Chapter Text
The sharp clacking of heels against the tiles echoed through the cavernous foyer of the estate formerly belonging to Gabriel Agreste. Adrien Agreste stood at the foot of the stairs, one hand on the handle of his suitcase and the other clutching the strap of his duffel against his shoulder, waiting with heart heavy in his chest.
Amelie Graham de Vanily came to a full stop in front of him before dragging her eyes across his figure with a frown.
“Adrien, darling, what on earth are you doing with this nonsense?”
“I started packing as soon as the trial was over, this is all I really need. We can go—”
“Go?” Amelie gave him a disapproving tut as she took the liberty of removing Adrien’s hand from his luggage. Her hand was dry and cool against his own as she led him towards the double doors of the atelier.
“With you and Félix, back to London.”
Wasn’t that where he was going? Was she not taking him with her?
He didn’t want to leave—not when she was here, not as long as there was even a chance she might need him—but he wasn’t welcome in Paris. That had been made clear with every averted eye, every lost contract, every too-loud whisper.
Adrien Agreste had been cleared in the eyes of the law, but the court of public opinion was still in deliberation.
If Aunt Amelie didn’t take him, where would he go?
“Don’t be ridiculous, little lamb,” Amelie said as she whisked Adrien past the police tape in front of his mother’s portrait and down a set of small white steps before depositing him onto a long, magenta velvet bench. She wrinkled her nose with distaste as she sat beside him.
“We’ll have to gut this room entirely, of course, once this investigation business is over,” she said airily, as if remodeling the office of a former magical terrorist was a casual, everyday occurrence for her. “But Félix and I will be moving here. He’s not pleased, but I think it will be good for him. The damp London air encourages his choleric disposition.”
They wanted to move here?
Why?
“Of course, if you’d prefer to stay somewhere else during the investigation, we could arrange suitable temporary accommodations, but you’ll stay in Paris.”
“N-no, that’s not—I’m fine here, I just,” Adrien looked down at his lap, unsure, “thought it was better to leave, after, you know…”
“Don’t mumble, darling, it makes people think you don’t have anything worthwhile to say,” said Amelie, softly patting his back with a well-manicured hand in short, staccato bursts, as if he were a freshly-fed infant. “And of course it’s not better to leave, pet. Running would only make you look guilty. And you’re not guilty, are you?”
Adrien looked up sharply at that. Amelie paused her awkward patting, looking back at him, guileless.
“Of course not,” Adrien swore.
“It was rhetorical, dove. I know you’re a sweet boy, despite that awful father of yours.”
Some weight he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying released from Adrien’s hands as Amelie spoke.
“You’ve always been such a delight, and so patient with my son and his… moods. Which is why I’m prepared to stand by your side and help you convince the rest of France that you’re still Paris’ sweetheart.”
“Ladybug is Paris’ sweetheart,” Adrien blurted without a thought.
“Oh, they’ll eat that up!” Amelie beamed at him. “You’re very convincing.”
“I’m not—I’m not acting, Aunt Amelie.”
“Oh.” She blinked at him. “But you can act, can’t you? You played that cat fellow in the Ladybug movie. What was his name again?”
“Chat Noir,” Adrien supplied. He couldn’t really explain why that role hadn’t exactly required great feats of acting, unfortunately, but he supposed it wouldn’t hurt for Aunt Amelie to think he could act, as long as she knew he was sincere now.
Mostly, he was just relieved that she did believe him implicitly. His aunt had always been kind to him, but they’d never been especially close, even before his mother disappeared.
“Yes, that one!” Amelie snapped her fingers. “You were very charming, I could hardly believe that was my quiet little nephew!”
Adrien forced himself to smile at her. It was a compliment, after all, and those were in short supply these days.
(In this house, they always had been. But he used to at least get kind words from strangers.)
“So we’ll have no problem convincing Paris of the truth,” she asserted, her smile wide with conviction more than warmth.
But that was okay.
Maybe Amelie and Félix weren’t the family he dreamed of having—maybe they wouldn’t ever give him big bear hugs that he felt done to his bones or invite him to join a video game tournament or make him a home-cooked meal—but they were the family he had, and Amelie cared for him, in her own way.
And she was going to let him stay here, in Paris, with his friends, so—
“We’ll just have to ensure you’re seen with the right people, of course. None of this holing up in your bedroom nonsense that you did during the trial.”
The fragile hope burgeoning in his chest dropped into his stomach like lead.
With the right people.
Of course.
He looked down at his lap again. The atelier was too bright, suddenly, like some fracture in the window panes had scattered the light into a hazy cloud.
Nothing had really changed, had it?
Father was gone, but he was still here.
Trapped.
He just had a new handler now.
Maybe he’d at least get to see Kagami, still. If she’d agree to put up with Félix for his sake.
“Don’t look so discouraged, dear.” Amelie granted him another quick, dainty pat. “I’ve already made the necessary arrangements with Mlle Cesaire. She’ll be here shortly to finalize the details.”
So he wouldn’t even have the chance to petition for Kagami. Amelie had already decided for him, and he’d be stuck cavorting around Paris with this Mlle…
Wait, Cesaire?
“You want me to be seen with Alya?” He couldn’t quite bite back the grin that crept onto his face at the possibility. Sure, he and Alya had never been close —they hadn’t even spoken since his father’s arrest (not for lack of trying on Marinette’s part)—but suddenly this whole PR campaign didn’t seem so bad.
“Well, it’s not as if we have Ladybug herself on speed dial.”
Adrien did, in fact, have Ladybug on speed dial—she was his emergency contact—but Amelie hadn’t asked him.
But that was okay, because she was asking him to hang out with his friend .
“Embellishing your existing friendship with the Ladyblogger should be more than enough to convince Paris you aren’t your father’s son.”
And then, right as Adrien was going to ask what exactly she meant by embellishing, Alya Cesaire herself entered the room, accompanied by a particularly dour-looking Félix.
“I’m sorry, you want us to do what?” Alya exclaimed, dropping a half-eaten crustless egg sandwich onto her plate.
They’d absconded to the dining room, where Amelie had apparently found someone to cater high tea, to discuss the details of her plan.
Her plan that she had apparently not fully explained to Alya.
“Make some public appearances together, as a couple,” Amelie repeated.
“Yes, I heard you the first time, but what?” Alya picked up the egg sandwich again, waving it around in the air as she continued, “I have a boyfriend already, lady. I can’t just start going on dates with Adrien. If you really wanna get him a girlfriend, Ladybug is unattached, you know.”
Adrien perked up.
If Marinette was willing…
Félix, dodging away from an erstwhile bit of egg, snorted.
“I’m sure Paris will be exceptionally endeared to the boy that sank Ladynoir. Maybe Chat Noir can help us sell it by yowling on a rooftop over his heartbreak.”
Adrien huffed. He did not yowl.
Alya, still furiously chewing the rest of the egg sandwich, did not respond.
“Fé, darling, let me handle this,” Amelie said, wiping a bit of mayonnaise from his cheek that he hadn’t managed to dodge. Turning to Alya, she continued, “How much does it cost to host a website these days? €17 a month?”
Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Are you trying to bribe me?”
“I’m only explaining how this could be a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“First of all, I don’t need your money,” Alya retorted, picking up another tiny sandwich (to Félix’s clear dismay). “Second of all, Adrien is my friend. I’ll help him for free. You can shove your money up—”
“Wonderful!” Interrupted Amelie, clapping her hands up by her cheeks before clasping them together over her chest. “I look forward to getting to know you better. I do adore your blog, you know. Perhaps you’ll consider me as an investor anyway.”
“Great.” Alya gave her a pained smile. “If you’ll excuse me, I need to go call my actual boyfriend.”
Adrien’s scone turned to chalk in his mouth.
Nino still didn’t know he’d been Chat Noir, and Rocketear had been years ago now, and yet Adrien didn’t relish the idea of telling Nino he was going to fake-date his girlfriend.
“Do I get a say in this?” he mumbled into his plate.
The plate said nothing.
Félix, on the other hand, was more forthcoming:
“No.”