stifle her giggle, though Gabriel’s answering look was decidedly unamused.

She trained her face into a more sober expression. “Sorry for our tardiness, Mr. Agreste.”

“Dad, this is Mari—”

“Introductions inside, Adrien.”

“Right, sorry.”

Gabriel turned and strode back into the house, leaving the door expectantly open behind him.

Adrien and Marinette exchanged a look of amusement (tempered by anxiety on her part) and followed without delay. He took her hand as they walked and gave it a squeeze, so she squeezed back three times: I. Love. You. You know, in case he was telepathic.

His answering smile was reasonably cheerful, so, maybe he was.

She tried not to gawk in the entryway—minimalist in design, but extravagant in size—as a maid came to take her wrap and purse. Marinette declined the offer, since the evening chill felt somehow increased the further they moved into the house.

Adrien kept his suit jacket as well. He didn’t usually run cold-blooded but Marinette thought, from the way he gripped the lapels defensively when the maid offered to take it, that he might also need the comfort of a little extra warmth in this house.

“Father, I’d like to introduce you to my girlfriend, Marinette.” He said it like he was offering his father a grand gift, and Marinette felt her cheeks warming as she reached out her hand.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, M. Agreste.”

He gave her hand a firm shake, and Marinette, despite her nerves, forced herself to keep steady eye contact and return the greeting with equal firmness.

“You as well, Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng. Belated as the pleasure may be.”

Marinette didn’t know how to reply to that statement—she was still trying to figure out how and when he’d learned her last name.

“Sorry about the late introduction, father. We’ve just been enjoying getting to know each other without any… outside influence.”

“Yes, I’m certain Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng wants nothing to do with my influence.”

“Please, M. Agreste, call me Marinette,” she said, falling back on manners while at a loss for any other response.

Adrien tapped his foot on the tile to break the silence that followed. “So… should we go eat that soup that was such an emergency?”

Gabriel’s lips paled like he was clenching them together. “Dining room,” he said shortly, and turned towards the hall.

Marinette followed after him, grabbing Adrien’s hand to drag him along. “Behave,” she hissed to him.

“I won’t let him be rude to you,” he whispered back.

“Maybe if we’re really nice then he will be, too?”

Adrien snorted. Thankfully the sound was quiet enough to be hidden by the creak of the formal dining room doors opening.

The table was ridiculously long. Adrien pulled out a chair near the middle for Marinette, and (to her great relief) sat himself directly next to her once she’d settled. Gabriel glanced from one end of the table to the other and, upon finding them all equidistant from his guests, chose a seat at the end near the window.

A pair of waiters came in almost immediately and began pouring glasses of ice water and serving them all with soup (which turned out to be quite hot, despite everyone’s grave concerns to the contrary).

“This is delicious,” Marinette offered into the quiet.

No one answered, so she shot a pleading look at Adrien. He paused with his spoon halfway to his lips. After a brief exchange of significant glances, he set his spoon back into the bowl and turned to his father. “So… how is the spring line looking this year?”

Gabriel patted his own lips with a napkin before responding. “It should make quite a statement. We’ll be bringing you in to shoot menswear in the next week or so.”

“Good.”

Silence fell again, and Marinette chose to break it herself this time. “Your fall line was amazing, Mr. Agreste. I really appreciated your fresh take on sweater vests.”

He regarded her with a spark of interest, then—the first he’d shown all night. “Adrien mentioned that you have an interest in fashion.”

“I do.”

“He said you have ambitions to be a designer someday.”

“She is a designer,” Adrien said firmly. “She’s done some great work and even has a retail space.”

“Oh… it’s just a little boutique that lets me put some of my stuff out. I work there, actually.”

Gabriel nodded, fully losing interest in his soup to fix his stare on her. “How delightful for you. Are you working on any… grander plans?” he asked with a casual glance at his son.

“Well, I had considered design school.”

“But I’m sure you could skip all that. With the right connections.”

Marinette, who was distracted by the waiter removing her bowl, didn’t catch the implication in his tone. Adrien, however, set his spoon down with a loud clatter and sent a warning look to his father.

“Sorry?” Marinette said, realizing she’d missed something.

“Nothing,” Adrien said, scratching at the knee of his pants. “Marinette, you should tell him about your parents’ bakery.”

“They… own one.” Marinette offered, still confused about the turn conversation was taking.

“Oh, good, the fish is here.” Adrien said loudly as the plates were set before them. “Father loves red snapper. What was that fish you made us the other day, Mari? Marinette is an excellent cook, father.”

Marinette blinked at him, too bewildered to answer.

“It must have been a relief for you to find her, then,” Gabriel said, meeting his son’s determined gaze. “Adrien has never needed to cook for himself. I’m sure he’s been struggling these last few months, fending for himself. His decision to ‘find his independence’ as he put it, might have been ill-conceived.”

Adrien stared down at his fish, twin spots of bright color appearing on his cheeks.

“Not at all,” Marinette said affectionately, putting her hand on his knee under the table. “In fact, he made us the most unique cassoulet the other day.” Adrien looked up and met her laughing eyes with a small smile. “I can’t remember the last time I enjoyed a meal so much.”

He took her hand under the table and squeezed it three times.

Gabriel glanced between the two of them, calculating. “Well, I’m glad to hear he has someone looking out for him. I’m sure this whole arrangement has been beneficial for both of you.”

“Arrangement?” Marinette asked.

“Relationship,” Gabriel corrected himself. “You, an aspiring designer, on the arm of one of the biggest names in fashion. You get an introduction into one of the most exclusive families in the business. And he gets… homestyle food.”

“Father—”

“I understand you’re living with your parents at their place of business. That must be… crowded.”

“ Father—”

“I’m working very hard to find myself a new situation,” Marinette said.

Gabriel sent another meaningful glance towards his son. “I’m sure you are.”

Adrien stood up abruptly, his chair making an adamant screech against the marble tile. “That’s enough.”

His voice was calm, but Marinette saw his hand tremble where it clenched at his side. She rose from her seat beside him and tugged the sleeve of his jacket. “Adrien,” she said softly. “I’m fine.”

He turned to look at her, his expression softening as his eyes ran over her face. After a moment he gave her a small nod. “Do you want to go?”

“If that’s what you want,” she said quietly.

“Wait.”

They both turned to see his father standing, reaching one hand towards them. The hand fell to his side after a moment and he adjusted the flaps of his jacket, as though that small indication of remorse had caused some physical disturbance to his impeccable turnout.

“Wait, I… I’m sorry, son.”

Adrien scoffed impatiently and turned to leave.

“No! Mlle Du— Marinette. I’m sorry.”

Adrien did pause at that, glancing from his father to Marinette, who had stopped to hear him out.

“I’ve been abominably rude. I love my son very much and can be overprotective of him. That is not an excuse, but I hope you can be gracious enough to allow me a chance to make a better impression.”

Marinette felt Adrien’s eyes on her, letting her decide as she considered the apology. 

She knew she’d forgive Gabriel, for his son’s sake, but… it was fun to watch the imposing man squirm like a worm drying up on the sidewalk. Finally, when he’d begun to look as uncomfortable as she’d been all night, she nodded. “Of course,” she said magnanimously. “But… perhaps we should try this again another night. When we’re all feeling less…” She trailed off, not sure which adjective she could use to sufficiently describe her opinion of Gabriel Agreste. 

He returned her nod. “Thank you for your generosity. Would you allow me a moment to speak to my son alone?”

Adrien bristled. “Anything you have to say to me, you can say in front of—”

“It’s okay, Adrien.”

He looked down at her, his head tilted in question.

She shrugged her dark blue wrap up around her shoulders. “I’m tired, and I have to open the bakery tomorrow. You should stay and work things out with your father.”

“Marinette…”

“It’s really okay. You need to talk to him. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

Adrien’s lower lip pouted a little, which always made her laugh and poke a finger at it. She figured that was half the reason he did it—he liked to catch her hand and kiss it the way he’d done on the night they met.

She refrained tonight—she could feel Gabriel Agreste’s eyes heavy on them as he watched the exchange, his expression impassive.

She held Adrien’s gaze, her eyes earnest, until he let out a great sigh. “Okay. I’ll walk you out.”

She and his father exchanged cool, polite goodbyes, and then Adrien walked her to the front door. She had to reassure him a couple times that she was truly okay, though he never really seemed to believe her. “I just don’t want him to send you running,” he insisted, standing in the doorway as though he wished he could follow her right through it. 

He leaned down to scratch the knee of his pants again, a habit he seemed to have developed just tonight.

“You okay?” she asked.

“Oh, I’m used to him,” he answered.

“No… you keep scratching your knee.”

“Oh,” he said, glancing away as though embarrassed. “It’s my lucky suit. The stitching there is…” He trailed off, his cheeks coloring.

She glanced down at the knee of his suit, noticing a slight pull in the fabric. She frowned, wondering at the imperfection in the expensive suit, when she suddenly recognized the stitch pattern she saw there. Her mouth parted in a breath of disbelief and awe. “It’s your lucky suit?”

He shrugged, looking sheepishly back at her. “I was wearing it the night we met. It’s the one you fixed for me.”

“I remember,” she said, a bit dazed. Marinette spared a glance toward the dining room to be certain they weren’t being watched before pulling him down into a deep, slow kiss—a reassurance he was finally willing to accept. 

Before she could become completely lost in him, she pulled back slightly to murmur against his lips. “I adore you. I’m not running anywhere. You know I’m made of stronger stuff than that.”

“The strongest,” he hummed back, bumping his nose into hers.

“I have to go.”

He groaned in protest, but released his hold on her at last. “Call me tomorrow after work?”

“Yeah. Stop by if you have time and bring the suit pants. I’ll fix them properly so they don’t itch.”

“Can I get them back by Monday?”

“You’re wearing the same suit twice in one week? Don’t you own a thousand?”

“I just… please? I’d like them back for Valentine’s Day.” She had half a mind to tease him further, but he seemed a bit anxious, so she let the matter drop. It had been a nerve-wracking night.

“Of course, she agreed quickly. “I’ll make sure you have them by Valentine’s Day. Goodnight, Chaton.”

“Goodnight,” he answered. He began to step away before seemingly changing his mind and drawing her right back to himself. “Sorry,” he said, pulling her in and brushing his lips against hers. “This is the last kiss, I swear.”

She didn’t believe him at all.

Adrien and his father stared at each other silently over an untouched tray of tea, neither one willing to break the stalemate. Adrien was hoping for an explanation, and Gabriel was waiting for his son to regain some of his youthful compliance and move on.

So far, they were both disappointed.

“Have a macaron,” his father finally offered.

“No, thank you.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “Don’t be difficult. I thought you like macarons.”

“I thought I’m supposed to model your spring suits next week. You’re letting me eat sugar?”

“I’m… sure you know what you can handle.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow at the admission. His father was actually trying… he would have never made any such concession before Adrien had moved out.

He took a macaron, crumbling off a piece but not eating it—it felt too dry. Marinette’s were better.

“I am sorry, Adrien. It’s been a stressful week, and finding out you’ve been hiding this girl from me—”

“I wasn’t hiding her,” Adrien grumbled.

“—it made me wonder why you didn’t want me to know.”

“Seriously? You treat her the way you did tonight and still wonder why I didn’t introduce her sooner?”

Adrien heard the slow hiss of his father’s exhale and fought the familiar urge to back down. He set the macaron on his tea saucer, allowing him time to compose himself.

Gabriel fiddled with his cufflinks, his gaze fixed on nothing in particular. “I know I am hard on you, Adrien, but I do love you. I want to protect you from people who might try to use you for your money or your position in our industry.”

“Well, that’s not Marinette.”

“You are very sure of that, considering the short time you’ve known her.”

“It hasn’t been that short.”

“You’re still very young, Adrien. Six months is nothing.”

Adrien frowned. He couldn’t remember telling his father it had been six months, though it wouldn’t surprise him at all if he’d begun research on them the second he learned of the relationship, trying to see if the girl was worthy of his precious son, and to find ways to get rid of her if she wasn’t.

“I suppose,” his father went on, “that she is the reason you moved out.”

“Not at all,” Adrien said. “I’m an adult now. I just wanted a little independence, to try to find my own way in the world. I thought… I thought I might go to school.”

Gabriel raised a skeptical eyebrow. “What can a university teach you that you can’t learn working for the biggest fashion label in Paris?”

“That’s just it. I don’t want to work for Gabriel.”

“And that’s her influence?”

“It’s no one’s influence , father. That’s the point. It’s just me, making my own choices, and she supports me.”

Gabriel must have seen Adrien’s shortening patience and tried a new tactic. “Please, Adrien, drink your tea.”

Adrien raised an eyebrow. “I’m good.”

His father sighed. “I do want you to be happy. If this girl—” Adrien narrowed his eyes, and Gabriel quickly course-corrected. “If Marinette makes you happy, then I fully support you.”

“She does.”

“…Good. Drink your tea.”

Adrien, to soften the blow of his next declaration, lifted his teacup and took a big gulp. He winced at the bitterness—apparently his father didn’t want him having sugar after all. He set the half-empty cup down carefully and looked at his father. “I love her.”

“Indeed.” It didn’t sound like an agreement.

“I do. I love her,” Adrien said heatedly, rising to his feet. 

“That’s… good, then. Does she love you back?”

“Yes.”

Gabriel stared at his son, his expression unreadable, and Adrien felt his face heating under the scrutiny. “You’re sure?”

“I… that’s not—” The world tilted under Adrien’s feet and he slid one foot out to the side for balance. His thoughts were racing. She still wouldn’t say it. 

 But she did. Love him. 

Didn’t she? He was almost sure…

And anyway, how could his father possibly know…

His father’s anxious voice cut into his thoughts. “Adrien? What’s happening? What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine,” Adrien said, but his tongue felt thick around the words and there were little black spots crawling around the edges of his vision like ants. Was he having a panic attack? He’d never had one before.

“Adrien!”

Adrien felt cold tile against his hands and wondered how he’d ended up on the ground.

“Adrien?” There was a new voice– his father’s assistant. He didn’t remember her even being in the room. “Breathe slowly, Adrien. In and out. That’s it.”

“Nathalie?”

“Oh, good, he’s responding. Adrien, take another deep breath. Good.”

Adrien still felt the cool marble tile against his hands, but this time he knew he was sitting upright. He blinked spots away from his vision to see Nathalie watching a stop-watch, her fingers pressed into his wrist. His father was behind her, yelling at someone on the phone.

“What happened?” Adrien mumbled.

“You passed out.”

“Oh.”

“You’re coming around now, but you should still see a doctor.”

“—‘m fine.”

Adrien heard his father end the phone call with some kind of threat and then came over to Nathalie’s side to inspect his son. “He’s too pale.”

Adrien scraped the back of his mind for a joke he knew was there… something about not being tan enough to model swimwear. “Bathing suit,” he said feebly.

“What’s the matter with him?” Gabriel demanded.

“He should rest.”

“I’m fine,” Adrien repeated, although no one was listening to him.

“You’re getting an MRI. You’ve got an appointment first thing in the morning.”

“I don’t need it.”

“Do not argue with me.”

Adrien suddenly felt more awake at his father’s tone. It was cold even for him, almost dangerous, and Adrien felt himself saying “Yes, father” instinctually.

“Thank you.” He turned and strode from the room, leaving a bewildered Adrien behind with Nathalie.

She pressed a cool cloth to Adrien’s forehead. “Have you been drinking water?”

“I had tea.”

“I know. You should drink some water.”

“—‘kay.”

She handed him a glass, which he sipped slowly, feeling steadier by the minute.

“He’s overreacting,” Adrien said.

Nathalie frowned. “Go easy on him. When your mother got sick, she had dizzy spells.”

“Why should that matter to my father?” Adrien said bitterly. His father no longer grieved for his mother. He hadn’t in a long time.

“Adrien—”

“This isn’t the same as that,” he replied, ignoring the twinge of fear in his own heart. Because while his father never mentioned what it was like to watch their mother succumb to her illness, Adrien thought about it every day. He wouldn’t soon be able to forget it.

It’s not the same. It was just a panic attack, Adrien reminded himself.

Still… maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to have a doctor look at him. Just in case. 

Chapter Text

“Can you only delete bad memories and feelings, or can you delete anything? Could you make someone forget the existence of ice cream, for example, or a loved one?”

“Anything, I suppose, although I don’t really see the purpose behind erasing positive memories, aside from purely scientific curiosity. It would be fascinating to see if people, when faced with the same choices and no memory of the consequences, would repeat all of their original decisions.”

“It’s fascinating, yes, but is that a good enough reason to justify human experimentation?”

“All science begins first with a fascination.”

The sun had yet to rise when Sabine unlocked the door to the bakery. Tom had gone up to shower—kneading the morning dough near the brick oven always worked him into a sweat and he liked to be as fresh as the bread when customers started appearing.

Sabine never imagined she would be an early riser. Marrying a baker had certainly changed the shape of her mornings, but she’d grown to love the quiet of Paris before it yawned and stretched and began to bustle. She hummed to herself softly and began to place still-cooling scones neatly behind the glass.

Headlights lit up the front window as a vehicle approached and, to her surprise, came to a stop in front of the bakery door. Sabine didn’t know much about cars, but she could tell it was a sleek towncar, and probably expensive. Her eyes widened when a man nearly as large as Tom got out of the driver’s side and came around to open the back door for his passenger.

Sabine straightened her apron. They were the best bakery in Paris and she had served all manner of important clientele, but those sorts of people rarely ran their own errands and even more rarely did so at the crack of dawn. Her curiosity mounted until the front door opened with the chime of the bell and a young man walked in clutching a dark fabric bag.

He was quite handsome, and the thought became an indisputable fact when he noticed her behind the counter and broke into a disarmingly beautiful smile. There was something familiar about him she couldn’t place, and she briefly wondered if he was a movie star, though she didn’t see many movies herself.

Then it hit her. She’d definitely seen him before, though not in person. The memory of it made her bite her lip to keep from laughing, and brought with it the fortification of levity that put her right back at ease.

“Good morning, Madam,” he said as he approached the counter. He did not, as most customers would, stop to study the warm breakfast pastries on display. Instead he stood before Sabine, still smiling, but wringing the bag in his hands with a suggestion of nerves.

“Good morning,” she answered warmly. “What can I help you with?”

“Well, I—I’m Adrien.”

“I know who you are, Dear.”

Adrien blinked in surprise. “You do?”

Sabine nodded patiently. “Adrien Agreste. My family spent a whole day last summer trying to sculpt your face out of choux pastry for your big boat party.”

She watched with barely contained amusement as the boy’s face flushed raspberry red. “O-oh.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It wasn’t really my party. Our foundation was raising money for Anamnesis Labs, for—well, it wasn’t really…”

“It’s alright, Dear. I’m sure memory erasing technology wouldn’t have looked nearly as good as a croquembouche.”

“Your family did a wonderful job.” Adrien laughed self-consciously. “I still tried to convince Marinette to throw the whole thing in the river, but you know what she’s like.”

It might have been the way his eyes darted towards the upper apartment, or the way his mouth moved around her daughter’s name like an oath, or simply a mother’s intuition, but Sabine’s eyes widened in sudden realization. “Oh.”

Adrien gave her a questioning look, and then seemed to realize what he’d just said. “That is—because she delivered the croquembouche that night. Your daughter. I…”

He trailed off, seeming to realize that he wasn’t fooling anyone. He looked at her for a long moment, and she looked back, her eyes weighty with expectation. Finally, he squared his shoulders and held out a hand. “Mme. Cheng, my name is Adrien Agreste.”

She took his hand and gave it a firm shake. “It’s nice to finally meet you.”

“How long have you known?” He had the decency to look quite sheepish yet still, somehow, very relieved.

Sabine dropped the young man’s hand and busied her own, pulling out a pair of tongs and a napkin. “I’ve suspected she was seeing someone for a few months now. Marinette is a very private person, or at least she tries to be.” She slid open the drawer containing the macaron foils and reached in with the tongs to grab a very specific treat. She dropped it gently onto the napkin and then handed it over to Adrien. “But my daughter wears her heart on her sleeve.”

Adrien opened the napkin to find a very familiar shade of orange macaron. “Oh, passionfruit is my favorite! I feel like Marinette always has an extra one with her.” 

“She bakes one fresh every day and puts it in the drawer,” Sabine said with a knowing smile. “Just one. Then, I’m assuming whenever she goes to see you, she wraps it all up in pretty little foil and dances out the door humming La vie en rose .”

Adrien stared at the treat with something like awe. “She’s been making them just for me?”

“We don’t even have them on the menu.”

Adrien looked up at Sabine with a crooked smile, and she could have sworn he had little cartoon hearts floating in his eyes. “She’s extraordinary, isn’t she?”

Goodness. The boy was a complete goner. What had Marinette done to him? “She certainly is.”

“I’m sorry we didn’t tell you sooner. My life can be really crazy and we just wanted a chance to get to know each other before we told anyone.”

“I understand. Like I said, Marinette likes her privacy. Plus she’s been so busy, running from job to job, we haven’t had a proper family talk in ages.”

Adrien’s expression clouded, and he looked down at his shiny Italian shoes. “And I think maybe… she wanted to be certain of me first. She said her last relationship…”

“It’s alright, Adrien.” Sabine frowned. Marinette’s heart hadn’t necessarily been broken by her last boyfriend (it had been a very short relationship), but her trust certainly had. Sabine had a very forgiving heart, but Marinette’s father still practically turned into a beast anytime someone so much as mentions the name Anthony. No one ghosts my little girl he would snarl, and then he’d huff off and violently knead bread for an hour.

Adrien looked back up, his eyes suddenly brightened by some emotion Sabine thought could be determination. “To be honest, Mme Cheng, I’ve been certain for a while.”

Her eyes widened.

The boy gave a succinct nod. “Pretty much since the night I met her.”

Sabine placed a steadying hand on the counter. Goodness, she thought again. She looked him over for a moment. He was so young… they both were. But he seemed like such a steady young fellow, and she and Tom hadn’t been much older when they’d first fallen in love. All she ever wanted was for Marinette to have joy, and she couldn’t help but notice the way her daughter lately seemed to glow from the inside-out like a jar full of fireflies. If this young man was the cause, then he was worth a million hand-piped macarons. “I’m glad to hear that,” she finally said, and was surprised to find that she absolutely meant it. “You seem to make her very happy.”

“I try to.”

“And that overdue family talk?” Sabine reminded him. “We’ll need to have that soon. You should join us.”

Adrien nodded eagerly. It was a good sign, she thought, that his face lit up at his inclusion in the family discussion. Most young men weren’t overeager to be grilled by their girlfriend’s parents. “Is M. Dupain here this morning?”

“He’ll be down in about ten minutes.”

Adrien looked at his watch and his face fell. “Oh… I have to get to an appointment in a few minutes. But I needed to drop these off to Marinette first.” He held up the black bag he’d entered with. “She was going to help me with a little sewing repair.”

Sabine made her way around the counter to take the bag from him. “I’ll make sure she gets it when she wakes up.”

“Thank you.” he said. He glanced out the door where the giant man (Sabine couldn’t tell if it was a chauffeur or bodyguard or some combination thereof) lifted his own watch and tapped it with a thick finger. Adrien’s shoulders slumped. 

The boy’s dejected look activated all of Sabine’s motherly instincts. “It was nice to meet you, Sweetie,” she said, and wrapped him up in a firm hug.

He tensed for half a second before returning the gesture with equal parts awkwardness and warmth. “It was nice to meet you, too, Mme. Cheng.”

“Sabine,” she corrected, and released him.

He stepped back, bright-smiled and pink-cheeked. “I’ll be around soon for that family discussion. And to meet M. Dupain. There are things I really want to talk to him about.”

“We look forward to it.”

Sabine watched Adrien go out the door and get into his car. She noticed the surreptitious way he tucked the macaron into his pocket, almost as though he were afraid of being caught with it, and she wondered what sort of grown man still had to sneak cookies.

The answer occurred to her a moment later as the sun rose, casting light on the giant Gabriel billboard across the street. He was such a normal boy, such a sweetheart, she’d almost forgotten he was a famous model.

A famous model, in love with her Marinette.

Goodness.  

Despite assuring Adrien that she wasn’t worried, Marinette still suffered a restless night’s sleep. She had wanted so desperately to make a good impression on Adrien’s father and instead she’d stood helplessly by while the evening crashed and burned.

She’d always worried that people would think she wasn’t good enough for Adrien, that she was a gold digger, or that she was using him for his place in the industry. Somehow, Gabriel had identified each one of her insecurities and found a way to twist them like screws. She had imagined the public’s opinion would be her biggest battle—she never thought it would be Adrien’s own family.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t called her last night. His conversation with his father must have gone too late. Marinette wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

She dragged herself out of bed at the sound of her alarm. Her tendency was to stay in bed as long as possible, but her thoughts were too messy this morning—she needed to be moving, to find a distraction.  Once she had pulled her hair up into a knot and slipped into a t-shirt and a pair of fitted black pants—her usual uniform for working in the bakery, she headed down the stairs to begin her day.

Her parents were already leaning against the sales counter with steaming cups in their hands—tea for her mother and espresso for her father, if she had to guess. They both looked up, surprised to see her come down so early.

“Morning, Maman, Papa,” she said, reaching into the cupboard for a cup of her own. Her mother handed her the teapot and she poured it to the brim.

“Good morning, Sweetheart,” her mom said, and her dad put his arm around her and kissed the top of her head. “What has you up so early? We don’t really expect customers until six.”

“Well, we had one,” her father said, with a pointed raise of his eyebrow that Marinette couldn’t interpret.

“Early bird?” Marinette murmured, breathing in the bright citrus notes of her tea. Any minute now, caffeine.

“I thought he was pretty late, actually.”

“Mmmm.” Probably the flour guy, Marinette mused. Marinette’s father had been dealing with a perpetually late flour delivery since the main crossroad with theirs had been torn up for improvements. “Anything new today?”

“Well, we have a new matcha latte macaron rolling out this afternoon,” her father answered.

“And our building has a new owner,” her mom said. “Some big enterprise bought it up.”

Marinette looked up from her cup quickly. “Are they raising the cost of the lease?”

Her mother gave her a reassuring smile. “Lowering it, actually.”

“That’s unexpected.”

Her father nodded. “But very welcome.”

“And let’s see… oh! This morning a supermodel came here in a limousine to bring you a pair of his pants.” Sabine took a casual sip of her tea.

Marinette spit hers out all over the counter. “A-Adrien was here?”

Her mom handed her a towel and a spray bottle of lemon disinfectant. Marinette began sheepishly wiping up the counter, but her erratic hand movements sent her teacup flinging to the ground, where it shattered. 

At least it hadn’t been her favorite.

Her father was already holding a broom. “Your mother got to meet him.” He sounded a bit gloomy, and his wife put a gentle hand on his.

“Marinette—”

“Look, Maman, Papa… I’m so sorry! I know it’s not like me to keep something from you.”

“Sweetheart—” her father interjected, but Marinette was on a roll.

“It’s just that I was so embarrassed after what happened with Anthony, and Adrien is Adrien , I mean he’s just so much , you know? If we told everyone and then I found out it wasn’t what I thought it was… which was stupid, because I think it’s actually everything I thought it was, which I know doesn’t make a lot of sense—”

“Marinette!”

Marinette looked at her parents, wide-eyed and breathless.

“He’s wonderful.” Her mother smiled, her eyes bright with joy. “We’re so happy for you.”

Marinette froze in disbelief for about two seconds. Then she flung herself into her parents’ arms. They squeezed her from both sides, and she felt a wave of contentment and relief. She was somehow rejuvenated to greater effect than she would have experienced from a complete night of sleep or a full cup of tea (which was fortunate, as the pitiful remains of hers was currently puddling under her ballet flats).

“I’m only disappointed that I missed him,” her Papa said. “Your mother tells me he was a very impressive young man.”

“He is.” Marinette sighed in the warm-bread smell of her father’s hug, and then reluctantly released them both. “You’re going to love him.”

“He promised to come back for a proper introduction.”

“Of course,” Marinette said. “I was actually going to talk to you about it yesterday evening—we had just decided we were ready to tell our families, but his father scheduled a last minute dinner and I had to go there last night.”

“You met his father?”

Marinette nodded hesitantly. “He’s… a difficult man to impress.”

Tom frowned, and his chest began to swell in indignation. “Who could possibly be disappointed by you ? Who does that man think he is—”

“He’s an important man, Papa.”

“Well, he’s a big nobody in my book.”

“What about his mother?” Sabine asked, patting her husband’s hand soothingly.

Marinette bit her lip. “He lost his mother, actually. About seven years ago.”

“Oh,” her mother whispered, her hand covering her mouth in shock. “I think I remember reading that somewhere. That poor boy.”

“He was only thirteen. And his father’s so… well, to be honest, he’s not a warm man. Adrien’s not even allowed to talk about his mother at home. It’s the saddest thing—he’s only got one little black and white picture of her in his wallet, and everything else was removed from the house.”

“Well, he’s got you now,” her mother said kindly.

“He’ll have us,” her father added with an air of finality that left no room for debate.

Marinette grinned at her parents. She knew how lucky she was to have such a loving, supportive, and compassionate family. 

And now Adrien would have them too.

The bell rang, signaling the entrance of an actual customer, and the happy moment was put on hold. Tom hurried into the back room to pull a batch of chaussons aux pommes from the oven, and Sabine greeted the customer and made her way to the register for the incoming breakfast rush.

Marinette grabbed the abandoned broom and went to work. She had an awful lot of messes to start cleaning up.

ladybug

Anything you’d like to tell me?

minouminou

you are more beautiful than the stars

ladybug

Anything else?

Maybe something that happened this morning?

minouminou

do you mean when I woke up dreaming of your face

which is more beautiful than the stars

ladybug

Don’t be cute right now.

YOU MET MY PARENTS THIS MORNING?

minouminou

just your mom

sorry

she’s the best

she hugged me and gave me a cookie

ladybug

I

I don’t know why I’m upset. We were going to tell them anyway

minouminou

I shouldn’t have done it without you. I just needed to drop off the pants and I honestly wasn’t going to say anything but she just knew

ladybug

I know

minouminou

are you mad?

ladybug

I think you deserved the hug and the cookie. I wish I’d been awake to give it to you myself.

minouminou

<3

I had to come by really early. wasn’t feeling well last night so I have a doctor appt in a couple mins

ladybug

Are you okay?

minouminou

no 

come kiss it better

I’m fine. dad’s just being paranoid.

ladybug

Speaking of your father…

minouminou

he’ll get over it

they’re calling me in and I can’t bring my phone but I’ll call you later okay?

ladybug

Okay

minouminou

I love you.

*ladybug is typing*

…

“No phones past this point, M. Agreste.”

“Sorry, I was just waiting on an important text.”

“It’s a very sensitive machine. You’ll have to turn it off and leave it here, but we will get it back to you as soon as we’re finished.”

“Of course. Sorry, Dr. de Vere.” Adrien obediently powered off his phone.

“I can hang on to it for you, Adrien.” His father’s assistant held out her hand expectantly.

“Thanks Nathalie. You really don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.”

“Your father insisted.”

Adrien assumed as much. He handed over the phone and, for good measure, his wallet and keys as well.

“Any other metal items, magnetic key cards, electronics?” the doctor asked.

“That’s it.”

“Very good. We’ll proceed right this way, then.”

Adrien had never been to Anamnesis Labs before, despite the extensive fundraising his father’s foundation had done for them over the past couple years. It was an impressive facility, bright and modern and full of state-of-the-art laboratories and research equipment. It was even more remarkable considering the paradigm-shifting advancements they’d made in medical technology. Even so, Adrien had mixed feelings about the place. They’d done a lot of good for a lot of people, but his impression of the system was, probably unfairly, soured by Chloe’s abuse of it.

The doctor brought him to a changing room, and Adrien tried to shake the feeling of unease as he stripped off his shirt and changed into a pair of scrub pants and hospital socks. He’d caught a glimpse of the machine on his way in.

He was not a fan of small spaces.

“M. Agreste?”

“Coming,” he answered weakly, and pushed open the door.

The doctor frowned when Adrien came into the room. “You look a little flushed. Are you feeling alright?”

“I’m a little nervous. I’ve never had an MRI before.”

Dr. de Vere made a contemplative humming noise. “Here, have a seat on the table and we’ll talk you through it.”

Adrien obediently went and sat on the table, which was mounted on a track so it could slide into the body of the MRI machine. The doctor wrapped his arm in a blood pressure cuff and instructed him to breathe. He tried to breathe normally, but every time he glanced to his left and saw the tube they were about to put him in, his breath got stuck in his throat.

“I didn’t know Anamnesis did routine medical stuff like this,” he said, trying to distract himself. He cringed when his voice came out all wobbly.

“This lab couldn’t even function without funding from your father’s foundation. He said it was too urgent to wait for an opening at the hospital, and I was happy to help.”

“My father is overreacting.”

The doctor read the gauge on the cuff and pursed his lips. “I’m going to give you a mild sedative. It will help with the anxiety and make the procedure go more quickly for you.”

“I… think that’s probably a good idea.”

Adrien winced at the prick of the needle, but after a few seconds he felt so much better he nearly forgot what he was afraid of.

“Slow, deep breaths,” the doctor instructed.

Adrien tried to nod, but the doctor held his head still. He was attaching sticky things to Adrien’s forehead, little electronic leads attached to wires, which Adrien frowned at because they were, to his foggy brain, incorrect.

“No metal,” he mumbled.

“Hold still, please.”

“Those weren’t in the picture I googled.”

“Don’t google medical procedures before you have them. The internet is incorrect more often than they are helpful.”

“Sorry. I was nervous.”

“Lay back, please. Easy, there you go. Is that comfortable?”

Adrien blinked. His eyes felt dry. “I guess. Dr. de Vere?”

“Yes?”

“You look nervous too. Are you nervous?” He did look nervous, in Adrien’s opinion. He looked a bit sweaty.

“Everything is fine, M. Agreste. Now I need you to close your eyes and listen to me very carefully. The machine is going to begin moving now.”

The table began to slide into the tube. Adrien took a slow breath. Everything went quiet.

Incorrect, his foggy brain bleated again. “The internet said it would be loud in here.”

“We have already discussed the reliability of the internet. Can you hear me alright?”

“Sorry. Yeah.”

“Are you still nervous?” The doctor’s voice had an unsettling quality, like it was in his head instead of in the room outside the tube.

“Yes.”

“Okay. I am going to take you through a guided meditation to help with your nerves. It is important that you focus the best you can.”

“Okay.”

“First, think of someone who makes you happy.”

Marinette, Adrien’s brain offered helpfully, like that was the only word it remembered. “Okay.”

“You have her in your mind?”

“Yes.” He always did. 

“Good. Now focus on her. How you met her. What you love about her. Picture her face and the way she makes you feel. Now, take a deep, slow breath.”

Adrien did, and the doctor was right. This wasn’t too bad at all.

It was like falling asleep the same way he’d awoken that morning—dreaming of a face that was more beautiful than the stars.

Marinette.

I love you.

Marinette winced. She’d been staring at the three little words on her screen and didn’t realize how violently she’d been chewing on her lip until it began to sting.

She had to say it back. She had wanted to wait for Valentine’s Day to make a grand gesture, because a big-hearted romantic like him deserved an epic romance.

But then she’d met his father the night before and developed the sinking feeling that Gabriel Agreste wasn’t the sort of man to gush about his feelings. If he even had any. So when was the last time anyone had told Adrien they loved him? Since he lost his mother?

That was completely unacceptable.

But she couldn’t tell him for the first time in a text. Could she?

This is so stupid , she finally told herself.

It was him and her and they were in love. Nothing could be more epic than that. 

ladybug

I love you too.

She hit send before she could second-guess herself, a big cheesy grin pasted over her face, and wished she could see his expression while he read it. 

Her phone pinged almost instantly. He must have been staring at his screen waiting for her reply.

She opened the message, and her face fell in confusion.

error code: undeliverable

contact not found

Chapter Text

“Can it be undone?”

Dr. de Vere gave the interviewer a puzzled frown. “Why would anyone want it to be undone?”

“If there was ever a mistake, or someone changed their mind…”

“That’s a very unlikely scenario, considering.”

“But if, hypothetically…”

“No. The procedure is permanent.”

Adrien had a weird feeling in his stomach. He wasn’t sure if it was wooziness from the fading sedative or embarrassment.

Who faints during a routine MRI? He does, apparently.

He sat in a comfortable chair in the recovery room sipping apple juice and swinging his feet, and the whole thing made him feel a bit childish. It made him want his mom.

The door opened and the doctor entered followed by Nathalie and, to Adrien’s surprise, his father. His father had a pale, pinched look about him that made Adrien’s stomach swoop. He wondered what the MRI had shown to make him look that way, and Adrien’s thoughts went again to his mother.

“Your scans came back clear,” Dr. de Vere said immediately, noting Adrien’s apprehensive look. “I think you simply experienced an episode of low blood sugar. I understand that’s a common issue for professional models. Diet consistency—”

“Adrien’s diet is fine,” Gabriel interjected cooley. “My company does not starve its models.”

“Of course. I didn’t mean to imply…” A look of irritation passed over the doctor’s face, but it was quickly replaced with a forced, almost sardonic professionalism. “I’m sure you would only ever act in your son’s best interest.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at the doctor.

Adrien took a loud sip of his juice to break the tension. The straw hit the bottom of the box and made a bubbly sucking sound that caused everyone to turn and stare at him. “Sorry,” he muttered.

It had been a sufficient distraction. Whatever unpleasantness existed between his father and the doctor seemed to diffuse. “Excuse me,” Dr. de Vere said. “I have to check on a few things. Adrien, you can go to the desk to be discharged as soon as you’re feeling steady.” He gave him a nod, and another to Gabriel. “M. Agreste.”

“Thank you, Dr. de Vere.”

When the doctor had gone, Nathalie cleared her throat and pulled out her tablet. “I’ve set up interviews with a few top-rated nutritionists. Once I’ve vetted the candidates we will hire one on to take over Adrien’s diet and meal planning.”

“Good. Who knows what he’s been eating since he moved out.”

“Father, I eat fine. I have the stuff your chef sends over and I get meal deliveries from perfectly good restaurants and…” Adrien paused. He felt like he was leaving something off the list, but he couldn’t think of what it was. “I’m fine.”

“You’re obviously not fine. We’re getting you a dietician, and that’s final. I’ll move one in by the end of the week.”

“What, to the mansion?”

“You’re not going back to that townhouse. The whole place is probably full of asbestos and black mold. It’s no wonder you’re fainting all over the place.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped and he stared at his father. “It’s a brand new luxury townhouse, father. I have a cleaning service.”

“Did Nathalie screen the cleaning service?”

“You could literally lick the floors.”

Gabriel gave him an unimpressed look. “No wonder you’re ill.” He pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers and closed his eyes as though praying for strength. “You may go back after I’ve had the place deep-cleaned and inspected. To my standards,” he added when it looked like Adrien would interrupt.

Adrien sighed. It didn’t seem like there was much point in arguing. “Fine. Can I at least go get my stuff?”

“Nathalie will bring you what you need. You are going to rest.”

“Fine.”

“Do you need her to clear any appointments?” His father asked, and something in his tone made Adrien pause.

“Appointments?” Adrien asked, because it had sounded like his father had meant something else.

Gabriel didn’t answer. He only stared at Adrien, waiting, like he was expecting his son to remember his birthday or something.

“Tomorrow is February fourteenth?” Adrien asked, in case he’d somehow passed out and missed a whole day without realizing.

“Correct.”

Adrien frowned. It did seem like he was supposed to know something about that day, like there was some special significance to it he couldn’t quite seem to grasp. Then it hit him. “Oh! That’s Valentine’s Day.”

Nathalie and his father exchanged a look, and Adrien got the squirmy feeling in his gut that they were keeping a secret. Did his father and Nathalie have Valentine’s Day plans? Were they hiding it from him? Adrien didn’t know how he would feel if that were true… if his father had finally decided to move on.

He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“No,” he said carefully. “I don’t have any Valentine’s Day plans.”

They both turned back to him, and Adrien couldn’t help but feel like his father looked relieved.

Yeah. He definitely didn’t want to know.

“Good. Let’s go home.”

Marinette finished her shift at the bakery and headed to la Sirène just after lunch. Ondine had called to let her know that the three designs she’d put on display had all sold out, so Marinette wanted to bring a few more pieces in case anyone was doing some last minute shopping for their Valentine’s date outfits. What better occasion for a one-of-a-kind Marinette Dupain-Cheng original?

Marinette had decided to save one special dress for herself. It was a deep rose-pink dress with a sweetheart neckline and a perfectly swishable skirt that just sang of romance. She had first sketched it out before New Year’s Eve and she’d known, even then, that it was the sort of dress you wear when you tell someone you love them for the first time. 

But every other finished piece in her closet was going straight to the shop, and if they kept selling at the rate they were then Marinette might have a down-payment for her own apartment by Bastille Day.

Her phone dinged as she approached the shop, and she eagerly checked the screen.

alya-bestie

Yeah I just got your text

What’s up?

Marinette frowned as she typed out her answer.

marinette

Just testing my phone bc it was being weird earlier. Thanks babe love you!

alya-bestie

you too!

The text was accompanied by a picture of Alya and Nino in front of the Parthenon, featuring big grins and an overcast sky. Marinette sent a series of heart-eyed emojis and then put her phone back in her pocket with one hand while adjusting the pile of garment bags over her shoulder with the other.

She already knew there was nothing wrong with her phone, because while waiting for Alya’s answer she’d tried both her maman and papa’s numbers and they’d gone through just fine.

She didn’t want to be paranoid and needy, but she couldn’t help thinking of the time she’d texted Anthony, “do you want to try that new Thai place fri?” And then had never heard from him again. 

But Adrien was nothing like Anthony. And “I love you” is nothing like “let’s get lunch.” More than anything, she was worried that something must be really wrong if he was still at the doctor after nearly five hours. She decided to try texting him again.

ladybug

Is everything okay?

error code: undeliverable

contact not found

Marinette swallowed, trying to stifle her growing anxiety. She decided to go to his townhouse after work and bring him a care package, just in case he was too sick to text or he’d dropped his phone in the Seine or something. Everything would be fine.

She pushed open the door to the shop with renewed determination.

Ondine smiled at her from behind the counter, twirling one of Marinette’s roses between her fingers.

“Guess who’s got a date tonight,” she sang.

Marinette made a high-pitched noise of delight as she dumped her pile of bags on a nearby display case. “Guy from the gym?”

“Guy from the gym.” Ondine grinned, stabbing the rose back into the giant vase. “We started talking about swimming and he said he thought he could outswim a dolphin—I couldn’t figure out if he was joking or if he’s just a big dumb brick, but he’s cute and sweet and wants to buy me steak, so I’m giving him a shot.”

Marinette laughed as she unzipped the first bag to reveal a clingy aquamarine dress she’d embellished with seed-beads the color of abalone shell. “Well then,” she said. “You’ll need something spectacular to wear.”

Ondine’s jaw dropped. “Marinette, I couldn’t,” she breathed, but the way her fingers stroked longingly over the seashell detailing said that she absolutely could.

“Please,” Marinette said, sliding the dress off the hanger. “You’ve done so much for me. Let me thank you.”

“It looks like you stole it off a mermaid princess.”

“Maybe I did.”

Ondine chuckled as she ducked into the fitting room. Marinette pulled a couple more dresses, a blouse, and a jumpsuit out of their bags and began arranging them on mannequins in her designated corner of the shop.

“What about you?” Ondine’s voice called from behind the curtain. “You going out with your mystery man tomorrow?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You gonna tell me who he is?”

“Actually,” Marinette said, fussing with the belt on a strawberry-print tea-dress. “We’re going public for the first time tomorrow.”

The curtain swished open behind her. “Public? Like… are you dating some kind of celebrity?”

Marinette prepared a teasing retort, but it died in her mouth when she turned and saw her friend. “Oh, Ondine, you look so beautiful!”

“You’re changing the subject.”

Marinette rolled her eyes. “Promise you won’t tell anyone?”

“I swear on my mermaid princess dress.”

“So you’re keeping the dress?”

“Marinette!”

“I’m dating Adrien Agreste.”

Ondine stared at her, mouth open like a fish, for a long minute. Then her eyes narrowed and she yanked the curtain closed. “Fine, if you don’t want to tell me, then don’t tell me.”

“I did tell you!”

“You are so full of it!”

Marinette laughed and went back to arranging clothes.

“And yes, I am keeping the dress. Can you close the shop tonight so I can get ready for my date?”

Marinette reached into her pocket to feel her phone, which hadn’t made a sound since Alya’s picture. She really wanted to go see Adrien as soon as possible, but Ondine was so excited, and Adrien would probably text as soon as he could. He might not even be home yet.

She was fine. Everything would be fine.

…“fine” was one of those words that stops sounding like a word if you say it too many times.

“That’s fine,” she said, resolutely pasting a bright smile on her face. 

Work had run late, and Marinette’s bus had run slow, and by the time she arrived at Adrien’s front door she was out of breath and frustrated.

She fumbled for his townhouse key in her bag and nearly dropped the containers of soup and peppermint tea she was holding in the process. She decided to set them down on the front step so she could devote two hands to her search. When she was finally able to free the key from her purse lining, she jammed it into the lock with a noisy exhale. 

It wouldn’t turn.

She pulled it out and turned it over to try again, but the key wouldn’t even fit in the lock that direction. She stopped to study the key, just in case she somehow had two very fancy brass keys in her bag and had grabbed the wrong one by accident. No 17 was etched on the side in an elegant script, so that couldn’t be the issue, and she knew, from the whimsical black cat painted on the doormat, that she was at the right townhouse. 

Marinette frowned at the door and felt a flutter of panic in her heart. She wasn’t even sure what was wrong yet, but something was. Something had to be.

Adrien wouldn’t lock her out.

She pressed a trembling finger on the buzzer. There was no answer.

He wasn’t home, that’s all. He wasn’t home and the lock was broken. And so was his phone. Marinette took a deep, slow breath, trying to calm herself, and wondered if pressing the buzzer again would seem too desperate. Just before she could decide, the door swung open to reveal Adrien’s father, tall and imposing.

“Mademoiselle Dupain-Cheng.”

“Oh, hello M. Agreste.” Marinette answered, surprised. There was a commotion coming from inside, so Marinette glanced through the doorway behind Adrien’s father and saw what looked like a maid service going over Adrien’s carpets with a steam-cleaner. “Is Adrien here? How is he feeling?”

“He is not here, and that’s none of your concern anymore.”

His tone sent a shiver running over Marinette’s shoulders. “What do you mean?”

Gabriel snapped his fingers and a woman she recognized as his assistant strode up behind him carrying a box. She pushed the box toward Marinette, who took it reflexively.

“What is this?” Marinette asked, before realizing the assistant was speaking into a Bluetooth phone and hadn’t heard her. She disappeared back through the doorway without answering.

Marinette opened the box.

“You are not going to see my son anymore,” Gabriel said, his voice hard, as Marinette stared into the box full of her belongings. There was her toothbrush she’d left here. Her fuzzy cat socks. Her teapot. “You are not to call him or come to his townhouse or speak to him if you see him on the street.”

Marinette could hardly hear him over the roaring in her ears. “I don’t understand.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes at her as if she were being deliberately obtuse. “I cannot make myself any clearer. Your relationship with my son is over, and I forbid you from contacting him ever again.”

Marinette finally looked up from the box and into the face of Adrien’s father. She struggled for something to say that would make sense, and in the end all she could manage was “Why?”

“Because my son is weak and naïve. Adrien has a chance to rule an empire and he is throwing it away, and for what? He has convinced himself that he is in love with you and that love is enough to keep him warm and fed and sheltered in this world, but we both know that is ridiculous, don’t we? You and I live in the real world, even if you’ve deluded yourself into some fairytale fantasy at the expense of my son, my family, and my legacy!”

Marinette shook her head, trying to block out the sound of his words—absolute nonsense. It had to be nonsense. “There’s no way. Adrien won’t let you do this.”

“He doesn’t need to let me. I am his father.”

“He loves me!”

“He doesn’t even know who you are.”

Marinette’s blood turned to ice in her veins, freezing her in place. “No.”

“He went to Anamnesis labs this morning and had you and everything to do with you permanently deleted.”

“No,” she said again, only this time the sound was a strangled plea. “He wouldn’t.”

Gabriel smiled then—a slow, creeping, thing like a poisonous vine. “He would do anything I require of him. It wasn’t even difficult to persuade him… it seemed like he already had considerable doubts about the depths of your affection.”

Marinette sniffed, trying not to cry in front of Gabriel Agreste, because nothing he was saying could be true. It wasn’t possible. Adrien knew she loved him. He knew it. He… 

Her stomach turned. “You’re a liar,” she said quietly. “I’ll go to him and tell him the truth. Because you don’t control him, and you don’t control me.”

His creeping smile turned triumphant. “When I found out about your… relationship with my son, I took measures to ensure Adrien wouldn’t throw away his future in the event that you proved to be unworthy or uncooperative. I began to diversify my assets.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I purchased some commercial property, beginning with number 12, Rue Gotlib.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “You… you’re the enterprise that bought our building?”

“And lowered your rent. You’re welcome.”

“But—”

“I also purchased la Voix Française Journal.”

“Alya’s newspaper? You’re the one who extended her trip?”

“And your friend’s little clothing boutique. She’ll be informed when her new contract arrives tomorrow. So you’ll find, Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, that you were mistaken. I absolutely do control you.” He took a step towards her, looming into her personal space so she had to take a step back. She stumbled on the edge of the stair and nearly dropped her box. “If I find out that you’ve violated our agreement and spoken to my son, or seen him, or done anything to remind him of your pathetic existence, I will take everything you have from everyone you love.”

Marinette’s whole body was shaking. She gasped, trying to get air, but the air was all gone. Gabriel Agreste probably owned it now.

“Do we understand each other, Mlle Dupain-Cheng?”

“Do you even care about your son’s happiness?” She wanted to snarl it, but her voice was as small as she felt.

“If you have been operating under the illusion that you are solely responsible for my son’s happiness, I can assure you that he was perfectly content before you stumbled into his life, and he will be just as fine now that you’re erased from it. His future is secure, and he is at home where he belongs. That is what I care about.”

“You’re a monster.”

“I’m a father. I would do anything for my son. And if you love your family at all, if you care so much about their happiness,” he hissed, “you will take your belongings and get off my son’s doorstep. Do not test me.”

Marinette took a step back, then paused. Please, she considered begging, threatening, screaming . She looked into the man’s eyes, searching for a hint of mercy, a scrap of humanity, anything within him that might be reasoned with. 

But he looked back with only a dark, empty stare, and she felt all the hope she’d been clinging to wink out in the face of it.

“I understand,” she said finally.

She didn’t understand, not at all, but she knew it was what he wanted from her. In the end, it was all she could say.

“Additionally, this whole unfortunate exchange? It stays between you and I.”

Marinette nodded mechanically. 

She felt the bite of cold metal in her hand. She shifted the box into one arm so she could open her hand, where she’d squeezed the brass key so tightly that it had left an angry scarlet mark on her palm. “Do you need this back?” she whispered.

 “It doesn’t matter. It won’t work anyway.”

He turned back into the apartment and walked away without another word, snapping the door shut behind him with an air of finality, like the closing of a coffin lid. 

Adrien awoke with a gasp.

He lay there for a few minutes, breathing heavily, wondering if there was a way back into the dream he’d just awoken from, because in his dream everything had been safe and warm and certain, like a pair of arms wrapped around him. But it was already fading, as dreams often do. He had the feeling that embrace was waiting to be rediscovered, somewhere just beyond the reaches of his mind.

He groaned. This was why he hated sleeping during the day, but his father had insisted he rest. He’d been going stir-crazy in his childhood bedroom–he’d forgotten to get his phone back from Nathalie after his appointment, and he didn’t feel like playing his old video games or reading his old comic books. He just wanted to go home.

Adrien finally gave up on falling back asleep. He got up and began to dress, grabbing his jeans from where he’d folded them on the chair and tugging them back on. He sat down to pull on his shoes and heard a muffled crunch from his back pocket.

Adrien reached back and felt something crumbly, which turned out to be a bright orange macaron wrapped in a napkin.

He couldn’t remember putting it there, but to be fair, he’d been pretty out of it when he came home from the doctor. They’d probably given him a macaron for being such a good boy, he thought with a snort. It looked delicious, and he hadn’t had anything besides that apple juice earlier– not sufficient for someone struggling with low blood-sugar, he reasoned as he took a bite. His father couldn’t argue with that.

Oh wow. 

He didn’t know if it was because he was so hungry or if this was actually the world’s best macaron, but Adrien had to stifle a moan as he took his next bite. Passionfruit. His favorite flavor! He tucked the napkin back into his pocket as he finished chewing, taking special note of the stylized TS emblazoned upon it.

He was going to put finding this bakery on his to-do list immediately after jailbreak from his childhood bedroom. Freedom first, then macarons after, because… priorities.

Maybe Nathalie would know where the cookie came from. She knew everything.

Unfortunately, the ensuing argument between Adrien and his father took so long and generated so much unpleasantness that the macaron mystery was quite forgotten. In the end, Adrien gave up on bargaining and persuasion and went with “I’m an adult and you can’t just lock me in here anymore,” to which his father could offer no reasonable rebuttal.

“You’re being needlessly obstinate,” Gabriel muttered, rubbing his forehead as though staving off a headache. “It’s getting late. We have a shareholder meeting in the morning and it makes more sense for you to just stay here.”

“I’ve never gone to the shareholder meetings.”

“It’s about time you stepped up and began fulfilling your role in the family business. They will expect to see you there now that you are, as you insist, an adult.”

Adrien didn’t appreciate his mocking tone and became, perhaps counter-productively, a bit childish in response. “I don’t want to take over the family business. I told you that already. I want to go to school, to find what I love and go after it. I’ll smile on your billboards and do my little thing on the catwalk but only until I decide what I really want.”

“Don’t be difficult, Adrien.”

“No, father, we’ve talked about this.”

“But that was before—” he cut himself off with a frown, studying Adrien through narrowed eyes.

“Before what?”

He almost thought he wouldn’t get an answer, but finally his father sighed and relented. “You may go, but you’re not driving yourself, and I expect to see you at the meeting in the morning.”

“Fine. But I meant what I said. Modeling doesn’t last forever and when it’s done, father, then so am I.”

“It’s been a long day. We’ll discuss this tomorrow.”

Adrien wasn’t satisfied with that answer, but he would accept anything that meant he could walk out the door without further argument. “Alright. I’ll see you in the morning.”

Marinette should have been surprised that her parents were still awake when she arrived home, that they’d waited up for her despite their imminent early morning, but she didn’t have the capacity to feel surprise at the moment. She didn’t feel the rawness of her feet from walking home a distance that should have been two bus rides, or the ache in her arms from carrying a box of one-sided memories for more than an hour.

There was a hole ripped open in her heart, a great hollowness where her sense and breath and memories were hemorrhaging out, and it was too fast, too torrential for her to control, and if she even tried to, it might sweep her away and she would never make it back, so instead she had hit the emergency shut-off. No feeling. Not now. It wasn’t safe. She wouldn’t survive it. 

She could only put one foot in front of the other until she made it home (home was a place, now—the bakery, because home can’t be a person because people can be erased), back to four warm walls where she could take off her shoes and go to sleep.

And then she could wake up. Once she did, she would probably experience the overwhelming relief of waking up from a nightmare and realizing that none of it made sense because none of it had been real.

Her parent’s eyes widened when she walked through the door. Something about Marinette’s appearance seemed to have startled them, and her mother stood from her seat, her expression alarmed. Marinette wondered if the gaping hole in her heart was somehow visible from the outside, and they could see it there, ragged and seeping blood onto the clean bakery floor.

She shifted the box in her arms self-consciously.

“Sweetheart! What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired,” Marinette said. It was true. She felt weariness in her every bone.

Her father took a step forward as though he meant to embrace her, and she knew she couldn’t allow that. She couldn’t handle that sort of tenderness—not right now, when there was already a compromised dam between feeling nothing and feeling so much that it might destroy her.

She sidestepped her father’s arms and ducked towards the trapdoor. “Sorry,” she said when she saw the way his face fell. “I’m just really tired.”

“Marinette?” her mother called, but Marinette had already made it through the door.

She climbed up to her room, a process made awkward by the box in her arms, which she set on the floor in the corner where she wouldn’t have to look at it. Then, without turning on the lights, she climbed into her bed and pulled the covers over her head, trying to block out the rest of the world.

Any minute now. She’d wake to Adrien murmuring that it was all a bad dream, and he’d kiss her forehead and tell her to rest, and he would hold her until she forgot all about it.

Any minute now.

But she lay there long into the night.

Sleep never came to her.

And neither did he.

Chapter Text

“What do you have to say about the ethical concerns that have arisen regarding SPA?”

“I’m not aware of any.”

“It is a new science, and there’s so little regulation—“

“I can’t speak for any other laboratories working on the procedure, but I assure you that we at Anamnesis adhere to a strict ethical code.”

“What of the rumors that anyone can walk in off the street and have their memories deleted?”

“We have occasional private clients that voluntarily undergo selective treatment. Their patronage makes it possible for our services to be donated to those who truly need it. I assure you that no one is going around recklessly “deleting” anything, to use the colloquialism.”

“Yes, sorry, of course. And it sounds like the process can’t be done to anyone against their will.”

“I… that is the intent, yes.”

Adrien woke early for the shareholder meeting. The business side of his father’s company held little interest for him, but that didn’t stop him from wanting to make a good impression on the shareholders. He wanted them, and the board of Gabriel, to see him as more than just the pretty face on their billboards.

And if it put his father in a good mood so he might take Adrien seriously and listen to him for once, then that was just glaze on the éclair.

His stomach growled at the thought. He hoped he’d have enough time to find that bakery he was looking for, but it didn’t seem promising. He already lost a lot of time trying to find the pants that went with his lucky suit.

He was tempted to blame the cleaning company his father had hired. They’d left an uncanny feeling in the apartment, like everything was moved and different than he’d left it. For instance, his nightstand was wrong. There had been a picture in a frame by his phone charger, and now there wasn’t. He couldn’t remember what was in the picture, but he was pretty sure there had been one. But why would they move a picture? Or a pair of suit pants, for that matter?

It was more likely that Adrien had just left them at the dry cleaners. He was feeling really forgetful today. Probably nerves about the meeting , he thought as he reached for his toothbrush.

He paused. The toothbrush holder also seemed wrong, somehow. He rolled his eyes. I’m really losing it.

His phone chimed an alert that a car had arrived to take him to Gabriel so, toothbrush still dangling from his mouth, he went to his closet and chose a different suit at random. He quickly finished getting ready and hurried to the car.

“Can we stop at a bakery on the way there?” he asked the driver as he slid into the back seat. “I’m desperate for an éclair.”

He received a frown in response—it was no secret among the staff that Adrien’s father usually forbade such things. But the man gave a tight nod, and Adrien grinned as they pulled away from the curb.

Ten minutes later he was leaving a bakery with his breakfast in hand. It hadn’t been the bakery he was looking for— the cashier hadn’t recognized the logo on the napkin Adrien showed them. But the éclair was perfectly decent despite being, for reasons he couldn’t articulate, a bit unsatisfying.

For several days Marinette could do nothing but work. She went back and forth between her two jobs, throwing herself into each task with a fervor that had her parents whispering to each other when she left the room and Ondine watching her in pinched uneasiness.

Even Alya could tell something was up, and she only had Marinette’s overly chipper, clipped texts to make her suspicious. 

“We broke up,” was all Marinette could say about it. “And I do not want to discuss it.”

To her great relief they respected her wishes and didn’t pry further, although the looks of dismay on her parent’s faces were nearly enough to make her break out of the protective, empty numbness she’d cocooned herself in. Numb on the inside, smiling on the outside– it was the best she could do. She could feel their questions hanging in the air, thick and cloying with concern, and when it became too much for her she just ran upstairs and started work on another project.

She’d been burning through her existing projects like match paper and was about to run out of sketches to render. She couldn’t think of anything new to draw though—she tried, but there was just no inspiration.

It was like the world had completely run out of beautiful things. 

Three day after Valentine’s, Marinette shoved her way into the boutique with a mountain of completed designs.

Ondine’s eyes widened. “How are you doing all this? Do you ever sleep?”

Marinette giggled—it was a quiet, maniacal little sound that fooled absolutely no one. “I’ve been really motivated, I guess.” She went to her corner of the shop and her face fell. She was out of space. “Didn’t anything sell yesterday?”

“Loads,” Ondine answered. “But you had that pile in the back so I filled those in whenever something sold.”

“Oh. I forgot I brought those.”

“Marinette?”

Marinette braced herself. She knew that worried, well-meaning tone—she’d been hearing it constantly from her parents the last few days. It meant they were going to ask her to rest, or to breathe, or to talk. And she would , but there just wasn’t time in her schedule right now, with all the sewing and baking, and she’d taken up jogging, and she’d decided to learn to make her own lace. So whatever people wanted to talk about would just have to keep for later.

It wasn’t like it was going to go away.

“Mmhmm?” She flipped through the hangers, taking stock of her remaining inventory. There was more than she remembered.

“The flowers… they’re wilting. Is it okay if I…?”

Marinette looked up. Since their arrival, the vase of roses had been looming on the back shelf like a specter, filling the room with their ominous splendor. But now they’d begun to brown at the edges, curling limply in on themselves and permeating the shop with the sweet odor of their decay.

I tried to get a rose for every day since I met you but they said they could only fit one hundred in the vase and I’ve

Marinette found herself struggling to breathe. She shoved the words back into the hole in her heart where she kept them hidden. Where she kept… him … hidden.  

She turned to study the mannequin in front of her and carefully adjusted the fabric upon it. “Throw them out.” She finally said, her tone casual. 

There was quiet behind her, deliberation.

“Throw them out,” she said again, louder. More certain.

“Are you sure? It’s just this vase—”

“You can throw it out too, I don’t care.”

“It’s Baccarat crystal.”

I didn’t know we were calling it flower mountain that’s way better

The plastic hanger in Marinette’s hands cracked—she hadn’t realized how tightly she was clenching it. She schooled her features into blankness and turned to stare at her friend. “So?”

Ondine looked nervous. Apparently Marinette wasn’t disguising the threat of storm within her as well as she meant to. She let out a slow breath.

Ondine shifted her weight and averted her gaze to the fractured hanger in Marinette’s hand. “I looked it up. I could practically pay my rent with that thing.”

but the flower store lady said there was no such thing as too much when it comes to flowers and

“Then pay your rent with it,” she snapped. The hanger in her hands broke in half with a sharp sound, causing both her and Ondine to jump.

Marinette looked down unseeingly at the dress in her hands. The hanger had caught in a seam and popped it. She’d have to re-sew it. She might just rip it up and start over. “Sorry,” she mumbled, wadding up the fabric in her hands. She looked up at her friend with a smile that read like a grimace. “I’ve got to…” she held up the ruined garment as if in explanation.

Ondine nodded cautiously. “Why don’t you take the day off?”

“It won’t take that long—”

“Take the day, Marinette.” Ondine stared at her, jaw set in determination. “Get some rest, or whatever it is you do now, and come back when you feel better.”

Marinette eyed the pile of clothes in the corner, the ones with no places to go, and her hands itched to put them right. But instead she nodded, took the ruined dress, and left under the weight of her friend’s uneasy stare.

She walked out the door and her hands began to shake. Thoughts were tapping at the back of her mind—words and memories that had been building up behind a dam, but now it seemed that the dam had a leak. Marinette knew she couldn’t stop it anymore—she only hoped she could get home before it broke and crushed her under its mass.

Her breaths started coming shorter. She started walking faster. She had to make it home. She couldn’t fall apart here. Because

Isn’t that amazing? The best one hundred and twenty two days of my whole lif—

character limit reached

Adrien threw his phone down on the seat of the car with a huff of irritation.

Fashion Dynasty! Gabriel names son as his successor, Agreste heir steps up as new VP. After a moment his screen went dark so the headline winked out of sight. Adrien wished it were that easy to truly erase it.

According to the article he was “very honored to be a part of Gabriel’s tradition of excellence” and “eager to uphold the family name through dedication and innovation.” Which was at best a generous interpretation of his reluctant offer to “stick around for now” and “help out when he had time.” At worst it was a complete fabrication by his father and the PR spinners on his top floor.

He wished he was more surprised.

He picked up his phone again and unlocked the screen, prodding further into the article like a bruise he couldn’t help but poke. 

“The new Vice President is… Protégé under the direct tutelage of his father? Yeah right,” he muttered, scrolling a little farther. His driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror but didn’t respond. He never did, actually, but Adrien was pretty sure the man was on his side.

He looked at the next paragraph and felt the heat of a blush overtake his face. “Adonis? Really? Adonis?”

He thought he heard the grunt of a chuckle from the front seat and glared. Maybe the man wasn’t on his side.

“Despite possessing the ‘face that launched a thousand ad campaigns,’ the young Adonis is a perpetual bachelor who…” Adrien growled. “Couldn’t they find, actually, a single new metaphor?” He threw down his phone again and glared out the window, murmuring discontentedly under his breath.

They pulled up to an intersection just then, and something outside his window finally broke through his preoccupation. 

There was a dark haired girl rushing down the sidewalk, her face turned so he couldn’t see what she looked like, but he felt the oddest lurch in his heart. He couldn’t explain it until he saw her duck through the door on the corner. The door swung shut, and the light caught on the golden logo embossed on the glass.

“Pull over!” he shouted with an urgency that had the driver slamming on the brakes. When they’d fully stopped, the man twisted to look at him, his great brow furrowed in bewilderment.

“Sorry,” Adrien said, unbuckling his seatbelt. “I’ve just been trying to find this bakery for days.” 

The man looked out the window and noticed the bakery there. When he did, Adrien thought he saw his eyes widen in alarm. He didn’t want to get his driver in trouble with his father, but he really was having the worst afternoon. Surely he could indulge Adrien’s sweet tooth this one time.

Maybe not, he thought as he saw the man’s hand reach for the lock button. Adrien popped the door open before he could press it and hopped out of the car, which had just begun to roll again. The car rocked back to a halt, and Adrien gave his driver an irritated look. “Give me a break,” he said, exasperated. “It’s just a macaron.” 

Sabine looked up at the ring of the doorbell and felt her stomach sink.

For days she’d watched her daughter disintegrate, seen her frantically patch her heart together with wide, sloppy stitches like they could hold it, like no one could tell she was barely hanging on. Sabine had stood helplessly by, desperate to help yet powerless to act until her daughter would allow it.

But time and heartbreak, it seemed, had finally caught up to her.

Marinette stumbled into the bakery, wide-eyed and breathless. She made a small, broken sound that wrenched at Sabine’s heart, and lurched toward her mother’s ready embrace. But Sabine had barely grasped her when the bell rang again.

Adrien came dashing into the bakery behind her.

He was certainly the last person she expected to see here after breaking her daughter’s heart the way he had. Sabine felt a wave of anger that made her wish to be taller so she could stare him down with all the protective ire within her, but the feeling dissipated just as quickly.

She didn’t know the circumstances of the break-up, she chastised herself. Marinette had never explained. It was entirely possible that the boy had done nothing wrong—perhaps it was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps he’d chased her daughter in here today so they could finally talk and put things right.

Sabine prayed that was the case. She’d had such high hopes for him.

Marinette looked up from her shoulder and her face drained bone-white. She stared at the boy in the doorway with a desperate, agonized expression.

Sabine wondered if she should excuse herself to let them talk. Her daughter appeared to be seconds from running away, but she was waiting for something, Sabine didn’t know what. Like a mouse, frozen by fear under the gaze of its pursuer.

“Good morning,” Adrien said to the pair of them.

And then he did the strangest thing. He looked away from them and casually approached the counter, scanning the carefully drawn chalk menu as though he were just another customer. As though he didn’t have a care in the world regarding the girl watching him so intently.

As though he didn’t even know her.

Sabine blinked, utterly baffled. Then, as she observed his bizarre indifference, a new feeling began to creep in—a terrible feeling, like a twinge of warning in her heart. She turned back to her daughter with a new wariness.

Marinette watched the back of Adrien’s head, her lip trembling as though she might call out his name. A silent second passed, like the vacuum of quiet before an explosion—loaded and extra deep. It was deafening in the way only silence could be—how could the boy not feel it? Why didn’t he turn around?

Then the moment was gone. Marinette’s face crumpled. She wrenched herself out of her mother’s grasp and fled to the back room with a barely stifled sob.

Adrien looked up at the sound, his face revealing nothing beyond polite concern, and Sabine nearly felt ill. She understood.

He’d erased her. Erased them. No, what was the word people were using? Deleted. From his memories, just like they’d shown on the television. It had always sounded like science fiction to her, like something from another world that couldn’t possibly affect normal people, but there it was, standing on her clean linoleum, smiling blandly back at her.

“Sorry,” he said, but it was merely a social nicety with no meaning behind it, like excuse me or pardon . It was not at all the apology he owed. “Is this your bakery?”

Sabine pursed her lips. “Can I help you?” she said out of habit. She glanced at the door Marinette had just disappeared through and she longed to go after her. Tom was back there, though. He would know what to do.

She hoped he’d know what to do. Oh, dear, how on earth could anyone know what to do?

She looked back to Adrien, who was pulling something from one of his pockets.

It was a napkin, she realized—one of their napkins, with the bakery’s logo printed on it. Probably the one she’d given to him not even a week ago.

When things were different.

“I’ve been looking for this place ever since I found this napkin. It had a passionfruit macaron in it? Best thing I’ve ever tasted.” He grinned, that sweet, charming grin she’d been so fooled by at their first meeting. It looked so sincere. She supposed that was what put him on the billboards. “I was wondering if you sell them here.”

Sabine, quite against her nature, did not want to be kind to this boy. She no longer wanted to stuff him with baked goods and give him tea and hang his stocking above their fireplace at Christmas. She wanted him gone so she could run back and hug her daughter.

How dare he. How dare he do this to Marinette?

“I’m sorry,” she said, surprised at the evenness of her voice. “Those aren’t on the menu.”

“Oh.” His face fell. “That’s okay. I—I’ll try a different flavor. I’m sure they’re all really good.”

Sabine stepped behind the counter and grabbed a pair of tongs while the boy looked at the display of colorful cookies. She slid open the drawer where they kept the little foil wrappers for the macarons and noticed something abnormal.

Or, no… not abnormal. Very normal, actually. But still surprising.

She grabbed the unexpected little package out of the drawer and her face softened when she looked inside. Baked fresh this morning.

Marinette, it seemed, had not given up on Adrien as easily as Sabine had. 

“I was mistaken,” she said softly. “It looks like we actually have one passionfruit macaron.”

He laughed then, a simple sound of delighted surprise. It was almost enough to make Sabine return his smile.

Almost.

There was a distant sound of shattering in the back room, and the boy turned curious eyes toward the door. “Is everything okay?”

Sabine handed him the wrapped macaron with a tight smile. “Sorry, I had better go check…”

She made a pointed gesture towards the exit.

“Oh, of course.” He fumbled for his wallet, but she waved him off.

“It’s the last one—who knows what shape it’s in—please don’t worry about it—”

“Are you sure? Because—”

“I insist, sir, please—”

She followed him to the door, hurrying him along as politely as she could, while he kept trying to hand her a fancy looking credit card as though she might have a way to swipe it in her apron.

“Thank you for coming,” she said as kindly as one can do while closing the door in someone’s face, cutting off the sound of his desperate, last-second “thank you!” She flipped the sign from “open” to “closed” and locked the door. It was two hours early for closing, but they could afford it just this once.

There were more important things than business.

Sabine took a fortifying breath and went to the door that separated the public space from the working bakery. Something was shining at the base of the door—a liquid was seeping underneath it, she realized as she pushed it open.

The liquid was tea, and in it floated a thousand tiny pieces of pale pink china. A teacup, not dropped, as might be expected from Marinette, but flung. The remnants dribbled down the door and pooled in a dreary little puddle at its foot.

Sabine looked across the room, where her husband held their daughter tightly in his great arms, where he looked across at her, his eyes pleading and helpless, as Marinette sobbed wordlessly into his chest—choking, wracking sobs of desolation and despair, and they wrenched Sabine to her core.

Oh, Marinette.

Sabine rushed to them, heedless of the crunch under her feet from her daughter’s favorite teacup being ground into glimmering dust. She added her own arms to the miserable little knot, trying to lend some strength to her daughter who was struggling to breathe through her sobs.

“She was okay,” Tom murmured for just his wife to hear. Not that it mattered—Marinette was beyond hearing. “Until she heard him laugh, and then it was like…”

Sabine nodded and made a soft shushing noise at her daughter. She was worried she would make herself sick if she didn’t stop to breathe soon. “He’s gone now,” she crooned, but that only made Marinette cry harder than ever. 

She looked up at her husband and saw tears on his cheeks, but he didn’t move to wipe them away. He faithfully held onto Marinette, trying to hold her together while she begged and rasped and wept.

Not wordlessly, as Sabine had originally thought, but an almost unintelligible plea of the same three words over and over again. Words that she knew weren’t for her or her husband, but for the beautiful boy who had taken her heart and then senselessly erased her from his world.

I love you.

I love you I love you I love you

I’m so sorry

I love you

Chapter Text

“This isn’t real,” Marinette breathed onto Adrien’s shoulder.

He tightened his hold on her, his fingers bunching in the black silk at her waist. “Why do you say that?”

“Because.” Her eyes fluttered closed.

“Because why?”

He skimmed his lips up the side of her neck, his breath tickling at her hair, sending an echo of sensation singing down her spine. She giggled.

“Because this isn’t how it happened.”

“Isn’t it?” He pulled back to look around them, but he didn’t let her go. The moon shone bright on the deck of the boat as they turned a slow circle, dancing to the music that floated up from the party below. He absently drummed the rhythm on her back like she was his piano, the soft thrumming in tune with the water lapping the sides of the boat and his heart beating under her fingertips. “That can’t be right. This is exactly how I remember it.”

“We didn’t dance.”

“We could have.”

“And you definitely didn’t kiss me.”

“I should have.” He looked down at her, green eyes alight with mischief. “I very nearly did.”

She gazed back at him, full of wonder. They were close enough that her legs brushed his, and she remembered without looking that there was a small tear, just a patch of unraveling thread, at his knee. She would have to fix that.

“But we’d only just met.”

He hummed in agreement. “But that didn’t matter. I think my heart recognized yours from another life.”

“That,” she laughed, “is incredibly cheesy.”

Adrien’s laugh echoed hers as he took her hand in his and twirled her away, then pulled her back to dip her in dramatic fashion. He grinned down at her, his smile a glint in the dark. “But you love me for it.”

“I do.” She stood so she could look him in the eye and took his hands, anchoring her fingers in the spaces between his. (Those were her spaces. Even then, even now, and even here).  “I do, Adrien. I love you so much.”

He smiled, but then his face fell. He glanced over his shoulder at the stairway that led down to the party. “I have to go.”

Marinette’s heart stuttered. Because this was how it actually happened.

He took a step back, releasing her hands before she could think to hold tighter. Now there were empty spaces between his fingers.

“At least let me fix your suit.” She reached for her pocket. She had her sewing kit in there, the essential thread that would stitch everything back together.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “I’ll probably just throw the whole thing away.”

Marinette felt her eyes burning, and she blinked against the sudden sting of tears. “But it’s your lucky suit. You needed it back for Valentine’s Day, remember? You said it was important.”

He frowned and shook his head. “No. I don’t remember.” He took another step away. “I have to go.”

Her tears spilled over. “Why?”

“Because everyone’s looking for me.”

“Why?”

He paused and looked at the door, his brow furrowed, his lips pursed in frustration. As though he were trying, at last, to remember. Finally he looked back at her, his eyes reflecting the very same sadness that was slowly eating her alive.

“Because I’m lost.”

Marinette tried her best, but in the end she couldn’t stay with him. The dream dissolved, taking with it the Adrien who still knew her name.

Who still loved her. 

She flexed her hands—the spaces between her fingers felt cold. Marinette opened her eyes and stared at the ceiling. She had no idea how long she’d been sleeping, but it felt like a very long time. Her bones were stiff and weary. The watery dimness streaming through her skylight could have indicated any hour or any day.

Something encroached on her consciousness then—a muffled sound that had woken her, telling her that she wasn’t alone. Warmth. A quiet, steady breathing. Adrien , her brain whispered hopefully, but she stamped the voice down before it could deal her any damage.

She reached a hand across the bed and felt a lump under the blankets. There was a soft grunt of awakening, and then the sound of her name.

“Marinette?”

Her heart gave a little jump. She was suddenly wide awake, kicking at the covers, desperate to turn and see—

“Alya?!” her voice cracked on the beloved name. She lunged into the arms of her best friend and felt her tears start up again (but these were warmer, better tears of respite and relief). “When did you get here?” she sobbed.

“A few hours ago.” Alya squeezed her tight, and Marinette burrowed into the safety of her best friend’s arms—so perfectly soft and strong and familiar. “Your parents called me.”

Marinette sniffed, the sound loud and wet against the quiet, cozy calm. “Are you okay leaving work? Your trip, your… your research—”

Alya rested her cheek on Marinette’s hair and hummed contentedly. “I’m exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

Marinette’s emotions were stretched to their breaking point. She no longer knew if she should be crying or laughing, so she did both, content in the knowledge that Alya wouldn’t mind either way. That she would still love her, even if she soaked through her shirt with her snot and tears.

“I missed you so much!” Marinette cried. Alya smiled and wiped her own cheeks.

“I missed you too, sweet girl.”

Marinette felt better after Alya convinced her to have a shower and some tea. Her heart wasn’t healed, not by a long stretch, but she finally felt human again, and present in her body in a way she hadn’t experienced in days as they sat on the floor of her room together. She focused on the tug of Alya’s fingers through her wet hair as she separated it into tiny braids.

“I’m going to twist them into a tiara when I’m done,” Alya declared.

“Mmm,” Marinette hummed and closed her eyes, leaning into her friend’s hands.

“Do you want to try to eat something?”

Marinette frowned. She’d felt hollow inside for days, and she knew it was the kind of emptiness you couldn’t fill with croissants. But maybe she should try. She picked the lemon off the side of her empty teacup and sucked on it. The sharp taste filled her mouth and hurt her cheeks, but it was further proof that she was awake and the world was real. It was grounding. She screwed up her face, and Alya laughed.

“I could eat, I guess.”

Alya scooted her own plate of buttery pastry toward her. Marinette ripped a fold off the croissant and nibbled it gingerly. It kind of tasted like ashes, but so did everything lately.

Alya picked up a new section of Marinette’s hair and resumed plaiting. They were quiet for a moment, then, “Tell me what happened.”

Marinette stopped chewing. Swallowing came hard, the croissant now a sticky lump in her throat.

“Come on,” Alya said gently. “I think you need this. Let’s just… drain him all out. Like poison.”

“I don’t want to,” Marinette said, her voice incredibly small. She didn’t mean that she couldn’t talk about it. She just didn’t want to do what Alya suggested—bleeding him from her system until he was gone. He already didn’t remember her. If she let him go, too, then what would be left of them? 

Alya waited patiently, her fingers working through her hair rhythmically.

Marinette let out a deep breath. “You know most of it. That he told me he loved me but I… waited.” The memory was like a sharp pain in her heart, and she needed a moment before she could go on.

While she gathered herself, Alya tried to understand. “And you think that’s why he…?”

“No.”

“Okay.”

Marinette thought, and searched, and replayed moments in her mind. Each memory punched at that hollow place within her, but she pushed through, and yet with all her effort she couldn’t make sense of what happened. “He loved me. I’m… I’m sure. I don’t know what happened but I know that. I know it like I know my own name.”

“Okay,” Alya said again. She began to twist the braid in her hand, forming it around the crown of Marinette’s head. “But he… if it was love —”

“It was.”

“—then how could he do what he did? I mean, he deleted you, Marinette. That’s not just a normal break-up, that’s…” Alya’s voice trailed off as she tried to find a sufficient adjective for that kind of betrayal, and while Marinette agreed that it would have been terrible, if it were the truth…

She chewed on her lip, and somehow, from behind her, Alya’s BFF radar picked up on her hesitation. “What is it?” she asked, dropping the cord of hair in her hand.

Marinette shuffled her bottom in a little half-circle until she was facing her friend. “You’re going to think I’m crazy, or… or paranoid or something.”

Alya raised an eyebrow.

Marinette looked down at her hands, which were wringing in her lap, and ordered them to be still. “I don’t think he did it,” she whispered, and glanced up in time to see her friend’s eyes widen.

“You mean you think he still…?”

“No, no, he’s definitely forgotten me. I saw him, for a second, and he just… looked right through me. He didn’t know me.”

Alya’s brow furrowed. “So you’re saying, what, he hit his head or something?”

Marinette shrugged, feeling stupid. “I just mean—I don’t know! What if… someone made him do it?”

“Like who? And how would that even work?”

Marinette shrugged again, and this time she felt her eyes burning, and she didn’t know it was possible that she had any tears left, but they defied all logic and ran hot and silent down her cheeks. “I… I don’t know how to explain it,” she cried. “But I just don’t think Adrien could do this to me!”

Alya leaned forward and took Marinette’s hands in her own. “Listen, Marinette. I don’t want to hurt you more, but… I’ve learned a lot about SPA in my research. The patient has to go through a super specific process and like, really focus on the subject they’re deleting. I haven’t seen any way that it could be done to someone against their will.”

Marinette nodded, the motion causing her tears to quiver where they gathered on the tip of her chin. “I know, I know, I’m just being stupid.”

“It’s not stupid to believe in someone. Even if it’s someone who…” she cut herself off with a sigh. “You have such a big heart, Marinette, and you defend the people you love. And that’s one of the things I love about you.”

“Even if I’m being delusional?”

“Especially then.”

Marinette made a sound that was almost a laugh. Alya looked at her fondly, then looked down and picked at the remaining curl of croissant. It seemed like the matter would pass, for the time being, but then Alya spoke again.

“Anyway, there wouldn’t be any point in deleting you unless they also had a way to silence you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, say someone orchestrated some evil plot and forced him to forget you against his will. What good would it do? You’re still out there, and you know everything. All you have to do is go to Adrien and explain what was done to him and start over, and then whoever planned it would be in a whole heap of trouble. So unless they have a way to keep you away from him, there’s no reason to go through all that.” Alya shrugged, like she’d just ended the matter.

Marinette stopped breathing for a moment.

Alya frowned at her, eyes full of concern. “What is it?”

“You’re saying if… if someone could control me, and they tried to stop me from seeing him and telling him the truth…?”

“Well, if someone were to do that, it would make your whole theory way more plausible.” Alya groaned. “But that’s a total hypothetical, Marinette, I don’t even know why I said it. Because no one’s been like, trying to make you disappear or blackmail you, right? So… it had to be a choice he made willingly. He pulled a rich white boy move and paid to have his problems erased, as painful as that is to accept.”

“Right…” Marinette blinked, her eyes unfocused as her mind began to race.

Alya watched the wheels turn in her head with a suspicious frown on her face. “Marinette? No one has been trying to get rid of you or anything, right?”

Marinette gave an airy little laugh. “Of course not,” she said, and changed the subject hastily before Alya could ask her about blackmail. “That’s enough heavy talk. Let’s talk about literally anything else right now. What’s been your favorite part of your trip so far?”

Alya’s eyes lit up. “Besides the pasta in Rome? You would never believe what politician’s daughter I caught coming out of a SPA lab.”

“Do tell,” Marinette insisted, pleased with herself for successfully distracting her friend. She twisted open Alya’s favorite shade of pumpkin orange polish and bent to paint her friend’s toes, completely missing Alya’s narrowed eyes and calculating stare.

Investigative journalist bestie: activated. 

Adrien tapped his fingers absently on the café table, waiting for Chloe to look up from her phone. She had been ignoring him for at least ten minutes, and to stave off boredom he had begun to experiment with the limits of her inattention. 

“I think I’m going to buy my own car,” he mused as he began to arrange sweetener packets on the table. He wondered if he had enough to make a smiley-face. “Something really impractical. Like a convertible.”

Chloe held her phone out to take a quick selfie, trying a few angles before she was seemingly satisfied, and then resumed tapping at her screen. “Hmm.”

“And I might grow a beard.”

She didn’t respond. It had been an empty threat, anyway. Even if his father would allow it, he’d never been able to grow noteworthy facial hair.  

He reached across the table to steal a finger of whipped cream from her drink.

“Don’t you dare.”

“The car or the beard?” 

“I don’t care about either one. Just don’t touch my drink.”

“Who are you texting?” He asked finally, wondering if she’d stop typing before her latte went cold.

“Some guy,” she said vaguely, but Adrien knew her well enough to discern that it was someone who mattered to her.

He suddenly had a sneaking suspicion he knew the identity of her mystery man, and he felt a flash of annoyance. “Boyfriend?”

“Maybe.”

“Are you going to delete him too?”

“I’ll do what I want, Judgy McModelface,” she snapped, but her cheeks turned pink.

Adrien looked down at his hands. “Sorry, that wasn’t kind of me.”

Chloe shrugged and put down her phone. “Like you could hurt my feelings, Adrikins.”

He knew that was a lie. He was probably one of the only people whose opinion actually mattered to her. He didn’t want to be a bad friend. “Do… you want to tell me about him?”

“You can meet him when he comes to pick me up in a few minutes.”

“That will be nice.”

“What about you? Are you still seeing that girl?”

Adrien frowned. “Girl?”

“Fine, woman, ‘angel’, or whatever, you giant sap.” She rolled her eyes. “From New Year's Eve?”

Adrien stared at her blankly. He was used to Chloe completely ignoring any woman in his life beyond herself, and she’d even told him a few times that she “didn’t want to hear about it” when he started seeing someone. Not that he’d dated anyone in ages, or ever very seriously. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy—she had no interest in Adrien romantically–but he knew she worried that she might someday be pushed aside for a girlfriend, so he tended not to mention dates to her, as a rule.

It was out of character, then, for her to assign him an imaginary girlfriend. “I didn’t have a date on New Year's Eve.”

She leveled in irritated look at him. “You skipped Daddy’s party for nothing, then? You said you couldn’t come because—” she cut off suddenly, sitting up in her chair and smoothing her hair. Then she arranged herself casually in her seat and laughed, a fake little giggle, like someone would do while having their picture taken. “Oh, Adrien, you’re too funny!”

Adrien glanced over his shoulder to confirm his suspicion that her mystery guy had just walked in.

Nathaniel stood in the doorway and looked at Adrien with an expression of utter panic. “H-hey!” He said, his tone wobbly with forced cheer. “You must be Adrien?”

“Yeah,” Adrien answered flatly. He took Nathaniel’s offered hand to shake. “Super nice to meet you for the very first time ever.”

Nathaniel made a small strangled sound, then turned to Chloe. “You ready to go, Chloe?”

“Yeah, let me just—” she shoved her phone in her purse and took a sip of her drink with her other hand. “Ugh!” She made a face and spit her coffee back into the cup. “My latte is cold! Those stupid, incompetent—”

Nathaniel took the cup from her hand and kissed the side of her head. “I’ll get you a new one, Beautiful.”

Chloe sniffed indifferently, though her cheeks turned a little pink. “Don’t tip those losers.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” He headed to the counter, giving Adrien one last anxious look on his way by.

“He seems nice,” Adrien said brightly. “Say, Chloe, do you ever, I don’t know… read your diaries after you have a guy deleted?”

“I have them burned,” Chloe said, staring at one of her cuticles as though it had personally offended her. “I don’t live in the past, Adrien. Why do you care?”

“No reason.” He gave an indecorous snort his father wouldn’t approve of. “It’s just that you know what they say. Those who forget history are—”

“Probably way happier not having to think about all that sad, boring stuff.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and leaned in to land a kiss next to Adrien’s cheek. “Bye, Adrikins!” She headed for the door, where Nathaniel was waiting with a new, steaming-hot latte.

“Bye, Chlo,” he called after her. “Take care of yourself.”

adrikins

are you happy?

the-queen-bee

Of course I’m happy??

adrikins

okay

good

the-queen-bee

Why??

adrikins

because you’re my friend and it’s important to me that you’re happy

the-queen-bee

You are such a sap!!!

 

Adrien smiled down at his phone as Chloe flooded their chat screen with a string of eyeroll, kissface, and heart emojis.

He wasn’t sure what to do about the whole Chloe/Nathaniel situation. He didn’t like that his friend was being deceived, but, outside of his habit of boomeranging back into Chloe’s life every time she threw him away, Nathaniel seemed like a decent guy. And he probably had tipped the baristas.

Still, Adrien thought it might be worth finding out what Nathaniel was trying to accomplish and, regardless of his intentions, persuading him to tell Chloe the truth. 

Adrien would want to know, if it were him. 

He sighed and opened his calendar to confirm his schedule for the rest of the day. He had an investor meeting at three and a fitting at six. Then he was hoping to go to the grocery store. He had this urge lately to cook for himself. He liked that it put a little noise and warmth into his townhouse, which felt extra empty lately, for some reason.

So far he had only caused one minor fire.

His thumb hovered over his screen, ready to close the calendar, when he suddenly changed his mind and pulled up the month of December from last year. He stared at the blank box for the thirty-first with a frown, his heart fluttering with an anxiety he didn’t quite understand, and it wasn’t because of the empty schedule.

It was the strangest thing.

As hard as he tried, he couldn’t remember a single second of last New Year’s Eve. 

Chapter Text

Last December 31 st , 00:01

minouminou

happy new year (‘s eve)!

ladybug

 I was about to say you are two hours early but I just looked at the clock. I can’t believe it’s past midnight!

Happy New Year (‘s Eve)!

minouminou

what are you designing?

ladybug

How did you know?

minouminou

it’s the middle of the night, you’re still up, and have somehow lost two hours 

all signs point to a project

ladybug

Just a dress

minouminou

“just” she says, like it’s not an inspired work of art

ladybug

Actually

I really like it. If it turns out how I imagine I might keep this one for myself.

minouminou

😍

will I get to see you in it?

ladybug

It’s sort of a special occasion dress?

minouminou

well then

maybe I will have to make an occasion

wear it tomorrow and crash my dad’s party with me

ladybug

haha it won’t be ready for a couple months

minouminou

valentine’s day, then?

ladybug

I can probably finish it by then

minouminou

😻

ladybug

So you chose your father’s NYE party?

minouminou

it’s that or the bourgeois bash at le grand paris. still not sure which is the lesser of two evils

ladybug

Or

Alternatively

You could blow them both off and spend the day with me?

minouminou

are you serious?

ladybug

I mean, if you want. My parents are out on catering duty all day for those parties and they told me to take a holiday off, so

If you want to?

minouminou

I WANT TO

ladybug

Did you just

Did you just use capital letters?

minouminou

sorry I’ve just never been so excited for something before

well, maybe one other time

ladybug

First, I can’t believe you just apologized for capitalization

Second, I am sure I’ve never seen you do it before

minouminou

no I did once, hang on

 

December 31 st , 01:14

ladybug

Adrien? Did you fall asleep?

minouminou

sorry no I had to scroll back to august

ladybug

What!?

minouminou

found it!

ladybug

Is that our first conversation? Ever?

minouminou

yeah

ladybug

aww

It was too early for me to notice that capital letters were weird for you. What’s your deal with them, anyway?

minouminou

you don’t think they look full of themselves?

ladybug

They will make you use them at university, you know

minouminou

if my father ever lets me go

ladybug

He can let you or he can fight me

minouminou

*boss battle music*

ladybug

I can’t believe you kept that all this time

I used so many smiley faces

Were you like, wow, this girl uses so many smiley faces?

minouminou

I was like wow

in general

like I need to see this girl’s face again, I must be remembering it wrong

because I felt like the moonlight looked so much better on you than it ever had on anyone else and how is that even possible

ladybug

Watch out, buddy

That kind of talk’s gonna get you kissed 

How do you still have that conversation? Don’t you clear your text history?

minouminou

I don’t erase anything from you.

I never want to forget a single second of knowing you

ladybug

You are so amazing. <3

I can’t wait to spend the day with you tomorrow (which is already today I guess)

minouminou

a whole day, just you and me

ladybug

:)

minouminou

👀 wow, this girl uses so many smiley faces

ladybug

roflgjnldksfgh

minouminou

See you then, Marinette

Last December 31st 00:47 

the-queen-bee 

What do you mean you aren’t coming tomorrow????

adrikins

sorry chloe

I actually have a date!

the-queen-bee

Are you serious who????

Bakery girl still????

omg that reminds me so I KNOW I said I’d never date another artist but this guy is amazing and so adorable!!! You totally have to meet him!!! Talk soon!!! MWAH!!!

adrikins

happy for you, chloe! what’s his name?

the-queen-bee

Nathaniel <3<3<3

adrikins

seriously

the-queen-bee

rude???

The present February 19th

“How’s she doing?” was Nino’s first question when Alya arrived home from Marinette’s.

Alya shrugged. “She’s pretending to be tough. You know Marinette. She doesn’t want to worry me or her parents.” She slouched into her boyfriend’s waiting arms and sighed sleepily. “I hate seeing her like this.” 

Nino nodded. Marinette was heartbroken, and that totally sucked. From what Alya had told him, the girl had been crazy in love with her boyfriend (apparently she’d pulled the perfume guy … the actual dude from the billboards) and he’d dumped her out of nowhere and hit highlight:delete.

Nino wasn’t an insecure person, but he didn’t like the idea that crazy in love people could just split up out of the blue. He pulled Alya closer, and she nuzzled against him.

“And are you?” he asked, his voice muffled in her hair. “Worried, I mean?”

“Yeah,” Alya said, “but not because of the break-up.”

The tone of her voice caused Nino to lean back so he could study her face. He knew her really well, so he knew when she was speaking as more than a concerned friend. She was speaking as a journalist now, an investigator.

“Something really fishy is going on there, Nino.” She frowned, her lips pressing into a firm line. “And I’m going to figure out what it is.”

 A few hours later, the three friends sat around a wobbly table in a café by Collège Françoise Dupont. It had been one of their favorite haunts back in their school days, so it seemed like a great place to reconnect.

It seemed to be just what they needed—Marinette was actually smiling and laughing, which brought a lightness to Alya’s spirit after seeing the way she’d been struggling. 

“But this girl has a stomach of steel,” Nino was saying with a chuckle, one hand resting on Alya’s shoulder and one waving his lettuce-laden fork around for emphasis. “She’ll eat anything, which is good because half the time we don’t know what we’re ordering!”

“Wow,” Marinette said, her stomach sore from eating more than she had in days, and then laughing until it felt all frothy inside her. “How do you get around the language barriers? I mean, visiting that many countries, there’s no way to keep up!”

Alya shrugged. “Most of the hotels and public transportation have signs in multiple languages, and I can usually get a translator for my interviews. I speak a little English and Nino speaks a little Turkish—”

“A very little,” Nino clarified. “I can order coffee.”

“We’ve been getting by.”

“It sounds like an amazing experience.” Marinette grinned, and then her face fell a little. “When… when do you have to go back?”

“Actually…” Alya glanced at her boyfriend, and the two of them engaged in some kind of silent conversation before turning back to their friend. “We were thinking we would stay closer to home for a couple weeks.”

That seemed to perk Marinette up considerably. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean, they have the world’s leading SPA facility right here in Paris, so it’s only logical to spend some time there…” Alya trailed off when she saw the way the color drained from her best friend’s face.

Marinette looked down at her plate and started drawing patterns in her pasta sauce with her fork. “You’re researching Anamnesis?”

Alya nodded. “Is that okay? I know you have some…” she winced. “Bad associations.”

“It’s fine.” Marinette glanced up at the skeptical silence. She sighed and dropped her fork. “Of course it’s fine! It’s your job and… and it would be silly not to do an important part of your job because of my…” She stared down at her plate again, as though weighing the word ex-boyfriend on her tongue. “My feelings on the matter,” she finished lamely.

“If you’re sure…”

“Of course. Just…” Marinette bit her lip and glanced up—Alya could see something dark and unsettled in her eyes, like the boiling clouds of a storm. “Be careful in there, alright? I really don’t trust that place.”

Alya nodded reassuringly. “I’m always careful.”

“Sure you are,” Marinette muttered. She turned her suddenly melancholy gaze out the café window, so she completely missed the series of significant eyebrow-raises Alya and Nino exchanged in the wake of her warning.

“See?” Alya whispered as soon as Marinette excused herself to the bathroom. “She’s being weird about it, right?”

Nino gave his girlfriend a wary look. “I’m not sure if it’s weird weirdness or just extra, going-through-a-break-up Marinette weirdness. But yeah. The weirdness is there.”

“I mean, it would be one thing for her to be like, resentful towards Anamnesis, or to take some kind of ethical hard line against SPA—lots of people do. But this seems like more than that. She seems…” Alya glanced towards the bathroom door, her eyes wide.

“Scared,” he agreed. And in that moment, if he were being completely honest with himself, Nino was scared, too. Because he knew Alya had caught the scent of something bad, something possibly even dangerous. If he knew anything about his girlfriend (and he was pretty sure he did), he knew she wouldn’t rest until she’d uncovered the truth.

No matter what she found. No matter what it cost.

Adrien had been frozen in the very same pose for nearly fifteen minutes. He’d held poses for longer in the past, but this straight-backed, arm-spread T-pose he was holding was starting to make his shoulders ache.

“Just a minute longer,” the seamstress murmured, the words garbled near incomprehensibly around the straight-pins she held between her lips. “Just want to make sure it’s perfect.”

“Take your time,” Adrien replied as kindly as he could. He glanced nervously towards his father, whose mood was growing increasingly stormy as he watched his employee fumble through her work. Adrien knew she would probably be much more efficient if Gabriel weren’t looming over her task with his dark, judgmental expression. She’d been perfectly competent before he’d entered the room and set her hands to trembling.

Adrien felt a tiny prick in his arm and bit back a hiss. The seamstress froze, her face pale. Adrien glanced at his father to see if he noticed, and saw that his eyes were narrowed at the back of the woman’s head.

He desperately didn’t want to witness a firing today.

“Father?”

Gabriel dragged his eyes away from the seamstress (probably seconds before his glare could actually set the poor woman on fire) and raised an eyebrow at his son.

“Can you ask Nathalie for the number of that cleaning company that did my townhouse?”

“You insisted your own cleaning service was satisfactory.”

“They are,” Adrien said, ignoring his father’s sardonic tone, “but some of my stuff is missing and I thought maybe they moved it?”

Adrien watched his father carefully, hoping to gauge whether he’d come up with a sufficient enough distraction to spare the poor seamstress. He saw something flash across his face, as though he were startled or wrong-footed somehow, but the look disappeared so quickly that Adrien couldn’t be sure. He was at least certain that he’d finally gained his father’s full attention, which was never an easy task. 

“What do you think is missing?”

Adrien almost shrugged, but then remembered he was supposed to be holding still and caught himself just in time. “A few things just seem out of place, that’s all. I had some stuff on my nightstand—a picture frame. And the second drawer of my dresser is empty and I don’t think it was before.” Adrien frowned, knowing he probably sounded empty-headed and flakey. He’d been frustrated with himself for several days after the cleaning company had come through, because he didn’t know what things belonged in the empty spaces of his home, but he knew he should. Voicing his shortcomings to his father was embarrassing, but at least it effectively redirected his anger off the seamstress (who seemed to be, at long last, almost finished).

“So you think things are missing, but you can’t say what?”

Adrien felt color rising in his cheeks. “I think… well, I do know for sure that the pants to my lucky suit are missing.”

Gabriel stared at him for a long minute. When he finally spoke, his tone dripped with so much derision that Adrien winced. “You have… a lucky suit?”

Adrien wanted to shrivel up and disappear. “Yep,” he said miserably.

“Of all the sentimental, superstitious nonsense… why do you have a lucky suit?”

“Because!” Adrien said. “It’s the suit that… that I…”

He suddenly had that feeling again, the one that had been plaguing him lately. That feeling where he was missing something, or something was missing from him. It made his heart race anxiously, like he’d misplaced his keys or his wallet, and he should start patting his pockets and retracing his steps, but… how do you pat your pockets for the end of a sentence? He should already know the end of the sentence.

“It’s… the suit…”

“Nevermind, son, it’s fine,” Gabriel said, and there was something quick about his voice. Not anxiety, because his father never suffered that, but more like… he’d dropped something secret and needed to pick it up before anyone saw. “It’s not important.”

Adrien tried to relax his face, to smooth out the lines on his forehead from overthinking. He felt the tension brewing up a headache and he didn’t want to deal with that when he still had to endure three further fittings today. “I just need them back, okay? Can you ask Nathalie?”

“Fine. Stop thinking so hard. You’ll get wrinkles.”

The seamstress stood from hemming Adrien’s pants and stepped back. “All set, Mr. Agreste.”

“Thank you,” Adrien said.

“How is the fit?” she asked, her voice wobbling slightly.

“It’s perfect!” he answered brightly.

It actually pulled a little. He’d have it fixed when his father wasn’t around.

She grinned and let out a huge sigh. “Excellent. I’ll take this for finishing and send in the next look.” The suit was carefully removed and zipped into a garment bag, and then the woman scurried away with it, clearly desperate to be out of the room.

Gabriel watched her leave, his lips pressed into a thin line. When the door swung shut behind her, he turned to Adrien with a scoff. “Well, she’s obviously fired.”

“She wasn’t that bad!”

“’Not that bad’ is not an acceptable standard for a Gabriel employee. I expect the best here. Anyone else is a waste of my time and money.”

Adrien stared at his father, open mouthed. He should have been more surprised, honestly, but he was mostly disappointed. This was exactly the reason he’d felt like he couldn’t come to his father with his recent struggles—this complete lack of compassion and understanding that he no longer had the patience to ignore. He narrowed his eyes and straightened his posture. “What about me?”

That seemed to catch his father off guard. “What do you mean?”

“You just said I’m sentimental and superstitious and… and I wrinkle my forehead. Am I a waste of your time and money?”

“Adrien, I am not in the mood for—”

“And I am a wreck lately! I’m not sleeping right and I have all these weird feelings and I’m forgetting stuff… like, I’m missing New Year’s Eve. The entire day . Also a whole bunch of evenings, the weekend before Christmas… I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“Adrien—” his father said in a warning voice, but now that Adrien had begun voicing his feelings, he found it difficult to stop. 

“But I guess none of that matters because it doesn’t show up on camera. Like, it’s fine if I have a complete mental breakdown , as long as it doesn’t give me frown lines!”

“Adrien, that is enough!” his father snapped, his tone so sharp and icy that Adrien fell silent, wondering for a moment if he would slap him. But of course he never would… his father had perfect self-control and would never do anything so reckless. Not when it might hurt his image.

Adrien’s shoulders rose and fell with his heavy breathing and he forced them to be still after one long, slow exhale. He felt hot all over—his undershirt clung to his sticky skin, which would be gross and irritating for the next few fittings. He grit his teeth and cast his eyes around for an escape. “Maybe I should…”

“You’re excused for the day.”

“I…” Adrien nearly argued until he realized that the dismissal was exactly what he wanted. “Fine, thank you.”

Gabriel gave a sharp nod. “Come back when you can behave reasonably.”

Adrien ignored that parting barb and strode resolutely out the door—past Nathalie, who was walking in with the tailor for his next appointment.

He barely paused to grab his jacket, and determinedly ignored the little voice that told him he also used to have a scarf until it had disappeared a couple weeks ago, along with his memory, his peace of mind, and everything that used to clutter the empty second shelf of his bathroom.

“Get out,” Gabriel snapped at the tailor, who seemed more than pleased at the dismissal, no matter how abrupt. She turned on her heel without argument and disappeared out the door.

Nathalie lowered the tablet she’d been studying, startled, though she always managed not to appear so. She waited patiently for instruction as she watched Gabriel silently stare out the window, the picture of a man who would not appreciate an interruption to his thoughts. After what seemed like an age, he turned to her, his eyes full of frustration.

“I don’t understand why he’s still being like this.”

Nathalie sensed that he wasn’t finished and waited silently for him to continue.

“He was such an obedient child. Emotional, to be sure, but cooperative. And then he suddenly moves out and starts up a secret relationship, and that girl fills his head with all these ideas of… of quitting modeling and…” Gabriel ran a hand down his tired face. “The procedure was supposed to fix him. Why didn’t it fix him?”

Nathalie didn’t have an answer that he was going to like, so she offered, instead, a course of action. “Perhaps we should have a follow-up appointment with Dr. de Vere?”

“I don’t want him seen going in and out of that place. People might talk. And anyway, he wouldn’t…” Gabriel trailed off, his expression dark, and she knew what he was about to say.

Adrien wouldn’t understand why he was there. A second Anamnesis appointment without proper cause would seem extremely suspicious. Would be extremely suspicious.

Gabriel turned back to glare out the window, where a bright red Volkswagen could be seen pulling out onto the street. He sighed deeply, which Nathalie recognized as the sound of his perpetual, long-suffering annoyance with his son’s newest rebellion—an impractical choice of automobile, which he’d rolled up to work in two days ago, looking extremely proud of himself. She glanced down at her tablet again, where she had several bookmarked tabs of responsible, reliable cars saved for when Gabriel finally ran out of patience and had the little vintage Beetle secretly destroyed and replaced with something posh-branded and in an acceptably neutral shade.

She didn’t know if that would make her boss feel any better. It wasn’t the car itself, in the end. Despite the practicality of using the car service his father employed, Adrien just liked the self-reliance of driving himself. He was unlikely to put himself back at the mercy of his father’s driver now that he’d tasted independence… not for all the shiny silver Mercedes in Paris. She did have one final suggestion to make, but it was a bit extreme. 

Gabriel’s voice broke into her reverie. “I want someone keeping an eye on Adrien,” he said, and his tone gave her a chill. “Follow him.”

Nathalie went at once, obediently following his command despite the feeling in her heart that stalking his son was crossing a line.

It made her extreme “just buy him a helicopter” idea seem downright tame. 

Chapter Text

It took ten minutes of driving in circles for Adrien’s hands to stop shaking. He finally pulled over next to a park and took a few slow breaths in and out, silently chastising himself for driving against his better sense when he was so flustered.  His driver’s safety course had specifically warned him against it, and now here he was, being a public health hazard.

He hoped a walk through the park would help him clear his head. The pretty space featured neat rows of bare trees and an elegant stone fountain, which stood empty due to the brisk February weather. Not that it mattered to Adrien, who barely registered his surroundings as he meandered his way towards a cold iron bench. 

It was no use. He’d been trying to sort out his thoughts for days and had only managed to jumble them further. Even here, in this empty park, he had an anxious feeling that wouldn’t let him settle, like he was being watched.

He turned to scan the park behind him and nearly groaned. There was someone watching him—his own dumb face, ten meters up, smiling down from a billboard in a way that was apparently meant to sell perfume.

“What are you so happy about?” he asked the face, which stared back radiant-carefree-dreamily. He remembered that particular photoshoot. The poor women of Paris were all supposed to think his stare was hopelessly love-struck and entirely for them, when in reality he had probably just been listening to the photographer talk about spaghetti. 

His stomach growled at the thought of pasta. He’d skipped lunch for a fitting—another irresponsible choice, though he didn’t yet feel shaky or light-headed, which was surprising. Sometimes he wondered if his whole low blood-sugar diagnosis was made up by the doctor for having no better ideas.

It had gotten late without him realizing—the sky was a dark blue fringed with orange, and in the distance an ominous bank of steely clouds promised rain. The cloud bank was moving quickly, and he wanted to get food and get home before the skies could open up.

He returned to his car and pulled onto the street, planning to stop at the first food place that looked good, just to be safe. And then, he saw it.

The passion fruit macaron bakery! His mouth began to water at the sight of it. 

There was an open street-parking spot right in front, so he swung his little car into it and peered hopefully at the front window. The lights were dark inside, and no one seemed to be moving about. He squinted into the growing dark and was just able to make out the closed sign hanging in the window. 

It was probably for the best. The lady who worked there didn’t seem to like him very much the last time he’d gone in, which was probably because he’d interrupted some kind of private moment, and then he’d taken their last passionfruit macaron without even paying for it. They probably wouldn’t want him coming back. He’d been an absolute menace.

From now on he’d probably have to go find the second best bakery in Paris and see if he could special order the world’s second best passionfruit macaron.

The first spattering of heavy raindrops splashed onto Adrien’s windshield. He sighed and activated his wipers and lights before easing his car forward with an encouraging pat on the dashboard.

He’d barely begun to move when a shadow streaked in front of his car, causing him to once again forget his drivers’ safety course and jerk the wheel to the side. The brakes squealed in protest as he jolted to a stop with one wheel propped up on the curb, just short of a public trash bin. 

Adrien swallowed, his heart thudding wildly out of sync with the angry swish-slap of his windshield wipers.

He didn’t think he’d hit that… whatever it was. It might have just been a big rat. But something compelled him to get out of his car and look around the adjacent alley where the thing had disappeared. What if it had been someone’s beloved family pet? It could be hurt, or it could be missing its home. 

It could be lost.  

It occurred to him only after he’d slammed the car door behind him that it probably wasn’t safe to be wandering down a dark alley with nothing but his umbrella for defense, so he went back and retrieved a tire iron from the backseat. It was fortunate that he did, because he wasn’t two steps down the alley when there was a sudden crashing sound made by something far larger than a rat. He froze, his hands clenched tightly onto the iron at his side.

“Is someone there?” he called into the dark, though his voice wasn’t very strong over the cacophony of drumming rain on the dumpster lids around him.

He heard a squeak, not like a rat at all, but like a startled woman, and Adrien realized what he must look like—a strange man approaching her in a darkened alley while brandishing a weapon. He hid the tire-iron behind his back, embarrassed. 

“Sorry!” he said quickly. “I just thought I saw… did you see an animal come running back here?”

Then someone stepped out of the shadows and into the dim glow of the streetlight, her bright blue eyes wide and pink lips parted in a silent gasp. She stared at him silently as though his presence had shocked her beyond the power of speech.

Adrien was a bit shocked too, to be honest, because you don’t expect to walk down an alley in the dark and run into a pretty girl… 

Actually, pretty might be underselling her. Somehow the rain looked better on her than it ever had on anyone else, and he wondered how that was possible.

The tire iron fell to the ground with a loud clang, and Adrien skootched it away from himself with the toe of his shoe. “I’m not—don’t worry, I’m not a serial killer or anything,” he found himself babbling helplessly. “I just… thought I saw a kitten.”

The woman seemed to unfreeze as he rambled, and she tilted her head curiously. “And you were going to… help it change a tire?”

“Oh, yeah… that was actually just in case you were a serial killer.”

She shrugged. “I…I was actually going to say I was out here because I thought I saw a kitten, but someone already used up all the good excuses.” She finally smiled, just a flash—as though it had escaped against her will, and she had captured and caged it just as quickly. 

Adrien’s heart gave a little flip at the sight of it, and then it was gone again, like the sun disappearing behind a cloud, or an old friend going home after a too-short visit. He missed it almost instantly. Something in that smile, in the wondering depths of her forget-me-not blue eyes, stirred something within him—he put a hand over his heart and pressed, trying to stop it from pounding out of his chest. 

“Do I know you from somewhere?” he asked.

Her face paled a little and she took a step back from him. Adrien felt guilty then—she was probably cold, and wet, and uncomfortable being in the dark with a stranger. He took a step back as well, offering her the reassurance of a little more distance.

“Sorry,” he said, his own cheeks stinging as the cold rain landed on his heated skin. “I had… the strangest feeling of déjà vu just now.”

She shook her head and took another step back. “You don’t know me,” she said, her voice tight. “I was just bringing the trash out and now I should get back inside…” she motioned over her shoulder towards a loading door in the alley, but didn’t leave through it. 

Instead she paused, watching him, her eyes running over his shape as though she could memorize it. After a moment her lips parted around a small gasp, almost as if she were in pain, and she tore her eyes away.

She was sad, Adrien realized. He knew it couldn’t have been anything he’d done, but he found himself wishing he could cheer her up, nonetheless. 

He took another step backwards and tripped over the tire iron, causing himself to nearly fall into a dumpster. A small, pathetic mewling sound eeped out from beneath it, almost lost amidst the noise of the rain. 

“Did you hear that?” Adrien asked. He knelt without thinking so he could shine his phone flashlight under the bin, instantly soaking the knees of his pants in a gravelly puddle. 

The light caught something silver-green—the reflection of a pair of eyes in a little lump of shivering fur. “Poor little guy,” he whispered. “Pspspsps?” His enticing finger-wiggle had no effect on the kitten, who only pressed itself back against the wall, trying to make itself smaller. Adrien reached back as far as he could, but his jacket bunched up and made his arm too thick for the space. He sat back and started to shrug his coat off.

“Here,” said a voice behind him.

Adrien sat up, surprised to find that the woman had come back and had already taken off her coat. “You don’t have to,” he protested. “I’m already all wet, anyway.”

She hesitated for only a moment before kneeling beside him with a little splash. She was eye-level with him now, though she didn’t meet his stare. “My arms are smaller.”

He watched in wonder as she crouched down, reaching her arm under the bin all the way to her shoulder, and then strained for just a few more inches. There was a muffled hissing noise, followed by an angry meow, and then she drew her arm back out. She had the kitten—or, he had her , his tiny claws gripping into her thumb, leaving behind barely visible scratches as Adrien helped uncurl each little paw from her hand. It was quick work. 

It turned out the poor kitten only had three paws to begin with.

“Look at this little guy,” Adrien cooed, passing her the umbrella so his hands were free to cuddle the kitten close. He could feel it trembling from fear and cold, so he pulled up the bottom of his shirt to swaddle it up against his chest. The cold, wet air hit the newly exposed skin on his lower abdomen and he shivered.

He glanced at the woman, noting how her cheeks flushed as she quickly looked away from the bare skin of his stomach. Interesting.

Now that she was close, he was able to confirm his earlier assessment. She was exceptionally pretty. His eyes followed a rivulet of water that trickled from her forehead, where her inky black bangs were plastered to her skin, down the curve of her cheeks, which glowed ruby-red in the cold. There was a dusting of flour on her cheek, and Adrien felt his fingers flex as he restrained the urge to brush it away. If he left it long enough, the rain might wash it off… Adrien thought that would be a terrible waste.

She finally met his eyes—a flash of sapphire flame in the dark. They scorched him. He looked away, cheeks hot. He hadn’t meant to stare. 

(He had totally meant to stare.)  

“I just figured out where I know you from.”

She jumped at his sudden breach of the silence. “You don’t know me,” she insisted again, her eyes darting around for a safer place to land, finally settling on the kitten. 

“No, I’m sure I saw you.”

She began to shake her head, but he continued.

“I came into this bakery a couple weeks ago and you were there.”

She looked up in surprise. “Oh. That was me.”

“I knew it,” Adrien grinned. “I’m Adrien. What’s your name?”

She ignored the question. “I didn’t think you noticed me. I left pretty quickly. I was having a… a personal moment.” Her forehead scrunched up in a frown, and Adrien suddenly remembered that she’d been crying that day he’d come in, and he felt like a huge idiot for bringing it up.

“Sorry,” he mumbled. The back of his neck itched—he usually scratched at it when he felt this uncomfortable, but his hands were full of kitten. “It looked like something was wrong and I didn’t want to intrude, so I focused super hard on the menu, even though …” he winced. “I’d only come for a passionfruit macaron so I didn’t even need the menu… sorry. I feel like a jerk.”

She almost smiled again, but he saw her bury it before it could surface. “You’re not a jerk.”

“How do you know?”

“You’re going to stand here, soaking wet, holding the three legged kitten you just saved like some kind of superhero, and ask me that question?” This time she let the smile escape—just a wry twist of her lips, but it delighted him all the same. She looked down at the bundle in his arms. “Are you taking him home?”

“Yeah,” Adrien found himself saying, and even though he’d barely thought it through, it seemed like the best idea ever. “It’s weird, but I’ve been thinking how quiet and lonely my apartment feels lately. Maybe I was meant to find this little guy.” He looked up at her with a grin. “Maybe we’re going to save each other.”

“That sounds wonderful,” she breathed. She was smiling in earnest now, her expression so soft that it almost overwhelmed his heart. He had to tear his eyes away to catch his breath. 

He grinned down at the kitten, unable to temper his own joy. Despite the deep sadness that seemed to lay over her, he had gotten her to smile. If he could bottle the essence of that smile, they could use it to light the city. He wanted her to do it again. And again and again. “Maybe I’ll get him a little prosthetic leg,” he mused. 

Do it again.

“I think that would be a faux paw.”

He looked back up at her, stunned. “Did you just…?”

“Maybe.”

who is

this girl

and is it too soon

to propose

Adrien felt the kitten burrow further into his t-shirt in complaint of the cold, even though he barely felt it himself. His whole body felt so hot he thought the icy raindrops might curl off his skin as steam. But it was cold, and he watched the woman wrap her arms tightly around herself.

She had to go, he realized. He should let her go. 

He took a deep breath. “If you want, I can give you my number and you can text me for updates on the kitten. Just… if you were interested… in that.”

If you were interested in me, he didn’t add. His voice was casual despite the full-on internal meltdown he was experiencing. This was safer than asking for her number, he thought—this way she could be the one to initiate contact, and only if she decided she wanted to. He was hoping she’d want to—she seemed to be almost as affected by their meeting as he felt, with her shy-laughs and shining eyes and puns… 

He was desperately hoping he hadn’t misread everything. 

She stared past him, towards the entrance of the alley, and all at once her face turned ghostly white. Her suddenly bloodless lips stood out pale lavender from the cold, and she began backing away so quickly she stumbled with a squelching sound of soggy shoes.

He found himself apologizing with a sinking feeling in his stomach, and he didn’t know exactly why, but her apologies tripped over his apologies as she backed toward the door. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” she said.

“No, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“It would be best…” she hesitated at the door, her body stiffening as though she needed to drag the rest of the words out from someplace painful. “It would be best if you didn’t come around here anymore.”

“Of course.” Adrien nodded, his face hot from embarrassment, his heart stinging at the loss of her smile. “I’m really sorry,” he said again. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. Yeah, I’ll… I’ll go now.”

She was blinking quickly, maybe to keep the rain out of her eyes, maybe because she was crying again. He didn’t know how he’d managed to go from laughing with her to making her cry in the space of a few minutes, but as she disappeared through the door he knew he’d never felt more awful in his entire life. 

He felt unsteady as he stared at the door. Now that she was gone he could finally feel the cold seeping into his skin… through his skin, even, and into his heart. He hurried back to his car, hunching his shoulders against the raindrops that seeped under his collar. The girl had been holding his umbrella when she’d left, which meant he wouldn’t see it again. He wouldn’t see her again—he’d given her his word.

He was socially incompetent, just like Chloe had always told him. 

“Looks like I really screwed that up,” he said to the kitten as he bundled him onto the passenger seat. He blinked sleepily up at Adrien through crusty green eyes. It was ridiculously cute, so Adrien found himself smiling despite the ache in his chest. He felt a little pathetic, being this broken up over a girl he’d just met. He supposed it was the hopeless romantic in him. Maybe his father was right—he was being sentimental and superstitious. He couldn’t help it.

Because one look at that girl, and it was like, somehow…

His heart had recognized hers from another life.

Adrien shook his head. With one final glance at the darkened alley, he pulled away into the night.

Marinette found the strength to leave him, but only just. She closed the door behind her, shutting him out with the rain, and slid to the floor right there. She sat for what felt like ages, shivering in her damp clothes, her wet cheek resting against the cold metal of the door. Her hand pressed against it as she closed her eyes, imagining that the pattering sounds of rain on the other side were his footsteps coming back to her.

He had been right there, and he had been beautiful, and she loved him, she loved him, she loved him. 

And now he was gone. She didn’t expect she’d ever see him again.

But then, she hadn’t expected she’d see him tonight to begin with. He seemed drawn to her, over and over, as though some invisible force connected them. How was she supposed to heal when he kept unwittingly stumbling into her life to torment her? How was it fair that he could smile at her so painlessly while inflicting himself upon her again and again? While he got to forget and she had to let go? And if he kept it up, where would she find the strength to keep sending him away when all she wanted was to fall into his arms? 

How was she ever supposed to let him go? How could she make herself even want to try?

She turned so her back was pressed to the door and let her head fall against it, sniffing loudly, tears and rain running freely together on her cheeks. Her fingers wrung tight in the twisted fabric of his wet umbrella—all she had left of him that he might remember giving her, unlike the empty souvenirs of their life before, which were gathering dust in a box in her closet.

And she wondered.

Was it worse when he’d first looked at her like he didn’t know her? Or was the next moment, when he regarded her with the faintest hint of recognition, and she had felt the betrayal of hope twist into her like a knife?

No, she realized. It was right after she’d made that foolish pun—a reckless gambit to see his smile one last time, and he’d looked at her like he loved her.

That was the sort of devastation that ruined a heart for good.

Nathalie knocked on the door to Gabriel’s office with no small degree of trepidation. She knew it was late, but she’d seen the light under his door and figured he had stayed up to hear her news.

“Come in,” came the muffled voice through the door.

She pushed it open and stepped into the room. His home office had often reminded her of a surgeon’s studio—bright, sterile, cluttered in a purposeful way with various necessities of design—sharp instruments and neat stacks of paper, fabric, and card. Gabriel himself sat before an expanse of parchment over a backlit drawing board, a charcoal pencil clenched in his fist which, in the course of his work, had the nerve to leave a smudge on the cuff of his shirt.

“Did you follow him?” He asked without preamble.

“I did.”

“And?” He set the pencil down, his impatience for her answer channeled into a scowl at the mark of coal on his cuff.

“You were right.” She held out her phone, unlocked and opened to her camera roll. “He went to her.”

Gabriel stood and snatched the phone from her hand. He scrolled in disbelief through a series of photos, clear despite being taken through a rainy car window at night: his son standing in a sodden dark alley like some kind of hobo, and Mlle. Dupain-Cheng, identifiable only in the last frame where she disappeared through a well-lit doorway. “How is this possible,” he said, his voice a low growl. “This shouldn’t be possible!”

“It almost seemed…” Nathalie braced herself, already knowing his reaction. “It almost seemed like a coincidence.”

“Coincidence?” He scoffed.

“I know you don’t believe in coincidence—”

“Because there’s no such thing. It’s only ever an excuse for people too weak to control their own situation, and this… this should not be happening.”

“He was driving by her family’s bakery and swerved off the road. I think a cat or something ran in front of him, and he went after it. She happened to be taking out the trash—”

“Happened to,” he sneered.

“She couldn’t have orchestrated a stray cat. Regardless, it looked like she sent him away. She barely spoke to him.”

Gabriel handed her phone back with a dark look on his face. “Is she going to be a problem?”

Nathalie glanced away for a moment, and he narrowed his eyes at her evasion. “What is it?”

“I think she caught me watching them. She saw my car at the end of the alley and ran back inside.”

“Oh, that. It doesn’t matter what she knows; she won’t talk.”

He said it with such confidence, but Nathalie wasn’t so sure. The girl, from what she’d seen, had a very strong will and sense of justice. It wouldn’t sit well with her, knowing Adrien was being followed. It might trouble her conscience into unwise action.

Gabriel noticed her hesitation and frowned. “You do think she’s going to be a problem.”

“I’m not sure,” she said honestly.

“I have piles of leverage against her. I have her friends and family by the throat! She’d have to be a complete fool to say anything to him.”

Nathalie jumped as he threw his drawing pen across the room in an uncharacteristic display of temper. She watched a bit of black ink dribble silently down the wall, wondering how they had ended up here. But she knew the answer.

 “Love makes us all complete fools,” she said.

“He doesn’t love her anymore.”

“But she loves him. That’s not going to just go away.”

Gabriel strode over to the window and glared out into the night. He was quiet for a long time, and all the while Nathalie stared at the splatter of ink on the wall—the black stain that would be impossible to scrub out. It would have to be painted over. Completely covered up.

Gabriel made a contemplative humming noise, and Nathalie directed her attention back to him. He turned, and she was surprised to find he was smiling.

“Call Mlle. Dupain-Cheng and set up a meeting,” he said. “I’d like to discuss a new arrangement with her. I think I’ve come up with a solution to our little problem.”

Chapter Text

“Do you need a car to pick you up tomorrow?”

Adrien missed Nathalie’s question. He’d put her on speaker so his hands were free to administer Plagg’s new eyedrops and antibiotics, but the kitten squirmed so furiously that the task required his full mental focus as well.

“Adrien?”

“Yeah? Sorry.”

“Yes, you do need a car?”

“No,” Adrien said, finally releasing the kitten, who disappeared under his reading chair with a furious hiss. “I can drive.” He carefully unwrapped the tiny niblet of cheese in his pocket and placed it on the carpet, then turned his back so the kitten wouldn’t think he was watching. It usually worked to lure him out. While he waited, her words seemed to finally register in his mind.

“Wait,” he said after a moment, his brows puckering in confusion. “Where am I driving? What is tomorrow?”

He heard Nathalie’s soft sigh on the other end of the line and picked up his phone, deciding that his father’s poor, overworked assistant didn’t need him making her job harder.

“The wedding? That girl from Chloe’s school is getting married and her fiancé's second cousin is the Minister of Economy. Your father is hoping to bump into him and smooth out some asset acquisition difficulties he’s been—”

“Right, sorry, the wedding.” He smiled as a tiny paw emerged and reached for the cheese. “That’s going to make your cholesterol go up to a thousand,” he cooed at the shadow under the chair.

“Excuse me?”

“Not you, sorry. Yes, I can drive myself to the wedding. I’ve got the invitation on the fridge.”

“I’ll inform your father.”

“Thanks Nathalie.” He reached his finger towards the outstretched paw, but it disappeared before he could make contact. “Hey, one more thing, if it’s not too much trouble.” It probably would be, because he’d been nothing but trouble lately. He was sure Nathalie had been the one to handle the fallout of his little meltdown at the office the other day. His father hadn’t said a word to him about it, but he could only imagine she’d gotten an earful.

“Of course,” she said, with her endless patience. He’d have to get her a really nice birthday present.

“Were you able to contact the cleaners about my missing suit pants?”

“Sorry, Adrien, I wasn’t. But your father has offered to make you a new, bespoke suit so you can work with him to make sure it’s identical to the one you lost.”

Adrien slumped where he sat, the lines of his face pulled tight in disappointment. There was no way to explain to Nathalie that a new suit wouldn’t do, that it could never be identical, that the old one had been special . But the problem was that he wouldn’t be able to explain, even to himself, why he was so attached to an article of clothing. He didn’t know what had made it lucky in the first place, he only knew that it certainly was . How could he convey something so irrational to Nathalie, who was, herself, the epitome of rationality? “That… will be fine,” he answered, trying not to sound as ungrateful or discontented as he felt.

He must not have succeeded, because his statement was met with a long silence instead of confirmation.

“I… will do what I can,” she finally said.

Adrien grinned, even though she couldn’t see it. “Thank you, Nathalie.”

“Your father said you think they went missing the day the cleaners came through? Have any more of your possessions come up missing since then?”

“Yeah,” Adrien said, unable to stop the smile from taking over his whole face. “I lost my umbrella. But it wasn’t the cleaners. I just… left it somewhere.”

“I’ll have a new one set aside for you. Call if you need anything else for tonight.”

“Thanks, Nathalie, I will.”

Adrien ended the call and looked out the window, where the rain was still falling in sheets two days after it had begun. In a way it made him happy. That girl, whoever she was, was out there somewhere. She had his umbrella. He liked the idea that, even though he would not see her again, she had a part of him with her, and it would keep her safe in the rain.

Plagg appeared moments after the call ended. He blinked up at Adrien with his crusty green eyes, which the vet thought would heal completely with medicine and time, and much more quickly now that they’d sorted his little flea problem. He was only a couple months old, but those months hadn’t been kind to him so far. The vet said that if Adrien hadn’t found the three-legged kitten when he did, that cold, rainy night might have finished him off.

Adrien was determined that it would be fluffy cushions and warm pâté for him from here on out. He’d even purchased a collar with a whimsical bell that jingled merrily when Plagg hopped around his townhouse—a symbol and reminder that he had a family now. He belonged.

While Adrien's thoughts were more pleasantly occupied, Plagg seemed to have a different view on the weather. He fluffed up his fur and curled into Adrien’s side, purring in an anxious way that seemed to say, please, I would like to stay in here with you.

 Adrien reached a hand down to pet the kitten in long, soothing strokes from head to tail. “You’re safe now, buddy.”

The kitten made a contented little sound.

Adrien smiled down at him, then back out at the rain. It was nice to have someone to talk to that wouldn’t judge him and didn’t think he was crazy.

“Hey Plagg?”

“Mrrrp?”

“Do you remember that girl? With my umbrella?”

The kitten opened his eyes, just a slit, then closed them again.

“I didn’t make her up, right? You were there. You saw her.”

Adrien stared out at the clouds, watching the rain fall as his kitten burrowed further into his side without answering.

“Plagg, why doesn’t anything ever feel real anymore?”

Marinette had been staring at a blank page in her sketchbook for nearly twenty minutes when her mother cracked open her trap door. She was grateful for the distraction.

“Marinette? There’s someone down here asking for you.”

“Who is it?” she asked, her heart skittering anxiously as her mind went directly to Adrien’s repeated and unwitting reappearances in her life.

“I think she said it was Sancoeur?”

Marinette tilted her head, trying to place the familiar name, then all at once her stomach dropped. She clenched her hands, which were now thoroughly clammy, and nodded to her mom. “Please tell her I’ll be right down. Thanks, Maman.” Sabine nodded and disappeared back below.

Marinette stood on shaky legs and wiped her hands on her pants. She had been afraid of this ever since Adrien had appeared in that alley with her. She was almost certain the dark car that had passed the end of the alley had been there to watch them, to catch their forbidden reunion, however innocent it had been. However desperately she’d tried to send him away, even though her heart begged her to let him stay, to take his number, to take his hand, or any part of him more consequential than his umbrella.

But she hadn’t. She’d done her best. Gabriel’s assistant must understand that—she’d always seemed like the sort of person who understood reason, and she perhaps even had a heart and a conscience, which were two things her boss clearly lacked.

Marinette squared her shoulders and, with deep breath, went down to the family room where Nathalie Sancoeur was waiting for her.

“Good afternoon,” she said politely, to initiate a safe tone for what she imagined would be an unpleasant interaction.

“Good afternoon, Mlle Dupain-Cheng. I’m here because—”

“I know, I know,” Marinette said quickly, immediately abandoning her carefully planned tone in favor of panicked word-vomit. “I didn’t ask him to come. I didn’t say anything, I swear! I didn’t even…” she swallowed, her voice breaking. “I didn’t even tell him my name.”

“That’s not—”

“And I made him leave, and I told him not to come back. M. Agreste must understand, I haven’t violated our agreement .” She spat the last word with a good deal of vitriol, hoping to remind the woman before her that she was cooperating under extortion and blackmail, to the best of her ability, and entirely against her will.

“I understand,” Nathalie said. “That’s not why I’m here.”

“Oh.” Marinette faltered. “That’s… nevermind, then.”

“I’m here to retrieve something of Adrien’s that I believe you have in your possession.”

“Oh.”

“He’s been looking for the trousers to one of his suits that seems to have particular value to him. Do you happen to—”

“Yes,” Marinette said, her eyes widening in surprise. Nathalie raised one eyebrow, and Marinette felt compelled to explain. “I was just fixing them for him. The fabric had snagged. I didn’t have time to give them back before… before .”

Nathalie nodded, not acknowledging before what. “Have you completed the repair?”

“I have, but…”

“Mlle Dupain-Cheng, they do not belong to you, so I must insist you return them to me at once.”

Marinette was silent for a moment, her mind racing. She knew that Nathalie assumed she was keeping the pants for some kind of sentimental reason, which was partly true. She thought about the stitching in the knee, and how it could get her into a great deal of trouble if he understood what it meant.

But… no. He didn’t remember meeting her. Wouldn’t remember that night on the boat, the tear in his knee, the earrings she wore, the words they had spoken. It would all be meaningless now. The suit was now, and from now on, nothing more than a suit.

“I’ll fetch them,” she said quietly, and went to retrieve the neatly folded pants from the box where everything left of her life with Adrien waited in the dark of her closet.

She returned with the pants a moment later and handed them over without comment.

“Thank you,” Nathalie said, and Marinette saw her surreptitiously look them over for anything incriminating. She would probably check the pockets once she was alone, and Marinette thought with a sort of vicious amusement that it must be exhausting to be a part of this ruse, to live life with that level of cautious paranoia.

She hoped Gabriel Agreste was losing sleep.

Ms. Sancoeur looked up after a moment, seemingly satisfied. “There is one more reason I was sent here today. M. Agreste would like to extend an offer to you.”

Marinette bristled, a bitter taste on the back of her tongue. “You can tell that man that I want nothing from him.”

“One moment,” Nathalie called to Marinette’s already retreating back. “I understand that you are very unhappy.”

Marinette paused, her hands trembling at her side, and snapped. “You understand nothing!” she cried, whirling back to face the woman, enraged at the sight of her composure, her hateful indifference. “Very unhappy? Gabriel Agreste is playing with my life like it’s some kind of game to win, like his son is his property and I’m some villain who tried to steal him away. Adrien… we were in love and now he doesn’t even know my name! Very unhappy ? I don’t even sleep anymore because when I close my eyes at night I see his face and I can’t breathe!” 

The room fell silent—silent enough that Marinette was worried her parents might have heard her shouting and would come to check on her. The last thing she needed was for them to become involved. They would give up everything for her if they knew the truth, and she couldn’t bear to put that weight on their shoulders. She glanced at the door for a moment and listened, but didn’t hear any footsteps outside.

She turned to address Nathalie once again, but the woman spoke first.

“M. Agreste has arranged an appointment for you with Anamnesis. He is willing to sponsor a SPA treatment that will allow you to forget this whole thing ever happened.”

Marinette felt her heart, her breath, her very mind stop. She was so deeply shaken she had to feel behind her for the chair she knew was nearby so she could sink onto it, unsure that her legs would support her for another moment more. “Forget…” she whispered. “You want me to forget Adrien?”

“M. Agreste thinks it would benefit everyone—”

“M. Agreste,” Marinette whispered, “has never thought of anything beyond his own benefit.”

“Be that as it may,” Nathalie said, and Marinette was surprised at the lack of contradiction. “It could help you find peace.”

Marinette blinked and looked up at her. She didn’t know what she was searching for—ill intent, sincerity, or possibly a modicum of regret, but the face that stared back at her was indecipherable as it ever was.

Peace? It could never be that easy. She couldn’t think of anything more painful than letting go of a love that was so intrinsically a part of herself. It would be like cutting out her heart. It destroyed her to think of it.

But.

Marinette flinched away from the weak little voice that reasoned, from a place of self-preservation and weariness, that the pain would only be temporary. When it was done, she wouldn’t know enough to hurt anymore. She wouldn’t know enough to regret…

Or to hate herself for giving up on him.

Why are you still holding on to something that doesn’t exist?

“I…” Marinette swallowed. She should say no now, close that door forever before she could begin to covet the respite that might lay beyond it. “I’ll think about it.”

“Let us know your decision in the next two days,” Nathalie said simply. She nodded at Marinette and went to leave, but paused at the coat hanger by the door. She reached up and removed the black umbrella from its hook there, noting the lavender butterfly logo on the handle. “Is this Adrien’s umbrella?”

“It is,” Marinette answered faintly, her mind spinning too quickly to get a grip on the situation.

“He mentioned he’d misplaced it. I’ll return it to him.”

She tucked the umbrella into the large pocket of her rain jacket and was gone before Marinette could beg her not to leave with Adrien’s final gift.

Chapter Text

Nino sensed a disturbance in the force.

Alya was his all-time favorite song, and he knew her by heart. He was able to tell, even over the sound of the synthetic percussion line he was arranging, that something had messed up her rhythm. She had gone still in the middle of her research and it reminded him of playing in dance clubs—that moment where everyone holds their breath in anticipation of the beat dropping. The deep silence before the boom-boom-pow.

He pulled his headphones down to rest on his neck so the song faded into a distant tinny static. “What’s up, Babe?”

She looked up at him, her brows pulled together in a frown. “Chrysalis. Where have I heard that word before?”

Nino actually had several answers to her question, because Chrysalis was a Ninja Turtles character and a DC hero, and he was pretty sure it was the name of an Empire of the Sun song. He was also one thousand percent certain that none of those were the answer she was looking for. “Isn’t it like a butterfly thing?”

Alya nodded absently, scrolling a little further on her computer. “I was thinking that if someone wants to keep Marinette away from Adrien, it would probably be either an ex-girlfriend, which apparently he doesn’t have, or his father. That’s the only other person I can figure out a motive for.”

Nino nodded, clicking the pause button on his music for something to do, because he was still unsure if Alya’s wild blackmail hunch was something he should be encouraging. “So you’re looking into Gabriel Agreste? That guy kind of sucks, Alya, you should be careful.”

She hummed, not acknowledging his warning at all. “I pulled some records—”

“Legally, right?”

“And he’s got Gabriel, which is the fashion house—I knew about that one; Marinette’s always been obsessed with his designs. I thought, besides his son, that’s his only connection to Marinette. But then apparently he’s also got this international holding company called Chrysalis. And I could swear I have heard that name somewhere before.”

“It’s on your direct deposit.”

Alya froze. “What?”

Nino shrugged. “I knew you never checked the banking app. Chrysalis Holdings is the name of the company that distributes your payroll. It showed up for the first time this month on our bank statement.”

Alya stared at him for a moment, then dove at her keyboard, typing frantically. A few clicks later and she sat up, her face utterly shocked. “I can’t believe it. Chrysalis is the deep-pockets enterprise that bought La Voix Française last month! They haven’t put their name on anything to do with the Journal so I never realized!”

“So… what does that have to do with Marinette?”

“I don’t know yet. But it can’t be a coincidence, can it?”

Nino shook his head, a lead weight sinking into his gut, because yeah, there was no way it was a coincidence. Gabriel Agreste was bad news. And now, apparently, he owned the news.

Alya gasped then, and leaned closer to her computer screen. “Chrysalis Holdings made two recent business acquisitions and has one pending. La Voix Française, obviously, and a strip of commercial property on Rue Gotlib, starting at 18… oh, no, that’s Ondine’s boutique! And ending at—”

“Let me guess,” Nino said. “The Dupain-Cheng bakery.”

Alya nodded gravely.

“The pending sale? No, don’t tell me. Carapace Records.” 

She nodded again. 

“Last week an agent contacted me for an interested buyer, but I told him to forget it.”

“Good call!”

Nino adjusted his glasses as he frowned over her shoulder. “I’m no sell-out.”

“He’s buying everything . Anything she’s associated with. I knew it! I knew he was controlling her somehow! Because Marinette would always, always, always stand up for herself against that manipulative, controlling creep unless…”

“She was protecting the people she loves.”

Alya was trembling in her chair in barely contained rage, her eyes welling with tears. Nino went to her immediately, wrapping her tightly in his arms, patting her back as she boiled. “She was right all along, Nino. I think… somehow, I think Gabriel Agreste must have forced Adrien to delete her.” She pulled back slightly, but Nino kept his hands on her shoulders. “And when I find proof, I am going to destroy that man for breaking my best friend’s heart.”

And Nino was, at last, in one hundred percent agreement with her.

Alya, restless from her discovery and anxious for her friend’s feelings, asked Marinette if she wanted to hang out that afternoon. She planned to use the opportunity to gather intelligence from her bestie—surreptitiously, of course.

She hadn’t anticipated Marinette’s new distracted melancholy, or her horrifying choice of leisure activity.

“Can we maybe stop now?” Alya gasped from a few paces behind Marinette. They’d been jogging laps around the park for nearly twenty minutes, taking advantage of the sunlight that finally stabbed its way through the clouds in sporadic, spindly rays.

Marinette slowed to a halt and bent over, hands on her knees, gulping in the damp air.

“Do you,” Alya held up a finger and paused to wheeze. “Do you actually enjoy this?”

Marinette shook her head, shoulders heaving, and stood up.

“Tell me again why I agreed to running for fun?”

“The way Nino’s eyes bug out when you put on yoga pants.”

“Then why aren’t we doing yoga?”

Both girls laughed at that. The laughter died off quickly due to their winded state, but their grins remained.

Alya lifted her hair off her neck, allowing the brisk March breeze better access to cool her skin. “Seriously, though, you always hated running in school.”

“It’s a nice way to shut off my brain, I guess. Tires my body out. I sleep better.” Marinette shrugged. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I still hate it.”

“Are you still not sleeping?” Alya asked.

Marinette shrugged. “Plus there’s the health benefits. And endorphins are supposed to make you happy.”

It did not escape Alya that she hadn’t answered the question. “And are you?”

“Am I what? Sleeping?”

“No,” Alya said. “Well yes. But I meant are you happy?”

Marinette looked at her as though the question surprised her. She thought for a moment and then gave her a small smile. “I’m happy you’re here,” she said.

Alya returned the smile, although it didn’t meet her eyes. She looked at her best friend, her heart full of fierce love for her, and she’d never hated anyone in that moment the way she hated Gabriel Agreste.

Nino had said her plan was absolutely unacceptably dangerous. Alya had been convinced… at the time . But if he could see the way Marinette was hurting right now… hurting for their sake…

Well, he would probably still say no. But what he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

Adrien straightened his tie in the mirror and then eyed the matching pocket square. He couldn’t figure out a reason someone would need a pocket square. They didn’t seem to have a point. He wasn’t sure he wanted to wear something pointless.

He was just picking up his phone to ask Chloe when he heard a knock. He hadn’t been expecting anyone, and he had to leave soon for the wedding, so he went to the door intending to send the visitor away with his apologies.

It was only Nathalie, and she had a surprise for him.

She held up a clear dry-cleaning bag. “Are these the correct pants?”

“Yeah!” Adrien threw the door wide, waving her inside, but she didn’t come in.

“I have to make sure your father is ready for tonight,” she said in explanation. “But I wanted to drop these off first, in case you needed them for tonight.”

Adrien took the bag from her, a huge grin on his face. “This is excellent, thank you so much! Where did you find them?”

“They were at the dry cleaners for over a month.”

“Oh, okay. I don’t even remember dropping them off there.” He lifted the plastic and ran his fingers over the fabric, checking for wrinkles. It would make him late to change his outfit at the last minute, but he was sorely tempted.

“This was in the pocket as well,” Nathalie said, handing him a second item from the pocket of her raincoat. Adrien reached for it absently, not realizing what it was until he gripped the rumpled material. His stomach gave a little lurch as he ran his fingers over the umbrella, his fingernails making a muffled zipping sound on the black fabric.

“This was at the dry cleaners?”

She nodded. “You must have accidentally left it there.”

His brows furrowed. He couldn’t possibly have left it at the dry cleaners a month ago. He’d given it to the girl at the bakery last week. He looked up at Nathalie, prepared to protest, but when he met her eyes he had the strangest feeling that she hadn’t made a mistake at all.

Adrien blinked in surprise at the evenness in her expression, and somehow it did not lessen his confidence that Nathalie was lying to his face. He didn’t know why she would lie, but there was a warning in his heart that told him to play along.

“Well, that checks out,” he said with a little laugh that he hoped didn’t sound too fake. “Lately, I feel like I’d lose my head if it weren’t screwed on.” He wanted to wince at the cliché, the false joviality, but Nathalie nodded as though it didn’t occur to her that he could lie, too. “Thanks again, Nathalie.”

“Have a nice time tonight, Adrien.”

He watched her walk away, a deep frown threatening to mar him with further wrinkles. On his way back inside he paused to hang his umbrella by the door a bit reluctantly. He hadn’t wanted it back. It was still raining. What would protect his bakery girl from the rain now?

How had Nathalie gotten it back from her? And why would she lie about where she’d found it?

Adrien wandered into his room and began removing his pants, having made an almost unconscious decision to switch to the lucky suit. He felt unsettled, and the weird encounter made him long for the familiar comfort of it.

But as he pulled the new pants on, he began to wrestle around that little gap in his brain. Why had he decided this particular suit was lucky? There had to be a reason, he thought, beyond his father’s accusation of superstition and sentimentality. There had to be a story behind it. He just… couldn’t remember.

Adrien buttoned the pants and reached for his belt, knowing he should hurry, but instead he just stopped.

There it was again. Another hole in his memory, which was starting to feel like Swiss cheese.

The knee itched, and it meant something. Adrien reached down to scratch at it.

The pants were lined. There must be something stuck on the inner lining. He could almost feel it there—a rough patch that had no excuse for existing on the inner silk of a Gabriel suit.

He shucked them off as quickly as he could, knowing his time was running out and that his father would be irritated if he showed up late, though he didn’t particularly care at the moment. He reached a hand down the pant leg and turned it inside out.

A flash of color caught his eye immediately. There, right by the seam of the knee, was an expertly embroidered message in red thread.

I have been “sew” in love with you since this stitch - - > x

             xoxo, your Ladybug

Adrien blinked at the message. The script was neat and easy to read, and the arrow pointing at a small sewing repair even more so. There was even a tiny embroidered ladybug, red to match the rest of the message. But… it didn’t make any sense. He wondered, for a moment, if Nathalie had accidentally brought him the wrong pants after all.

He went to his closet where the rest of the suit waited patiently on a hanger for its counterpart. The fabrics matched exactly when he compared them, and the size was correct, and more than that it felt like it was his suit.

But it couldn’t be. He didn’t know a “Ladybug”, and there wasn’t anyone who loved him in that way. If there were, though, he would have been elated to receive such an adorable affirmation, and the pun would have straight up settled the matter.

He hung the pants back up with the jacket, uncomfortable with the idea of wearing them if they truly belonged to someone else. He had no right to another person’s declaration of love.

His elbow whacked against the suit jacket as he replaced the hanger and it made a hollow clatter. He frowned. It sounded like he’d left something in the pocket, which was honestly not surprising, with how forgetful he’d been lately.

Adrien fished into the inner pocket of the jacket, hoping he didn’t find a missing credit card or something truly irresponsible. His fingers brushed up against a smooth lump that felt like velvet, and he drew it out for a closer look. 

It was a black velvet box. Adrien’s hands went clammy, because it wasn’t a Gabriel box full of Papillion cufflinks, but rather a very distinctive sort of jewelry box that usually included a very specific kind of jewelry.

Heart full of trepidation, he clicked the box open.

A large oval diamond glimmered brilliantly on a rose-gold band, casting cheerful prisms of light around the room as he tilted it back and forth, uncomprehending.

He stared at it for what felt like a lifetime until a little meow snapped him out of his trance. “Plagg,” he said, his voice shaking. “This is an engagement ring.”

Plagg chirped his agreement and pounced on one of the miniature rainbows on the floor, utterly confounded at his inability to get a grip on it. Adrien could sympathize.

“It was in my suit,” he went on. The kitten was too preoccupied to answer, but Adrien was undeterred. “I had an engagement ring… in my suit.”

The diamond winked in the light like they were sharing a secret, only Adrien didn’t know what it was. He closed the box because he couldn’t seem to look away, and as long as he was looking he couldn’t think rationally, and there had to be a rational explanation.

Because right now all he was coming up with was that at some point in recent history (Valentine’s Day would have been romantic) he had purchased an engagement ring and put it in the pocket of his lucky suit so he could propose to someone named, if he had to guess, Ladybug.

And his umbrella was involved… somehow.

But falling in love was a huge deal. There wasn’t any possible way to forget something like that.

Not unless…

Adrien looked up at his own pale face in the mirror, and his eyes went wide.

Chapter Text

Adrien didn’t know how long he’d been staring at his ceiling when the door to his townhouse burst open unexpectedly. Usually the intrusion would have startled him, but he’d just undergone such a mental shock that he was, at that moment, desensitized to further surprise.

Additionally, he’d been expecting Chloe to show up. In his mind, it had been even odds that she’d kick down his door at some point this evening. Or, night, he supposed, with a quick glance at the clock. An argument could be made for morning.

“Where have you been?!” She snapped, storming over to him.

He sat up from his dramatic former pose (on his back, head hanging off the side of the couch, feet kicked up over the armrest like a fainting Victorian maiden). “Sorry Chlo, I was—oh, did I miss the wedding?”

“Did you miss… what happened to your hair? Seriously, what’s wrong with you?”

Adrien glanced at his reflection in the dark window. His hair sat in haystack disarray—styled by himself by method of fraught, distressed, and repeated tugging. “I lost track of time,” he answered dully.

She blinked at him in disbelief. “Ridiculous,” she said. “Utterly ridiculous. Your father is livid, by the way.”

“Whatever.”

Chloe looked truly startled at that reply. Adrien usually did a decent job of complying with his father’s wishes, or at least pretending to care about them. His complete disregard was even more out of character than his blowing off an important social obligation. “And what about me?” she continued after a moment. “I wanted you to sit by Nathaniel so he’d have someone to talk to while I was with the bridal party. He had to sit next to Lila Rossi the whole night. How do you think that made me feel? I actually liked this guy—”

“For now.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing, sorry.”

“You’re my best friend, Adrien. I don’t know what’s gotten into you lately, but he was important to me, and you could at least try to be nice to him.”

“I’ve tried,” he said, getting up from the couch and returning to the track he’d paced into the carpet earlier. “I’ve tried all three times I’ve met him. I smile and shake his hand and listen to you say you’re falling for him and then boom, two days later you’ve deleted him, and we start all over again!”

“I… what?”

Adrien stopped pacing and looked at her, his eyes serious and tired. “This is the third time you’ve dated Nathaniel.”

“Don’t be stupid.”

“It is, though. You coincidentally met him, and he somehow knew all the right things to say to get your attention. Right?”

“I…”

“And then as soon as it starts to get serious with him you get scared and break up with him, and then you have him deleted.” He paused, thinking of the way she’d said he was important to me , not moments before. Was . “You’re due, I’d say, within the next few days.”

Chloe blinked at him wordlessly, and suddenly it was her turn to pace.

“I’m sorry. I understand if you don’t believe me—”

“No, I… I do.” She froze in her tracks and put her face in her hands. “I’ve already made the appointment.”

Adrien went to her and put his arms around her. She buried her face in his shoulder, which was a bad sign, because she would usually shove him away and call him a big sap (while, of course, secretly enjoying the affection). “I guess I don’t understand why?” he said after a minute. “I mean, if you like him so much, why would you want to leave him?”

“Because,” Chloe sniffed, releasing him and backing away. “I want to do it before he can leave me.”

Adrien looked at her, really looked at her, for once not seeing Chloe Bourgeois, mayor’s daughter and glittering socialite, but Chloe, his childhood friend, whose tears he alone had borne witness to fifteen years ago, in a fort of Boca do Lobo couch cushions, as she asked him why her mother hadn’t loved her enough to stay.

And all irritation he’d felt for Chloe’s boyfriend suddenly melted away. “I know I haven’t been nice to him,” Adrien said. “I didn’t like that he was lying to you. I still don’t, but… if it makes a difference, there’s no way he’s going to leave you. Anyone willing to go through all that pain, over and over, just to be with you…” He trailed off, his heart suddenly melancholy.

Because it would take so much reckless love, so much faith, to fight for the heart of a person who had deleted you. And… maybe not everyone had that.

Maybe not everyone had proven worth the fight.

“I…” she said, staring into the space over his shoulder. “I need to think about it. But… maybe it does. Make a difference.”

“Are you going to be okay?”

“Of course I am. He’s just a stupid boy,” she scoffed, and Adrien didn’t call her on her lie. “And also? Do you think that you can distract me from the fact that you stood me up tonight, and I found you brooding around in your pajamas?”

Adrien shrugged. “I don’t know what got into me,” he said, and she narrowed her eyes but didn’t argue. “Say,” he added casually. “I meant to ask you something at the wedding before I got… delayed.”

“ Delayed ,” she sneered. “Completely flaked, maybe.”

“That girl you thought I was seeing on New Year’s Eve?”

“This again?”

“Do you remember her name?”

“I literally never asked.”

“Was it Ladybug?”

She raised an eyebrow, her shimmery eyeshadow catching in the light. “First of all, that’s not a name. Second, I said I don’t know.”

Adrien’s heart sank a little, his shoulders slumping. “Okay, sorry.”

Chloe sighed and rolled her eyes. “Fine, you ridiculous drama queen, if it matters that much to you. When you ditched me at daddy’s New Year’s Eve party… which is apparently something you just do now,” she glared at him, and he offered her an apologetic look. “You might have told me her name. But if you did, I didn’t, like, memorize it or anything. You ditched me for her,” she reminded him.

“I know, I’m sorry,” he repeated, although his heart was starting to beat rather quickly again, because there really had been a girl, and a missing holiday, and someone else had known about it at the time.

She had been real.

“I only ever knew her as Baker Girl,” Chloe said, in an offhand way, as she grabbed her purse and headed for the door. As though her statement didn’t stop Adrien’s racing heart dead. “I need to go. I have to think. ’Night, Adrikins.”

Marinette thought she might go mad if she experienced another sleepless night. She lay awake in her bed until the stars faded and the swirling sorbet shades of morning warmed the sky. It used to be beautiful, she supposed, until she’d witnessed it one too many times. 

Some time right before dawn when, as the old phrase went, the night had been darkest, Marinette had come to a decision.

Now, because it had finally reached a reasonable hour to do so, she sat up, dressed in joggers and a long-sleeved tee, and tied her running shoes. She tip-toed her way down the stairs, not wanting to wake her parents in the last few minutes before their alarm sounded, and let herself out into the morning.

She paused outside the bakery door and stretched, trying to warm her muscles in the cold bite of the air. It was nearly spring now, but the morning didn’t seem to know that. Her breath curled in clouds as she reached for her toes, then stood. She looked across to the park, where she’d planned her run, and was surprised to see that someone else was out and about at this hour—there was a figure standing on the sidewalk, their form half obscured by the fog. 

The figure straightened up then, like they’d been waiting for her, and Marinette hesitated with her toes on the curb, squinting through the mist and dim light.

Her heart skipped, then stopped. 

Adrien.

He stood there like a ghost from her past, watching her. Waiting.

Her clothes said she planned to run, and her eyes must have said it too, because he put his hands up in front of him in a plea for her to stop.

“Wait,” he begged, and she could hear him clearly across the still-quiet street. “Please, I… I know you told me to stay away, and I heard you, I really did. I’ll leave right now if you ask and I’ll never come back. But please.” He took a deep breath, his eyes wide, frantic. “I have so many questions. I didn’t know where else to go.”

Marinette felt light-headed. That he should seek her out again, that he should come to her on this of all mornings… she glanced around the street nervously, looking for any cars out of place, any eyes that might report if she were to speak to him. Because she saw him there, the bruises of sleepless nights under his eyes in twin to hers, the broken fear that she would leave him there alone, and she knew she couldn’t deny him anything.

Because in spite of all that, he was the most wonderful thing she’d ever seen, standing there and asking her to stay. The sun was peeking out over the tops of the buildings around him, making him glow at the edges, and her thoughts wandered, funny enough, to that stupid article in the Post that had called him Adonis (he had always complained about that comparison any time it was made) and she pondered how wrong they’d gotten it. He wasn’t Adonis. He was Apollo, bright and golden, bringer of daylight. She had seen how dark the world was without him there to drag the sun across her sky each day, leaving her to stumble blind, her eyes refusing to adjust to the darkness. 

But she had to.

She had to be stronger than that. She could be stronger than that for the people she loved. Even now, as she let herself be this near to him, a voice in her head whispered viciously that she was being selfish selfish selfish. A good daughter would send him away. A good friend would run and never look back. 

She glanced around the street again, scanning their surroundings nervously. “Somewhere more private,” she said softly.

Softly, yet he heard her, and the hope that filled his eyes caused a traitorous flutter of wanting in her heart. “My car is here…” he began, and then glanced at the red beetle parked on the street, and she knew they were both thinking how terribly conspicuous the little car was with its vibrant paint and windows that predated tinting.

“Follow me,” she finally said. She crossed the street, making her way past him without looking at him, even though his nearness pulled at her, drew her in like a force of nature, but she made herself keep walking, her feet stepping in rhythm with the words in her head chanting selfish selfish selfish. “We’ll just… go behind the biggest tree we can find and keep our voices down.”

He followed obediently, but she saw the way his brow furrowed, and then rose as he had a sudden realization. “You…you’re afraid to be seen with me.” 

It hadn’t really been a question so she didn’t really need to answer, and she was grateful for the temporary reprieve from her imperative to tell him lies over lies. Because that was coming, she was sure. It would ruin her. But… she could be ruined, if that’s what she had to do… not to fix everything, not by any means, but to at least salvage whatever was left. “Over here.” 

There was a row of trees along the edge of the park, all fairly uniform and none offering much shelter, so she chose one that was blocked from view of the entrance by the park’s centerpiece— a big stone fountain, empty except a thin collection of rainwater that had refrozen in the bottom overnight. The surface of the tree was puckered and mottled with carvings: hearts full of initials, declarations of so-and-so loves what’s-his-name, and Marinette ran a finger over them, wondering at the scars left behind by all that love.

She finally looked up and saw him watching her, his face pale except the bright streaks of color on his cheeks from the cold. She met his gaze for a moment, but he was burning too bright with all his sun-bearing glory, so she had to turn away.

“Do I know you?” he asked at last.

She kept her eyes on her feet as she replied. “Haven’t we already been through this?”

“Don’t do that,” he said, his voice hardening. He shifted his weight from foot to foot, his arms crossed in front of his chest like he expected a blow to the heart. “That’s not what I mean—you know that’s not what I mean.”

“Please,” she whispered. “I can’t—”

“Ladybug?”

Marinette felt her heart drop into her stomach.

He knew .

He must have found the message she’d sewn, though she had never expected in a thousand years that he would understand it, or tie it back to some insignificant girl he should barely know. 

He was still, his eyes wide as he studied her reaction. “That’s you, isn’t it?” he asked again. “You’re Ladybug. You have to be. You… you had my umbrella. Nathalie said it was with the pants at the dry cleaners, only that wasn’t true. You must have had them both.”

The umbrella. Of course. She’d been so stupid and careless, and now the thread holding everything together was unravelling in her fingers. She shook her head in silent denial, but she knew he read it for what it was—a scurry of desperate backtracking. 

“And we… you and I… we mean something to each other. Right?”

“No,” she breathed, and it didn’t feel like a lie because they hadn’t been something. They had been everything. 

He flinched like she’d struck him. “Stop it!” His words rang in the quiet morning, echoing from the empty fountain and upsetting a flock of pigeons that scattered from the line of trees, voicing their indignant complaints. Adrien tangled a hand into his hair, his eyes wild. “I’m so tired of everyone lying to me. Please, just tell me the truth!”

Marinette tried to back away and collided with the tree behind her, its bark scraping roughly against her shoulder blades. She reached behind herself to grasp it like an anchor. “This isn’t possible.” She shook her head, tears burning in her eyes. “You can’t know me.”

He went rigid. She wondered if he’d stopped breathing like she had as he stared at her, his eyes incredulous. “It’s true? You… do you love me?”

Marinette had believed that she was prepared to ruin herself, but denying that she loved him would be perjury against her very soul. He had asked her for the one truth she couldn’t deny, not after the countless nights she’d lain awake begging the universe, offering anything it would take in exchange if she could only go back and say what she’d left unsaid. She couldn’t lie to him—not about this. But she also couldn’t tell the truth. 

So she said nothing. She buried her face in her hands, which did nothing to stop the tears that leaked out under her fingers. 

And then she felt him draw near. Her heart pounded recklessly against her ribcage as though it knew he was right there and longed only to be with him, to be made whole again. She felt the soft caress of his thumb as it brushed away her tears, and everything within her focused on that perfect point of contact. It became her new axis—the point around which she revolved.

“It’s okay,” he whispered. She wanted to weep at the feel of him, so warm and strong and familiar, as he pulled her hands away from her face and replaced them with his own, cupping her cheeks like he remembered the shape of them. His eyes searched hers in a way that tugged at her memory until she realized it was the same expression he’d worn in her dream.

Because I’m lost.

A sob escaped her throat and Adrien… Adrien didn’t hesitate. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest, and she melted into his embrace—and it was like coming home. She thought she might fly apart if he didn’t hold her tighter, so he did, but it still wasn’t close enough. It would never be close enough. She lost herself in the feel of his arms, the heat of his breath on her shoulder as he gasped—she thought he might be crying, too, and she ran her hands up his arms, over his back, into his hair —every familiar piece of him she’d been longing to touch since she was last allowed to hold him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her hair, and she heard the thickness in his voice. “I don’t know what happened.”

“You forgot me,” she said.

“I know that now.” 

She pulled back slightly to look up at him, her brows pulled together. “I don’t understand how you’re here. You shouldn’t even be able to remember me.”

“Maybe my mind doesn’t.” He reached up to rest his hand against her cheek and she leaned into his palm, letting her eyes fall closed so she could simply feel . “But… I think my heart does. My hands seem to, and…” his thumb brushed against her lips, and her eyes flew open to find his gaze fixed on her mouth. “The rest of me does, too.”

“Adrien,” she breathed, and his eyes snapped back to hers. She realized then that she hadn’t acknowledged knowing his name until that moment.

She was letting the string unravel. She was yanking on the thread.

He moved forward and she knew she wasn’t dreaming this time because she could feel him, all of him, solid and warm and real as he pressed her against the tree. She felt the brush of his fingertip under her chin, lifting her face, and he leaned down until his lips were so close that his breath mixed with hers in the cold air between them. 

Then he paused, his eyes searching her face, and she wondered for a second if he was about to ask for permission to kiss her and… oh, how desperately, desperately she loved him.

“What’s your name?”

The question hit her like a bucket of frigid water, extinguishing the reckless fire that had been choking out her senses. She stiffened, flattening her palms against his chest to push him away, and he released her like she had burned him—though she didn’t know how she could burn when she, herself, felt like she’d been chipped from a block of ice.

“I’m sorry,” he said breathlessly. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s alright.” She pushed her bangs off her face with one hand and paced away, trying to gain enough distance from him to reason , her eyes darting a wild circuit around the park. It was still empty. No one had seen. 

Selfish!

She let out a shaky breath and turned back to Adrien. His face was pale, and she could almost feel the self-recrimination that darkened his beautiful eyes. The urge to reassure him pulled at her heart until her chest ached, but she fought it back down. “This can’t happen again.”

“I don’t understand,” he said, and his voice broke around the words. 

Marinette could only shake her head. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Your message said you loved me. And if the way I felt about you was anything like this feeling I have now… I don’t understand how I could have left you. I wouldn’t have chosen this!” He shook his head. “I don’t choose this.”

“It doesn’t matter now!” she cried. “Sometimes we don’t get to choose!”

“What are you so afraid of?”

“I said it doesn’t matter, Adrien, please,” she begged, and he fell silent at last. “I wouldn’t have chosen this either. Leaving you—” her voice broke, and she saw him angrily wipe a tear off his own cheek as he glared down at his shoes. “Walking away from you was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. And now… now I have to do it again.” She swallowed against a lump in her throat so heavy that she was struggling to breathe. “And I won’t be strong enough to keep doing it. So you have to promise me.”

He shook his head again, opening his mouth to protest, but she didn’t let him. “Promise me. You forgot about me once. You can do it again.”

“I don’t think I can,” he said, his voice small and broken.

“You have to!” At that moment a chime sounded from inside her pocket. She silenced it quickly, her eyes barely registering the notification because she knew what it would say. She’d set an alarm that would give her enough time to shower after her run and still make it to her appointment at Anamnesis. “Apparently,” she whispered, “there’s nothing to it.”

He looked back at her, his face full of hurt and confusion, and her heart twisted for him.

But he barely knew her. He would heal quickly. She had to tell herself that, because she knew, if she could spare him from the pain, she would pay any price. 

But she was not the one who would be asked to pay it. And she couldn’t put that burden on the people she loved.

She felt herself growing weaker and knew she had to go before she made a mistake she couldn’t come back from. It was almost impossible to turn away from him, knowing it was the last time she would look into his eyes and recognize the man behind them. She managed it somehow. She pictured the faces of her mother and father and friends, reminding herself what she was fighting to keep safe, and knew she could be strong enough.

 No more mistakes. 

She ran.

She left him behind, even as he called after her, even as he begged, even as tears streamed unchecked down her face, like pieces of her soul draining out of her body.

It was just one more memory she couldn’t wait to forget.

Chapter Text

Adrien had never in his life deliberately tried to make someone uncomfortable until now. He thought the best way to make the Anamnesis employee squirm would be to channel his father, who had never made anyone feel comfortable deliberately or otherwise.

“Is there a problem?” he asked, trying to make his tone sound cold and impatient.

“N-no…” the young woman said, glancing from her computer screen to his face nervously. “It’s just that when you called and said you’d be visiting, you claimed you were M. Agreste—”

“I am M. Agreste.”

“We assumed you were, you know… the other one.”

“Regardless, there shouldn’t be a problem giving me the documents I requested. They’re my own medical records. M. Adrien Agreste.”

“I understand…” she said, but she glanced at her screen again and furrowed her brow. “I’m afraid I’m not authorized to release those records at this time. Alleged records,” she amended.

“Alleged? I was here and had a procedure. There has to be a record of it.”

The young woman shrugged. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help. If you would like to leave your contact information…”

Adrien sighed and dropped the act, which had gotten him absolutely nowhere. “Please?” he asked, giving her his most hopeful smile. “At the very least let me know who is authorized to release my hypothetical records?”

She paused, blinking at him, her expression almost startled by his change in demeanor. “I—maybe they can help you in the records department, but—”

“Where is that?”

“The third floor, but the Doctor in charge of that floor is at lunch for at least—”

“Thanks!” he said, offering her a brilliant smile and dashing for the elevator.

“Sir!” she called after him. “Monsieur Agreste!”

“I’ll be right back!” he called as the elevator door closed behind him. He jammed his thumb against the button for the third floor, feeling like he was in a spy movie. It was all very exciting.

The elevator dinged and opened into a long room full of filing cabinets, which were separated from the entry by a counter with a single computer workstation. The workstation was abandoned and Adrien thought, for one thrilling moment as he opened the gate to pass behind it, that he had gotten incredibly lucky. If he worked fast he might be able to get what he needed and get out before the girl downstairs could decide if she should call security on the son of their biggest donor.

He turned down the first row of filing cabinets and his heart nearly jumped into his throat. There was an Anamnesis employee there, sitting on the floor surrounded by the contents of an open file. The woman jumped up at the sight of him. It was hard to read her expression—her face was almost completely covered by goggles and a medical mask, but her eyes appeared to be wide with surprise.

“Yes, hello,” Adrien said, putting as much confidence into his voice as he could. “They sent me up from downstairs for my medical records. If you could just grab them for me I’ll be on my way.”

She stared at him in disbelief.

Adrien swallowed and tried not to scratch the back of his neck, which prickled with sweat. “I’m totally allowed to be here,” he offered.

“Sure you are, Pretty Boy.”

He thought he heard her snort. She bent to gather the contents of the file from the ground, then walked up to him and shoved the whole mess of papers into his arms. He blinked down at the label in disbelief. “Why were you looking at my medical records?” he asked.

She ignored his question. “How did you get past security?”

“I told you I’m allowed to be here.” He opened the file and read the first page, which contained his childhood medical history. Bloodwork: all within normal range. Allergies: feathers. Family history of cancer: leukemia (maternal). He flipped the page.

13th February: patient admitted—

“That’s great for you,” she said as though she didn’t believe him at all. She began tugging off her goggles and mask and stripping out of her scrubs to reveal black leggings and a dark sweater. “I snuck in through the air ducts.”

He looked up suddenly. “You did?”

“Yeah. So if you could hurry up before we both get caught…”

He stared at her. “Really? The air ducts? Like in Die Hard?”

She rolled her eyes. “You and Nino are going to get along so well.” She waved a hand at him, shooing him along. “Hurry!”

“Right.” Adrien pulled out his phone and started taking pictures of each page to save time. “So I take it you don’t work for Anamnesis?”

 “I’m a journalist,” she said.

He paused to level a sour look at her. “So you were here to, what, expose my medical records in some tabloid?”

“I’m freelancing today. I’m thinking something more along the lines of Exposed! Gabriel Agreste’s Secret Blackmail Scandal.” She punctuated each word with a flourish of her hand to indicate a headline, then gave him a little smirk. “I have to be honest with you, Sunshine. I’m here for the dirt on your dad. My name’s Alya.” She held out a hand to shake, but he just stared at it.

“Why?”

She dropped her hand. “Because.” She took a deep breath, and the smile disappeared from her face. “I think he forced you to delete someone you cared about, and now he’s blackmailing her to stay away from you.”

Adrien’s heart began to beat double-time. She was only confirming his suspicions, but hearing it spoken so plainly… he swallowed, trying to keep himself together. “You know her?”

Alya gave him a short nod. “Marinette is my best friend.”

“Marinette,” he breathed. The room went fuzzy around him, like all the world had a newborn glow. He knew that name. He’d said it before. He could taste it on his tongue, feel the nostalgic ache of it in his chest where his heart wouldn’t stop racing. “Marinette.”

“Whoa,” Alya said, and her voice brought Adrien back to earth. “You really do it.”

“Do what?”

“The Marinette look. She told me about it. Your smile goes all moony and little pink hearts start floating in your eyeballs.”

Adrien tried to scoff, but he was fighting back a grin. And then he remembered why he’d come, and his grin fell. “You really think my father could have made me delete her?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, Loverboy.”

“And… she didn’t choose to leave me, either?”

Alya noticed the despair in his face and shook her head with all sorts of adamancy. “There’s no way. She loved you. And when I say love, it’s not like…” she curled her fingers into a little heart. “It’s more like—” Her arms flung out to the sides and she mimed a giant heart charade in the air between them. 

“Then… why would she…” Adrien trailed off.

 Alya’s teasing smile tightened, and Adrien could feel something like anger simmering beneath her surface. “Your father just bought a whole bunch of property. Her parents’ bakery, her friend’s boutique, my newspaper—he’s even trying to do a forced takeover of my boyfriend’s music production company, but we’ve been able to block it so far. He’s basically playing Marinette Monopoly, and I think he’s using all of us to threaten her away from you. She’s a totally fierce friend. She’d do anything to protect us, even if it breaks her heart.”

Adrien nodded, trying to process everything she’d said. Feelings of betrayal and rage tapped at the back door of his heart, demanding to be heard, but he knew this wasn’t the time or place. He had to keep it together. He had to get to the bottom of this. 

For Marinette. 

“Then I guess she’s lucky,” he said after a moment, “that you’re a pretty fierce friend, too.”

Alya grinned at him.

Across the room, the elevator dinged. Alya quickly tried to stash the file back into the cabinet, but the drawer jammed and wouldn’t budge. Time seemed to slow, and they looked on in horror as Doctor de Vere entered the room, flanked by several security guards.

The man paused a few steps from the elevator door, holding his hands up to halt the guards as his eyes took in the scene. “Have you read that?” he asked, tilting his head to indicate the open file in Alya’s hand and the few sheets that had fallen to the floor at her feet.

“Yes,” Alya said, lifting her chin to stare the man down. “We know everything.”

The doctor met her gaze, his eyes bouncing from her, to the file, to Adrien, who was trying not to look surprised and give away her bluff.

“And my boyfriend knows we’re here,” she added quickly. “So you can’t ‘make us disappear’ or whatever.”

Dr. de Vere’s body seemed to sag a little. “For goodness sake,” he sighed, and his voice sounded endlessly tired. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

He turned to his guards to dismiss them with an “All clear, false alarm.” Adrien and Alya watched, bewildered, as the guards filed back into the elevator and left them alone with the doctor, who slumped into the chair at the records desk.

“You have to understand,” he told them. “Selective Programmable Amnesia was my life’s work. I just wanted to help people.” He rubbed his forehead, and then his hands dropped onto his lap heavily. “I needed funding, lots of money to make it happen. Your father,” he said then, addressing Adrien, “was so generous. I thought it was philanthropy. He didn’t show his true nature until we were so far in, until I was so indebted to him that the company wouldn’t have survived losing his patronage. I hated what he did to you, what… what I helped him do. But I was so far under his thumb! I told myself it was a compromise… I could lie to one boy, to keep from losing everything .”

Adrien nodded, remembering the tense exchange he’d once witnessed between the doctor and his father. “So I take it that MRI I had…?”

The doctor sighed. “Not an MRI at all, although the machines are shaped similarly. You were so nervous. I said I was giving you a sedative but it was really the drug cocktail for the SPA procedure. It makes your mind pliant, makes you almost hyperfixate, so when I told you to focus on someone who brings you joy—some person , very specifically… “

Alya let out a small gasp and covered her mouth with her hand.

The doctor looked at Adrien, his brows pinched together. “Who was she, by the way? You looked so happy.”

Adrien felt a wave of irritation with the man and didn’t answer.

“Oh, of course,” de Vere said. “You wouldn’t remember.”

“So I was never sick? The whole low blood sugar thing was just a ruse to get me here?”

“That was nothing to do with me. Though, if I had to guess the actual cause… your blood work from that morning came back with trace amounts of flunitrazepam.”

At Adrien and Alya’s blank stares, he elaborated. “Rohypnol? It causes drowsiness, dizziness, impaired reflexes and—”

“Are you saying I got roofied?” Adrien began to pace. His mind felt like an uncanny place all of the sudden, like it wasn’t his own anymore, like someone had essentially traipsed through it, taking things that belonged to him while tracking grubby footprints through his memories. Like he’d been violated.

He felt a hand on his arm—Alya, and from the look on her face he wondered if she was trying to calm him or herself. He reached up and put his hand over hers, giving it a squeeze.

He wanted to storm out of there and find a place to break down and freak out. But first, he had one desperate question left, and they were with the only person that could answer it.

“Can it be undone?”

Dr. de Vere stared at him, his face pinched and sorrowful, and then down at his feet. “I’m sorry. It’s… it’s not designed that way.”

Adrien nodded. He’d known, and yet… the final confirmation felt like a fissure in his heart. Those memories, those precious points of light in his life… they were beyond his reach forever.

“I’m sure you understand,” Alya said, addressing the doctor, “that we’re going to have to take this to the police..”

The man nodded. “I do, and I’ve accepted… I’m willing to give a statement on your behalf regarding Gabriel Agreste’s actions. But you may find it’s not an easy thing to fight. SPA technology is so new, and there’s so little regulation on it. There’s very few actual laws you can prove he’s broken.” 

“We have to try,” Alya said. She glanced at Adrien. “If you’re willing to go to war with your father, that is.”

Adrien didn’t want to go to war with anyone. He just felt tired. But he knew it needed to be done. “Yes,” he agreed. “But first… you should talk to her. To Marinette. She told me to stay away from her but… someone should tell her what happened.”

“Marinette… Dupain-Cheng?”

They both turned to look at the doctor, who was watching them with a look of horror.

“Yes,” Alya said. “She deserves to know the truth.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late for that.” The doctor mopped his brow, which had gone clammy. 

“What do you mean?” Alya asked, her voice wary, but somehow Adrien understood instantly. His hands began to shake.

“Where is she?” he asked, his voice trembling.

Alya looked from him to the doctor, and then she made a strangled cry that sounded like her best friend’s name.

The doctor looked down at his shoes, and the weight of the world pressing down on his frame made him suddenly look like a very small man.

“She’s in the recovery room.”

Chapter Text

 "So no one has ever recovered any memories after the procedure?”

“No,” said Dr. de Vere. “There has been a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

Adrien ran. He didn’t wait for Alya or Dr. de Vere, didn’t stop to think about what he’d find when he got to Marinette; he just took off running. He skipped the elevator and took the stairs, his heart pounding out of his chest, his breath coming in gasps—he wasn’t out of shape, but fear had stolen the air from his lungs.

She was in the recovery room. He’d awoken there once, himself. If she was there, it meant the procedure had been completed. It meant it was too late to storm in and stop her, too late for any kind of action, so he didn’t know why he was running except that he needed to see for himself. He wouldn’t believe it until he saw in her eyes that it was truly over.

His shoes skidded as he rounded the corner into a hallway full of doors, trying to remember exactly which one he’d awoken in at the start of his messy, broken new life. He made his choice and threw the door open—he probably should have knocked, but he hadn’t been thinking. 

She was there. Marinette was there.

She jolted upright in her chair at the sight of him, her hand involuntarily squeezing the juice box she held so that apple juice shot out of the straw and dribbled to the ground in a tiny, sticky fountain. Her mouth opened in a tiny “o” of surprise.

He saw something in her eyes—alarm, a hint of panic, and realized how it must have looked to her. He’d just burst into her room like a crazy man. And…

She didn’t know who he was.

Not anymore.

“Hello,” she said cautiously, and his heart broke a little at the confusion in her eyes. So this is what it feels like, he thought as more little fissures of pain shot through his chest. To be forgotten.

 “Hi,” he replied, his voice thick. He didn’t know what to do anymore. He thought he could start by reassuring her, to try to relieve some of the tension in her eyes, but he didn’t know where to begin. “Sorry… you don’t know me. I’m—”

“Adrien.”

Adrien blinked at her. “You know my name?”

She nodded.

He thought his knees might give out, he felt so weak. She knew who he was. She knew his name. She hadn’t forgotten him. “How…?”

“I couldn’t do it.” Her voice cracked, and tears filled her eyes.

Adrien moved towards her, as he always did, because he couldn’t stand to see her sad. His own eyes burned with tears as he knelt in front of her and took her hands in his.

A small sound escaped her, like a strangled cry, and she drew his hands up to her face, pressing them against her cheeks, her tears finally spilling over.

“I was laying there in the machine, and I was supposed to think about you, and I started to. I saw your smile and heard your laugh and I heard you… heard you say you loved me. It hurts, every day, to hold on to what we had knowing I’m the only one who remembers it. But I realized it would be better to live in this world, knowing I had you once, than to live in it like you never existed. I wouldn’t trade a single minute—”

She broke off into a sob, and Adrien wiped the tears off her cheek. He heard the door open behind them, and Alya and the doctor entered, their faces apprehensive.

Marinette looked surprised to see Alya, but considering everything she’d just gone through, she didn’t question it. Adrien stood to face them but didn’t let go of Marinette’s hand.

“She didn’t do it,” he said, and he wanted to say it a thousand more times. Alya sagged with relief, and the doctor just looked perplexed.

“She did, though,” de Vere said, his brow twisted in confusion. He grabbed her chart from where it hung on the wall and stared at it, flipping through pages, muttering to himself. “We got a readout, mapped the neural firing patterns… they were a bit inconsistent, I’ll allow, but in the end we got a strong enough read to make the erasure.”

“It wasn’t Adrien,” Marinette said. “I changed my mind once I was already in the machine. I thought about something else at the last minute, and as soon as I made up my mind it was so easy to focus on… something stupid that wouldn’t matter if I forgot about it.”

The doctor blinked at her in disbelief.

Alya shook her head, relief and amusement coloring her features as the situation sunk in. “What did you erase instead?”

Marinette opened her mouth to answer, then paused. She let out a little laugh. “You know what? I don’t remember!”

She and Alya laughed, but Adrien was still too overwhelmed to join them. He looked down at her in wonder, taking a moment to bask in how truly lucky he felt, everything considered. She felt the weight of his gaze and looked up at him, and the laughter left her face and crumpled into something like sorrow.

“I’m so sorry, Adrien. I stopped fighting for us. I gave up hope and almost…”

He squeezed her hand. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you did. You held on after anyone else would have given up. And you had to do it alone.”

“You’re worth it. If, in the end, all that is left of your love is a memory, then I’m honored to be the one who holds it.”

Adrien looked into the dazzling blue depths of her eyes and it was like the floor had fallen out from under him. He didn’t even try to catch himself—let himself fall down, down into their depths, to the place in her heart where she held onto all that love, so he could see what it felt like to be hers and… he wanted it more than he’d ever wanted anything.

He didn’t remember meeting her. He didn’t remember seeing her face before that time in the bakery where she’d run past crying (because of him , he realized with a pang). He didn’t remember the taste of her kiss or the first time she’d smiled at him.

He didn’t remember how it felt to fall in love with her. But he did know then, as they shared a quiet, meaningful smile, that it would be the easiest thing in the world for him to do it all over again.

If she let him.

“I don’t mean to interrupt the moment…” Alya said with the tone of someone who absolutely meant to interrupt the moment. “But… what exactly is our plan now?”

Marinette dropped Adrien’s hand, and he instantly mourned the loss of it. She tore her eyes away from him as though it physically pained her to do so. “I can’t be seen with Adrien once we leave this room. I’m not sure what you guys know—”

“Gabriel Agreste is blackmailing you by threatening everyone you love.”

Marinette blinked at her best friend. “How did you…?”

Alya shrugged. “Investigative journalist.” The teasing light in her eye dimmed a little and she frowned. “I wish you would have told me. I could have helped you.”

“He told me to keep my mouth shut.” Marinette looked down at her feet. “I was so scared, knowing one mistake, one little selfish slip-up could ruin your life.”

“My job isn’t my life, Marinette. I’m sure Ondine and your parents would agree that we all care about you more than that. But,” she said, her lower lip trembling. “I think what you did was so brave. I can’t believe you went through that for us. I just…” she trailed off, shaking her head.

Marinette stood from her chair to hug her best friend, but she was still a bit unsteady on her feet. She slipped in the puddle of apple juice and pitched towards the floor, but Adrien got his arms around her and caught her just in time. He lifted her up gently so they were chest to chest, and he could feel her heart pounding against his. A blush spread over her cheeks as she looked up at him, and Adrien memorized the color of it.

The shape of her in his arms was so familiar it felt like a memory. It made his chest tight with longing, and he wondered at the sensation of missing something you didn’t even know. 

There in her arms he belonged. There he longed to be.

I wonder if she still loves me.

The doctor cleared his throat behind them. Alya glared at him, a bit hypocritically, for interrupting.

“So…” the doctor said, his eyes darting between Adrien and Marinette. “This is the girl you were supposed to have forgotten? At the time of your procedure, Adrien, all of the signs indicated that it had been a success. Scientifically speaking, I don’t understand…”

“The procedure worked fine.” Adrien shrugged. “But I think if you’re meant to know someone, you’ll always find your way back to them.”

Dr. de Vere was still frowning. “You understand, the theory of soulmates has absolutely no legitimate scientific evidence behind it.”

“What can I say?” Adrien asked. “I’ve been told I’m sentimental and superstitious.” He glanced down at Marinette, the corner of his mouth half-lifting into a smile.

He was surprised to see that she wasn’t smiling back. He realized, then, that he hadn’t yet explained his part of the story. “I thought I was getting an MRI,” he said quickly. “My father orchestrated the whole thing. Dr. de Vere confirmed it. I had no idea, Marinette. No idea . I told you, I wouldn’t have chosen this.”

Marinette looked at the doctor in disbelief, not for what Adrien had said, but for the whole diabolical melodrama of it all.

The doctor nodded in confirmation. “I’m sorry for my part in all this,” he said gravely. “I’m prepared to do anything I can to make it right.”

“Good,” Alya said, crossing her arms and grinning at her friends. “Because I have a pretty good idea of where we can start.”

Adrien’s very expensive chair squeaked as he swiveled it back and forth. It probably wouldn’t, after some proper use, but he doubted his father ever used the chair for its intended purpose (which could only be, judging by its features, rolling around and spinning in circles). His father probably just sat in it, all stern and boring.

It was one of many things Adrien planned to do differently.

The door to the board room clicked open and Gabriel Agreste—the man of the hour—came striding in. He slowed his steps when he saw Adrien in his chair, and his eyebrow quirked in irritation, no doubt wondering what sort of game his son was playing.

Adrien smiled innocently at him. “Hello, Father.”

Gabriel looked around the board room. “Where is everyone? The meeting is supposed to start in…” he checked his watch and frowned. “Four minutes. If I have to keep working with a bunch of irresponsible, incompetent—”

“You’re late, actually. The meeting finished twenty minutes ago.”

“Would you stop fooling around?”

Adrien folded his hands on the table in front of him. “Sit down, Father.”

He did not. “What is the meaning of this?”

Adrien sighed with dramatic insincerity. “Okay, this is going to be awkward. So… unfortunately, Dad, I’m going to have to let you go.”

Gabriel stared at him blankly. “You’re…?”

“The company is going in a different direction. Our visions no longer mesh… I’m sure you understand. Business is business.”

“Are you patronizing me?”

“Yes.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes. “My board room is no place for your childish games, Adrien.”

“It’s my board room, now.”

“What did I just tell you—”

Adrien grabbed a folio from the top of the stack beside him and flipped it open. He slid the page over to his father and tapped a finger on the pertinent section.

“The board was concerned that you’ve been involved in some less than ethical dealings as of late. Something about a statement from Dr. Edward de Vere implicating you in a shady blackmail scheme? You’ve been declared a liability to the company’s image. We had an emergency meeting this morning, and you were removed from office with an overwhelming vote of no-confidence.”

Gabriel stared at the page, his face going white with rage.

Adrien crossed his arms. “It wasn’t very hard to convince them. You really ought to be nicer to the people you work with.”

“Get out of my chair,” Gabriel said coldly.

“Like I said, it’s my chair now. I was the Vice President, which, you’ll remember, is entirely your fault. So I’ve taken over management of the company.” He gave his father an indulgent smile. “You said you wanted me to get more involved in the family business.”

Gabriel’s fist came down on the table. “You stop this, Adrien. You stop it right now!”

“Or what,” Adrien said, rising slowly from his chair. “What can you do to me, father, that you haven’t already done?”

“I—” Gabriel cut himself off quickly as something in Adrien’s words seemed to register with him. He stared at his son with a new wariness, trying to gauge, if Adrien had to guess, exactly how much of his dealings had been uncovered.

Adrien stared back with an almost feline expression of focus—eyes narrowed, preparing to pounce.

Gabriel’s expression cleared suddenly. He smoothed a hand down the lapels of his suit in an attempt to appear unrattled, clearly wishing to give the impression that he still had the upper hand. “I’m going to have my lawyers look this over.”

“Fine.”

“And when I’ve gotten this whole thing cleared up, I will expect a full apology.”

Adrien nodded. “You do that, Father. In the meantime, I’m going to ask you to vacate the premises. You’ll be welcome back to the shareholder meetings as the minority owner.”

Gabriel’s face changed shades then, from an angry red to almost gray with pallor. “Excuse me?” 

“Well, since I own the company now…”

“Being the President does not make you the owner.”

“You owned thirty percent of the company. I owned twenty percent. Twenty percent is public shares, and mother owned the other thirty.”

“I don’t see how that—”

“Except I recently discovered, through the expert sleuthing of a reporter friend of mine, that mom left me all of her shares in her will. Which you neglected to mention, by the way.”

Gabriel trailed off into stunned silence. He looked truly surprised at the information, and Adrien wondered if his father was the world’s best actor, or…

“You didn’t know?”

Gabriel turned his face to glare out the window and didn’t answer.

Adrien stared at him, allowing the puzzle pieces to fall into place in his mind, and it suddenly hit him. He should have seen it sooner.

Because his father had stopped grieving their mother a long time ago. He just never realized why.

“Father? What color were mom’s eyes?”

He continued to stare out the window. Adrien was about to repeat the question when he heard his father’s hushed voice.

“I don’t know.”

Adrien’s eyes widened at the confirmation. “Because the only picture we have left of her is in black and white.”

Gabriel hesitated, and then nodded.

“And you don’t remember her face.” Adrien stared at his silent father in complete disbelief.

Deleted. He had his wife—Adrien’s mother—deleted from his memory, while his young son was still grieving, and grieving alone. It couldn’t have been more than a few years ago, even if he was one of the first patients to undergo the procedure. But it certainly explained how he’d come to know Dr. de Vere, and to support Anamnesis when it had so little to do with his business.

And Adrien wanted to hate him for it, but mostly he was just sad. There were moments of his mother’s life, moments of love and laughter and happiness, which had existed in his father’s memory, alone. Adrien would have given anything for them, and his father had erased them forever.

Gabriel finally turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. “I don’t expect you to understand. But I do expect you to get over your little rebellious attitude. Your mother would have wanted us to run the family business together.”

“How would you know?” Adrien answered coldly. 

“Stop this, Adrien!”

“I don’t think I will.”

“I don’t see how you plan to run this company without me, considering that you don’t know the first thing about design.”

Adrien, who had been waiting for this (very reasonable) point, felt a slow smile creeping across his face. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve hired a new Head Designer.”

“You’ve— who?” Gabriel snarled.

Adrien pushed the intercom buzzer on the end of the table. “Marjorie? Can you send her in?”

“ Right away, M. Agreste ,” replied the tinny voice in the speaker.

They heard footsteps approaching, then—the steady click of kitten heels echoing down the hall and coming to a stop outside the door.

Adrien smiled in anticipation as the door opened to reveal Marinette Dupain-Cheng. She offered his father a polite nod and Adrien admired her composure. He had been worried she might spit in his face, and to be honest, he wouldn’t have blamed her. He would have probably cheered her on.

“M. Agreste,” she said coolly.

Gabriel stared at her in silence as his face grew slowly redder.

“Father, this is Marinette.” Adrien stood from his seat and pulled out the chair next to his. “Though I understand you two have already met.”

Marinette lowered herself into the seat without taking her eyes off Gabriel Agreste. Adrien suspected that she wouldn’t let her guard down around him for a good long while.

Gabriel did a double-take, glancing at his son, and Adrien nodded.

That’s right.

We know what you did.

“You think,” Gabriel growled, “that your little girlfriend has what it takes to be the head of my fashion empire?”

Adrien knew the man was only trying to subvert the conversation into his own control, to skirt around his own wrong-doing by getting their hackles up. As much as Adrien was aware of the tactic, he had to admit that it was working. Adrien was pretty full of insecurities at the moment, and his father had always been excellent at exploiting those.

The truth was, he and Marinette had yet to discuss where they stood, and he didn’t know if she still…

He felt his cheeks warming. “She’s my friend,” he said, because at the very least he knew that to be true. “But yes, I think she does.”

Marinette finally pried her eyes away from Gabriel to glance at Adrien. He met her eyes, and he couldn’t tell if she was pleased by his statement. After a moment, she bit her lip and looked away.

“Oh, she’s your friend! And you would destroy your entire family legacy, and turn on your own father, for a friend?”

Marinette stood up so abruptly that her chair rolled away and hit the wall behind her, but she didn’t care. She stalked toward Gabriel, clapping her hands in a slow, sarcastic applause. “Nice try, M. Agreste, but we know who the bad guy is. Let's not reverse the roles here.” She approached him casually, with near predatory grace, and stared him down. “You know what you did to your son. You had no right—no right to violate his mind like you did. And I might someday forgive you for trying to take him from me, but I can never forgive you for that . I haven’t taken this to the police yet for your son’s sake, but I promise you, if you ever hurt him again?” She looked Gabriel dead in the eye, her voice lethally quiet. “I will find you. And I will give you a memory worth deleting.”

Adrien’s jaw dropped, and he knew what he must have looked like as he watched her, with so much fire and passion that she practically glowed incandescent.

He looked like a man in love. And if he were being honest with himself…

He’d only known her name for two days, and her face for barely more than that. He didn’t think he’d need much longer.

And while he was really, really enjoying the sight of his father shrinking in the face of her wrath, he was, more than anything, eager to see the entire ordeal come to an end so he could finally be at peace. He needed to start making up for stolen time. 

Gabriel looked past Marinette to his son, and Adrien thought, for the first time, that his father looked like an old man. Perhaps he was just worn, and endlessly tired from orchestrating his endless manipulations and secrets.

“I’ll go,” he said finally. “I’ll go for now, but Adrien, you must know. Everything I have ever done was because I love you.”

Adrien stood from his seat and rubbed a hand over his own tired face. “That’s the saddest part, Father.” He looked at Marinette, and when she returned his gaze he gave her the barest hint of a smile. “That’s not what love looks like at all.” 

Chapter Text

“So no one has ever recovered any memories after the procedure?”

“No,” said Dr. de Vere. “There has been a one-hundred-percent success rate.”

“...Although,” the doctor conceded. “No one has ever tried.”

In the end, Adrien’s father went quietly—his threats and complaints, for the most part, voiced under his breath.

When the board room door clicked closed behind him, Marinette and Adrien waited until they heard his footsteps disappear down the hall before they spoke to one another. Marinette sank back down into the seat beside his own and let out a huge breath of relief.

“I can’t believe it’s over. And… and it worked!”

Adrien nodded, a bit dazed. “So, what do we do now?”

She looked at him, considering. “Well,” she began. “I need to give my notice at my job at the boutique. I’m sure Ondine won’t be too upset with me for leaving, especially if I make her a line of genuine Gabriel brand mermaid princess dresses to sell in the shop. I know my parents will be fine without me.”

“That’s not what I—” Adrien cut himself off and began to fiddle with a corner of paper that stuck out from his folder.

Of course she’d be thinking about the business end of things, which was only practical. She was really smart and good at coming up with plans, from what he could tell so far. So what if he’d actually been asking about their relationship? This obviously wasn’t the time. 

And anyway, he thought with a sinking feeling in his stomach, maybe she’d moved on, or… maybe it had never been that kind of love, for her. He wished he knew her well enough to ask. He wished he knew her well enough to know.

“Oh,” she said quietly, and he could tell from her voice that she understood. He made himself look up at her face and noticed that she was biting her lip, but he dragged his gaze away from the distracting sight to meet her eyes. “Well, I was thinking you would probably need some time to adjust to everything that happened and to get to know… yourself… again. Before we… jump into business together.”

“Right. Business.”

She nodded. “We can take things as slow as you need to. With our partnership.”

“Our business partnership?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay,” he said. He gave her a little smile of understanding and she returned it.

“Or…” she considered him for a moment, and he was wondering if she was about to throw caution to the wind and jump into his arms. “If you wanted to, we could burn this whole place to the ground and you could go back to school.”

Adrien gave a startled laugh. “I haven’t ruled it out. At the very least, we should change the company name.” He thought he could just change it to Agreste without too much rebranding, except that would leave Marinette out.

Unless…

His mind wandered to the diamond ring sparkling in the drawer of his nightstand. It was probably too soon for that.

“And… Alya is still gathering evidence with Doctor de Vere. She said we have enough to prosecute if you want to move forward.”

“I haven’t ruled that out yet, either.”

“You have time to decide.”

“We have all the time in the world.” He smiled back at her, wondering at how well she knew him. He wanted to know her just as well. “I’ll text you?”

She nodded, her brow furrowing a bit, and Adrien understood her hesitation. When they’d left Anamnesis two days prior, he’d had to unblock her in his phone. The idea that she’d been there in his blocked numbers the whole time, and he might have found her sooner if he’d only thought to look there drove him wild with regret. She’d sent him a test text (hi 😊) and when he’d answered her (hi back!) her eyes had filled with tears.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done wrong, but he still felt really bad about it.

“So,” she said brightly, standing back up and putting her hands on her hips. “There’s a lot to do. I guess we had better get started.”

Adrien stood too and held out his hand. “Partners?” he asked.

“Partners,” she agreed, and put her hand in his.

He didn’t really know how things were supposed to work with business partners. It probably wasn’t a super common business practice to kiss your partner’s hand when sealing a deal but, he reasoned as he brushed his lips to her knuckles, enjoying the way her breath hitched a little…

There wasn’t much common about the two of them anyway. 

adrien

what’s your favorite color?

marinette dupain-cheng 

Pink

adrien

cool! I’m not sure I have one.

marinette dupain-cheng 

I know :) You did say you like me in red, though.

adrien

I bet you do look good in red

what are you up to?

marinette dupain-cheng 

Last day of work at the boutique! What about you?

adrien

I actually had breakfast at your bakery this morning. I stopped by to say hi and your parents said you were out 

omg those croissants 

your family business is so much better than my family business

marinette dupain-cheng 

lol idk I kind of like yours now that I’ll be running it

I hope they weren’t too overbearing or anything 

adrien

they were so nice to me

I didn’t expect that after what happened

marinette dupain-cheng 

They know it wasn’t your fault

adrien

apparently your dad is trying to adopt me? 

marinette dupain-cheng 

I’m not the least bit surprised :)

minouminou

 I got our text history back!!!

ladybug

Seriously? how?!

minouminou

I paid someone soooo much money to recover it

ladybug

that checks out

Your father’s money I hope

Adrien that’s amazing!

minouminou

I’ve been reading up on us all day

ladybug

Find anything good?

minouminou

we are so cute?

these nicknames?

ladybug

Lol

minouminou

how did I get named after a cat

ladybug

What did you end up naming your kitten?

minouminou

interesting

deliberate avoidance noted

plagg

ladybug

Cute!

minouminou

what did we do on new years eve? 

ladybug

actuallyy haha I have to go I’ve got customers

ttyl1

*!

minouminou

did I say something wrong?

ladybug

No! No no no you’re fine I just got super busy

Sorry!

You’re perfect

minouminou

oh okay

do you like coffee?

ladybug

Not really? I like tea and sometimes hot chocolate.

minouminou

okay

with marshmallows?

ladybug

lol what

minouminou

you don’t like marshmallows in your hot chocolate? you’re crazy

ladybug

what is a marshmallow

minouminou

don’t you live at a bakery?

ladybug

🤷‍♀️

minouminou

are you still at work?

ladybug

Yeah! 2 more hours.

How about you?

Adrien?

The bell chimed over the door to announce a customer and Marinette reluctantly stowed her phone back in her pocket. Adrien was allowed to be busy– he didn’t have to wait by his phone to talk to her all day. As long as his reply wasn’t “contact not found,” she would be just fine. She told herself she was being silly and took a deep breath before stepping out of the back room.

Adrien was standing in the doorway, one hand scratching the back of his neck in a gesture so familiar it made her heart ache. His other hand was clutching a bouquet of pretty blue flowers. 

“Hi,” he said, and gave her an awkward little wave which caused the flowers to sway in his grip. 

“Hello,” she answered. Warmth spread over her cheeks as he stared at her like he’d forgotten why he was there. 

He took a few steps forward and the door swung closed behind him. “Forget-me-nots. I didn’t know if that was too on-the-nose.” The flowers slipped a little, and he clutched them with both hands. “I probably should have brought a vase.”

Marinette giggled, and he grinned in response, the tension between them fizzling away.

“I think I have one in the store room, hang on.” Marinette disappeared into the back and fetched the oversized Baccarat vase from the shelf where Ondine had tried to hide it—as though it were possible to hide a great glittering piece of crystal in their tiny storage area.

Adrien’s eyes widened when she reappeared. “Whoa,” he said. “That’s fancy.”

“Well, you always were a little extravagant with your presents.”

She set it on the counter with a clunk and nearly laughed at his expression.

“That was from me?”

“And you’d filled it with one hundred roses, because the flower store couldn’t do one hundred and twenty-two.”

“Why one-twenty-two?”

Marinette smiled softly at the memory, which was made all the more vivid by the heady scent of the flowers permeating the room. “It was how many days you’d known me.”

Adrien came up to the counter and set the tiny bouquet carefully into the oversize vase, but his eyes were unfocused, his mind trying to dig up a memory that no longer existed for him. “I wish I could remember,” he said, his brows pulled together in frustration. “Sometimes I think I get a flash of something, and then…” he shook his head. “The doctor said no one has ever remembered anything after the procedure, but I keep getting my hopes up.”

Marinette hesitated, and then set her hand gently on top of his. “It’s okay. I’ll be here to help you anytime you feel lost. All you have to do is ask.” 

He stared at their hands for a moment, lost in thought, and then glanced up at her. The mischievous light in his eyes caused her to immediately regret her offer. “What did we do on New Year’s Eve?”

Marinette felt her face heating up and drew her hand back, busying herself with arranging the flowers. “Oh, you know. Just… hung out.”

Adrien’s eyes tracked the blush over her cheeks and then raised an eyebrow, a lopsided smile taking over his face. “Okay,” he finally said. “And why do you call me Chaton?”

She shoved her face into the forget-me-nots to give them a sniff, deliberately muffling her reply. “Because I made you purr.”

“Oh.” It was Adrien’s turn to blush. He shoved his hands into his pockets and glanced around the shop with more interest than was probably due to it.

“You call me Ladybug because of the earrings I was wearing on the night we met,” Marinette offered, and Adrien’s eyes lit up.

“That’s right! The name stitched on the pants! I’ve been wondering…” he grinned at her, but then his face fell. Marinette tilted her head in question, but then she understood. She was beginning to recognize his new tells—the way he became frustrated any time he didn’t remember something important. Despite his perpetual patience and cheerfulness, it must be infuriating to be missing so much of his life. He didn’t even remember the night they met.

I would have been devastated to lose that moment , Marinette thought, and then realized with a start that she nearly had. Her stomach twisted.

“I understand. Every time I text you I expect to get a blocked message. ‘Error code: undeliverable, contact not found.’ I used to text you every day, telling you I was sorry and that I missed you and that I…” Marinette’s lashes fluttered around tears and she had to look up at the fluorescent lights to stop them from spilling over. Her breath shook as she tried to fill her lungs enough to continue. “I think it’s going to be a long time before I can send you a text without being afraid.” 

Adrien’s face was pale as he listened, and when she was finished, instead of answering, he took out his phone and tapped at the screen. Marinette watched him in confusion.

A moment later, her phone buzzed in her pocket. She pulled it out and laughed when she read the notification.

minouminou

hi

Marinette beamed at him. “Hi,” she replied out loud.

He put his phone away and just looked at her for a moment, like he was trying to make a choice. Then, apparently having made his decision, he nodded.

“I want to take you on a date,” he declared, and Marinette felt her jaw drop.

“You do?”

He nodded. “Sure. I want to get to know you. Again, I mean. If that’s okay.”

“I would love that,” Marinette said, her voice hardly louder than a breath.

Adrien’s face split with a brilliant grin, and Marinette wondered how his smile could be that potent every time he unleashed it. “Great,” he said, drumming his fingers against his thigh. “Then it’s a date. I know you don’t drink coffee, so we could go for cocoa?”

“Actually, I was thinking.” Marinette picked up a little blue petal that had fallen onto the counter and studied it, her mind wandering back to a different bouquet of flowers on the eve of a very different date. She took a deep breath and glanced back at Adrien. “I had planned this whole thing for Valentine’s Day, only we never got to go. I know it’s been almost two months since then, but…” she shrugged.

“Oh.” His shoulders relaxed like he’d been tensely coiled while waiting for her answer. “Yes, I would really like that.”

“Okay.” Marinette gave him a shy smile. “I’ll text you the details.”

His expression was deeply earnest as he replied. “And I promise you I’ll answer.”

He bid her a quick goodbye, his steps light as he went out the door, bumping into Ondine as she arrived to relieve Marinette from her last shift at the cash register.

Ondine walked backwards into the store, her incredulous expression fixed on the place where the famous supermodel had just vanished into a crowd of pedestrians. “Was that Adrien Agreste?” she squeaked, turning to Marinette with a look of utter disbelief.

Marinette was grinning too widely to answer.

Chloe

Yes, the pocket square is necessary if you have any class whatsoever.

Adrikins

so no, then

Chloe

didn’t you say this girl liked fashion???

she’s going to dump you like a knockoff burkin bag

Adrikins

I thought you said I was too good for her?

Chloe

Both can be true!!!

Canceled my Anamnesis appointment by the way so

Score one for team pathetic romantic I guess

Adrikins:

really?

wow chloe

I’m really happy for you!

Chloe:

Whatever!!!

So if you and bakery girl want to double date or something sometime

Adrikins

I’d love that!

marinette, by the way

that’s her name

Chloe

I literally couldn’t care less

Have fun on your date!!!

mwah!!!

Adrien leaned against the railing of the boat and stared out at the water, allowing the hypnotic rippling of the moon’s reflection on the waves to help soothe his nerves. Soft party music wafted up from the dining deck below, and the murmur of distant diners blended with the gentle hum of the barge’s engine and the rhythmic shushing of water against the bow.

He’d been instructed to wait here on the empty deck. When he’d arrived he’d had one of those strange feelings that he’d been here once before, perhaps in a dream.

Or in a dream of a dream.

“M. Agreste?”

Adrien stepped carefully off the railing and turned toward the voice. As lost as he’d been in his musing, he hadn’t heard her approaching.

Marinette smiled at him. “Good,” she said. “Last time you almost fell into the river.”

“I did?” His eyes widened as he drank in the sight of her—the sapphire bright of her eyes, the midnight shine of her hair, the intricate pattern of freckles that kissed her nose and cheeks in a way he suddenly and desperately wanted to do himself. He’d never seen the moonlight look so beautiful on anyone before.

She approached him, her eyes lighting up with delight when she noticed his carefully chosen attire. She pointed to the knee of his pants. “That’s how you damaged your lucky suit.”

“That’s how…” he let out a little gasp. “This is where we met?”

She nodded. “You’d run away from a party.”

“That sounds like me.”

“And I found you here.”

He looked around them with a whole new appreciation for the scene and noticed, for the first time, a small table in the corner with a covered serving dish. “What’s in there?” he asked. His thoughts went to the passionfruit macarons she had brought on her first day at Gabriel, and his stomach gave a little growl. The girl could bake .

“That,” she said with a wry twist of her lips, “is a croquembouche in the shape of your head.”

“It’s a… what?”

She laughed, and the sound echoed around the empty deck. “I’m trying to make this whole night as authentic as possible.”

“And that includes a…”

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” He wasn’t so hungry anymore.

She tipped her head to the side and he caught a flash of gold in the dark as the light glinted against her ladybug earrings. Her lips curled into a fond smile. “We can eat it now if you want to. Whatever you feel like.”

Below them, the music changed from a cheerful, bouncing number to something slower, sweeter, and more profound. Adrien considered his options for a moment, and then he reached for her hand.

“I think,” he said, lifting her hand and setting it on his own shoulder, “that I feel like dancing with you.”

Her teasing expression softened in surprise. She moved forward tentatively, placing her other hand in his as he took her waist. They were still for a moment, holding a breath between them, until he took a step forward, guiding them into a waltz much slower than the music called for.

“I can’t believe you did this for me,” he said quietly. “Giving me back the memory of the night we met. I can’t…” he swallowed, his throat burning with emotion.

“It’s nothing.” 

“It’s not nothing,” he said earnestly. “It’s everything .”

Her fingers squeezed his, and he drew her in closer. Head on his shoulder, she let out a slow breath. He felt the warmth of it through his shirt. “You know, this isn’t exactly how it happened.”

“It’s not?”

She shook her head. “We didn’t dance.”

“We could have,” he said, pressing a soft kiss to her hair.

“And you definitely didn’t kiss me,” she whispered.

“I should have.”

Her steps faltered, and she pulled back to look at him, her feet going still.

His hand tightened on her waist for a moment, but then he let her go. The spaces between his fingers felt suddenly empty without hers anchored there, and his heart fell a little at the torn look on her face.

“Did I do something wrong?” he asked, his voice rough and tight.

“No,” she reassured him quickly. “No, I just…” her hand knotted in her hair as she paced a few steps away, turning to face him when she’d created a safe enough distance. “I don’t know… where you’re at right now.”

“I’m right here,” he said with a tone of utter confusion.

“Yes, but... I don’t want to rush you into feeling something for me just because you think you’re supposed to. You’ve only just met me. You should be allowed time to decide if you even want me or… or if you don’t.”

Adrien nodded in understanding, but there was a twinge of uneasiness in his stomach at what she was leaving unsaid. “What about you, Marinette?” he asked, his heart aching, his palms sweating as he looked at her with shuttered eyes. “Do you still want me?”

Because that was the real question. She’d had her heart shattered by him, had thought he didn’t love her and never could again. She’s spent weeks trying to get over him and move on, and now, greater than any fear he’d ever known, was the possibility that she’d managed it.

Her eyes squeezed shut, and a single tear ran down her face before she opened them again. “You told me you loved me and I didn’t say it back.”

Adrien felt a cold-fingered grip squeeze around his heart. 

“I… I didn’t say it back! I was waiting to tell you here, on this deck, on Valentine’s Day. It was so stupid,” she gave a humorless laugh and wiped the tears off her cheek. “I wanted to make a big, romantic gesture. You were always doing things like that and I just thought for once I would…” she shook her head. “But then I realized that it was more important that you know it right away, so I… I sent you a text.”

Her hands were shaking. He wanted to go to her and steady them but he held himself back, trying to respect her space no matter how badly his hands itched to hold her.

“But the text didn’t go through.” Her voice was small and broken as she continued. “It was too late. And I’d never… never gotten the chance to tell you. I thought I never would. It was… it is the greatest regret of my life.”

She looked up, then—looked him straight in the eye, her own eyes burning so brightly he could feel the heat of it from where he stood. “Which is why I’m going to tell you now,” she said. “I’m going to tell you now, and I will tell you again every day for the rest of our lives, until you ask me to stop. Because you need to know.” She took a deep breath. “I love you.”

Adrien felt the icy grip release from around his heart, which took off galloping. He moved towards her then, unable to stop himself, and she met him halfway, throwing her arms around him and collapsing against him.

“I love you,” she spoke against his chest, and it felt like a sob. “I love you, Adrien Agreste. I am so in love with you.”

He squeezed her, swaying them back and forth, his own knees going weak with relief. “Still?”

“Forever.” She looked up at him, her eyes shining, and she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

And as he stared down at her, his heart positively bursting, he realized that he didn’t need time. He didn’t need another second to think about what his heart had always known. “I love you too,” he breathed.

Her eyes widened, and then she shook her head. “Don’t,” she said. “Don’t say it back until you’re absolutely ready. I… I want you to be sure. Okay?”

“Okay.” Adrien smiled at her and tenderly tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. 

“Okay.”

He held her close with one hand as they began to move, not in a waltz like earlier, but in a slowly swaying embrace. His other hand played with the rose chiffon of her elegantly designed dress, his fingers trailing lightly up and down her back. He felt her shiver in his arms, and he grinned. “Hey Marinette?” he whispered.

“Yes?”

“I love you.”

Her mouth parted in surprise and for a moment he thought she was going to protest. But instead she rose up on her tiptoes and pressed her lips to his.

Her kiss was like coming home. And just like that, Adrien realized he wasn’t lost anymore. He couldn’t be lost, because home was a person, and she was right here in his arms. He pulled her in tighter, kissing her back eagerly, fervently, desperately, because he’d been loving her for weeks without knowing it, and it had built up like a fire within him that was now, finally, allowed to burn. 

And she burned right back, her hands gripping his shoulders, then his hair, as she pressed herself against him. They stumbled against the boat rail, narrowly avoiding a fall into watery disaster. 

Or maybe they didn’t. Maybe they were already drowning. Adrien probably wouldn’t notice if they were, because the feel of her was so all-consuming that there wasn’t attention left for inconsequential things like the rush of the Seine into his lungs.

There was too much lost time to recover. He had to relearn the shape of her body in his hands, and the taste of her throat under his tongue, and the sound of her soft gasp against his mouth. He had to memorize her. He clenched his fingers in the fabric at her sides, tugging her hips against him, and then–

He froze. 

Marinette paused, leaning back at the feel of his hesitation. “What’s wrong?” she asked, her voice soft and breathless. She punctuated the question with a feather-light peck on his lips, and another on his chin. 

“I don’t… were you wearing this dress the night we met?”

A sigh escaped her kiss-bruised lips as she looked up at him, her chin resting on his chest right over his thundering heart. “Is that really what you’re worried about right now?”

Adrien tightened his fingers in the soft rose fabric, a frown overtaking his face, because something… something was tugging at the edges of his mind. “I just can’t…”

Concern marred her brow, and she reached a hand up to brush his cheek. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. You’re right. I made this for tonight.” She shrugged. “Sorry, I worked really hard on it, so the night isn’t one-hundred-percent authentic. On the night we met I was actually wearing–”

“Black.” 

The night became so still and silent, Adrien thought she might be able to hear the way his heart was racing. 

“Yes,” she breathed. “I was. Did you… was that in one of our texts, or…”

“No.” A dazed smile began to overtake his face. “I think I… remember it.”

A small sound escaped her– she was covering her mouth with her hands, shaking her head in disbelief. He felt a lump grow in his chest as he stared at her, allowing the image he saw to flicker between the Marinette he could see in the present, flush-cheeked and eyes bright with happy tears, and a different Marinette, wry-smiling and knocking the breath from him in dark silk and moonlight. 

“Do you think,” he said, his voice thick and rough. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Do you think it’s possible for us to kiss all my memories back?”

Marinette laughed, the sound choked by tears, as she threw her arms around him and pulled him close. “I certainly think we should try.” 

And they did. 

Once, in a dream, Adrien thought he had found the meaning of life. Now he wondered if it hadn’t been a dream after all, but a memory. Maybe he had found her . And now that he had her, sparkling up at him with her forget-me-not eyes, he knew he never wanted to let go again. 

So he told her he loved her.

And when she said it back, smiling up at him with hope and some unidentifiable magic, he ordered his heart to memorize the image.

So he could keep it.