Archive of Our Own

It is sunny the day of Gabriel Agreste's funeral. Clear skies, blue and cheerful; not a cloud in sight.

Félix wishes it would rain.

It seems all of Paris has turned up for the sendoff of their esteemed hero, a man they were all too happy to spit in the face of a day before. Félix would know. He loves to read all the headlines, every article and magazine he can get his hands on that proclaims how the fashion mogul is a liar, a cheat, a fake. Rumors of how he treats his employees, of how he'd stolen designs from someone else. Most of it is all nothing but gossip– but that doesn't mean it isn't still true.

Now, though, there isn't a dry eye in the crowd. Women wipe their eyes with Gabriel- branded handkerchiefs, men duck beneath the wide brims of Gabriel- branded hats. As though they love him. As though they'd always loved him.

As though he was a man worthy of being loved.

At Félix's side, his mother stands, straight-backed. Her eyes are dry, but still, they are sorrowful. She's a good actress – had to learn to be one, after so long living with his father. She hadn't cried at his funeral, either. 

Adrien is at the front of the crowd, too far away for Félix to see his eyes. Murmuring a farewell to his mother – who squeezes his shoulder once in response – Félix pushes his way to his cousin's side. Double takes follow his every move; he wonders what it is that they all see. Whether it's Adrien's face, or maybe his own: purple skin, red eyes, bathed in the light of the moon. He doesn't care. It isn't them he's here for. 

Marinette hovers beside Adrien, his protector. Her eyes dart back and forth, as though scanning for any possible threats. As though any could be bigger than the one in the coffin. She meets Félix's gaze as he approaches; a dozen words pass between them soundlessly. Secrets. Truths. He flicks his eyes to Adrien and then back to her in a silent question. In answer, she steps back, out of earshot. Creating a bubble for the two of them, separated from the rest of the world. 

A lump rises in Félix's throat. They still haven't spoken since his performance. He doesn't even know what he would say – an apology, maybe, or an offering of thanks. Maybe both. Maybe neither.

There's still time for that, though. Time to spend with the person who needs it most.

Adrien sniffles, his hand coming up to swipe at his cheeks. "You came."

"Of course I did," says Félix. 

"You shouldn't have."

For a moment, Félix's heart stops. He must know. But that's not possible, Félix has done everything to keep it from him, how can he know–

"I didn't come to your father's funeral," Adrien says, not meeting his eyes. "I should have been there."

The fist around Félix's lungs loosens. Allows him to draw breath once more. It's guilt making Adrien say that, not knowledge. An emotion that Gabriel Agreste never felt – perhaps he'd channeled it all into his son, his creation. 

"It doesn't matter," Félix tells him, exhaling. "Even I hardly wanted to be there. He wasn't a man who deserved your respect."

Neither is your father , every cell in his body screams at him to say. He doesn't. He, too, is a good actor; he'd gotten that from his mother. 

"It's not him I wanted to be there for."

He scoffs. "Don't tell me this has actually been tearing you apart for this long."

"You can't be mean to me today – my father just died." Adrien's bottom lip pushes out in a pout, softening the impact of his words. It's good, Félix thinks, that he can still joke around despite what happened. Or maybe because of what happened. 

"Fine, fine. I'll be extra nice to you today, how's that?"

Wordlessly, Adrien reaches out and takes Félix's hand, just like when they were children. They still are children, Félix supposes, in more ways than one. Children in the shadow of their parents. Children who cry over the people who hurt them. The people who were supposed to love them, above all else. 

"I'm glad you're here," Adrien says. "I think he would be glad, too."

I highly doubt that , Félix thinks but does not say. He was no fan of his uncle, and the feeling was certainly mutual. It's strange, now, knowing that Gabriel is dead. That he won't come back. That there's nothing he can do to hurt Adrien, not anymore. 

"Looks like all of your friends showed up," Félix comments, head swiveling around to count the number of Adrien's classmates within his field of vision. It's a bittersweet feeling, seeing how many people are there for Adrien. He should be glad his cousin has so much support, so many people who care about him. 

Still, it's hard to fight down the jealousy that gnaws at the pit of his stomach. The jealousy that Adrien doesn't need him anymore. The jealousy that hisses to him in his father's voice: crooning and muttering about how no one needs Félix, not really. About how he should have been up there in a matching coffin rather than here, keeping more secrets from his cousin. Controlling him. 

His fingers touch the rings on Adrien's finger, and something within him relaxes. There is no control, not anymore. Not with every ring exactly where it's supposed to be. 

"They've been really great," Adrien agrees. "But... they don't really get it. Not like you do."

You have no idea how much I get it, Félix thinks but does not say. 

He doesn't think Adrien gets it either, not really. It's one thing to know that your father is dead, of course. But it's another thing entirely to understand what that means. To know that he's gone, that he can't tell you what to do anymore. That the family name is yours to carry on, yours to discard. Yours to do with as you please. 

"Can I ask you for something? A favor?" Adrien's voice softens, fingers threatening to slip out of Félix's. "You can say no – it might be too difficult–"

"What is it?"

"I want to see him."

Both their heads turn, gazes pointing forward. Toward the coffin. 

Félix swallows. "Okay," he says, and tightens his grip on Adrien's hand. 

The walk feels like it takes hours; the two of them, children, weighed down by the stares of everyone they pass. Félix doesn't know if it's him pulling Adrien along and keeping him upright, or if it's the other way around. He remembers taking this same path years ago – it was his mother's hand in his, then, but the feeling was not too different. The fear that threatened to eat him alive. Of what he would see in the coffin.

He still doesn't know which is more terrifying: to see the man you're expecting to, or to see nothing at all. What is worse – to know that he's dead, or that he isn't? That the voice in your head isn't his at all? That it's you haunting yourself, even long after he's gone? 

The uncertainty, though, is the worst. Félix keeps walking. 

"Should I say something to him?" Adrien whispers. "Did you... did you say anything to your father?"

"No."

He wanted to. He had a dozen plans for how the encounter would go. That he would spit on the man's grave, laugh over his corpse. Finally tell him exactly what he thought of him.

In the end, he said nothing at all. Just stood there silently for a few minutes until his mother pulled him away. 

The coffin is propped open like the maw of an animal, eager to swallow them whole. They step up to it together, as one. If they are eaten, it will be together. 

But if Félix has anything to say about it, he will be first. His own father's coffin swallowed him; he won't let the same thing happen to Adrien. 

The body of Gabriel Agreste lies inside, arms crossed and eyes closed. He is pale, made even more so by the dark suit they've dressed him in. One of his best, Félix guesses. He doesn't remember what his father was wearing in the coffin. He doesn't remember what he was wearing then, either.

Gabriel looks as though he's simply asleep. As though this entire funeral is nothing more than a misunderstanding. As though any moment now, he'll open his eyes and sit up, ready to criticize Adrien on his hair or his clothes or God knows what else. 

Adrien steps forward, looking down at him. An unreadable symphony of expressions dance across his face - even Félix, who can read him like a book, does not know what they mean. It seems acting does, truly, run in the family. 

"Adrien," Félix prompts gently. "Do you want to say something?"

His cousin's eyes find his, looking as though he is an ocean away. "I'm sorry," Adrien says, but he is not talking to his father. "I didn't know it would be this hard. I should have been there."

It doesn't matter, Félix thinks but does not say. You shouldn't have been there, he thinks but does not say. Neither of us should be here right now, he thinks but does not say. 

"I forgive you," he thinks and says. "Besides, we'll be together from now on, right?"

"Right," says Adrien, not a single moment of hesitation.

Turning his back on the coffin, Félix pulls his cousin away.