Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"A hero to me is someone who saves people and who really deeply cares."
-Debi Mazar

Adrien learned long ago the art of a smile, that faithful curve that continued to guarantee warmth. It is easier to smile than to frown, his mother had told him at one point and Adrien had come to realize that wasn’t quite true. It was much easier to frown, but in the end by smiling Adrien could convince himself of the part he was meant to play. (Or at least that is what Adrien always promised himself.)

“Look a bit more bashful, Adrien—“ the photographer called and Adrien shifted his gaze ever so slightly down, the curve of his smile almost faltering but not quite as he gripped his arm clad in the far too expensive searingly bright button down shirt, other hand thumbing the pocket of two-hundred dollar designer jeans (“That perfect balance, Adrien! That balance—perfect! Perfect!”) “Yes, that’s it! Gabriel your boy is a genius! I think I’ve got it, take ten everyone.”

Adrien could feel his father’s presence settle between his shoulder blades. Adrien watched as his father walked in cool clipped steps to the photographer who showed him the camera in deference. A smile that wasn’t a smile graced his father’s lips (Adrien wanted, no he needed another smile, one filled with warm, blue eyes filled with care, needed it to fill the space in his lungs that felt so empty) so cold and void of any familiar tenderness. This is business and you have completed it, his father’s eyes said. And that was good enough for Adrien.

“Adrien, take a break,” Gabriel said standing still and making no moves towards him. Adrien understood, and immediately left the room before closing the door behind him with a heavy sigh.

“He could at least tell you that you did well,” Plagg said sourly, ducking out from behind his shirt. Adrien sighed and stretched as he walked down the hall.

“That was him saying, ‘Good Work’. If not, I would have had to take a hundred more pictures or he would have demanded a new photographer,” Adrien explained with a shrug. “It’s just my dad’s way. I’m sort of used to it at this point.”

Plagg didn’t answer him, though it seemed like he wanted too as Adrien walked down the hall. It was then that Adrien heard it, the sound of muffled sobs. As quietly as he could, and with Plagg hiding yet again, Adrien made his way down the hall until he found a bathroom door ajar. The girl was probably a little older than he was, another model he vaguely remembers from a few photoshoots, and she was half-collapsed over the toilet dry-retching the non-existent contents of her belly out. At what must have seemed like his sudden appearance the girl’s dark eyes glazed over in alarm.

“I’m s-sorry,” she half-begged and half-sobbed. “It’s the nerves, I promise it’s the nerves.”

Adrien shook his head and moved out of deliberate instinct. He settled by her touching the hair tie on her wrist, getting her weak nod before he slowly pulled it off (trying not to wince at the butterfly weight between his fingertips). He gently pulled her hair back from cutting cheekbones into a ponytail before getting up to gather towels from by the sink.

“It’s okay,” Adrien promised softly. Handing her one towel to wipe her face with, and wetting the other to press to her swollen eyes. “It’s okay, you don’t need to cry. I won’t tell anyone, okay?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so…” The words didn’t quite make it, but Adrien just shook his head not caring one bit about the jeans as he sat himself squarely beside her.

“You don’t need to be sorry, I’m not mad at you. I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

“I couldn’t get the right look,” the girl whispered as if the words themselves were made from tragedies. “I just can’t get the right look.”

“I understand.”

“How? You’re perfect,” the girl said in reverence and the word tasted foul in his mouth, like scheduled four hour fencing practice the day after Christmas or the cold metallic press of scale beneath his toes. His whole existence contained to his father’s intense look, that look: perfect, perfect, perfect.

But instead Adrien took her hands, ghostly and cold within his own,

“You are beautiful,” he promised her with every ounce of truth within him.

“Thank you, thank you,” she murmured as if Adrien had just righted her whole universe, squeezing back with skeletal strength.

Adrien just smiled gently, unable to shake the desire of wanting to rip out his own teeth.

Adrien thought the jumping was by far the best part. As Chat Noir his body became as light as air—no, he became the night air. Completely and utterly free as the windows of Paris twinkled like stars as he bounded from roof top to roof top in his own personal night sky. He was unable to contain his laughter as the rush filled his ears and heart with joy. He grasped a ledge momentum twirling him pushing him further, farther, faster—

The ringing sank down in him to the pit of his stomach, but Adrien took the necessary leaps and came through the window safe and sound before his transformation came undone. Adrien popped open a container of camembert and tossed a piece to Plagg who immediately situated himself on Adrien’s desk as Adrien fell back on the couch.

“Already missing your precious love?” Plagg asked him in jest and Adrien couldn’t help but smile.

“It’s been a quiet few nights hasn’t it?” Adrien asked with a shrug. “I hope I can see her soon though.”

“Ah, but cheese is something that will stay forever,” Plagg said as he continued to munch away in his usual slovenly way. “Hunger is so much easier to deal with.”

“Plagg, you have little capability for romance,” Adrien scoffed as Plagg floated towards him still grasping the cheese. “You see, the thing is…I want to get stronger, so I can be a suitable match for her.”

“Suitable match? You are already Chat Noir.”

“If it had been her—“ Adrien tried to explain before shaking his head as he crossed his legs. “I want to be able to be proud when I stand next to her, to know I’ve pulled even with her. She gives people this hope, it just radiates off of her. If I can just reach that then…I don’t know. But that’s what I want. Just so I can stand tall and proud and support her.”

“There has never been a Chat Noir who wasn’t inherently a match for Ladybug,” Plagg scoffed. “But you if are too blind to see your worth, I blame hunger.”

“My worth, huh?” Adrien said thoughtfully with a tap of his fingers against the couch.

“How does the old saying go? People can’t see what’s in front of them? Granted they should be able to smell them but—“

“Thank you, Plagg,” Adrien told him standing up and scooping him midflight. He turned towards the mirror, unable to help his blush at the thought. “Do you think she sees that in me?”

“The only one who doesn’t see that is you,” Plagg grumbled.

Adrien didn’t answer him and couldn’t help his wistful smile, as he gazed out into the city that gleamed like stars.

Chapter Text

The table stretched long and empty, a thin strip that felt nearly the whole circumference of the Earth itself. A part of Adrien flirted with the thought of knocking aside all the dishes and platters so they could clatter down and fill that gaping crater that was the void in the empty house, but decided against his adolescence. After all, the mental image could almost bring him enough satisfaction to make it through the empty dinner. Almost.

Adrien scraped his spoon against the bottom of his bowl, only occasionally finding the desire to lift it to his lips. Silence beat in his ears incessantly, as did Nathalie’s quiet presence as her pen scratched out memos. It was only because his father had scheduled to eat dinner with Adrien that day that he was so focused, that the weight of quiet felt heavier than the whole world. But he was half-way through the chicken and mushroom soup when the sound of a door opening and closing drove his heart beat within his chest. Each foot step filled the previously empty air, until his father stood cutting an intimidating figure within the dining room in his polished shoes and perfectly ironed suit. Adrien jerked out of his seat quickly, only to have his father wave him down.

“No, no, continue eating,” his father said, not making any apologies or excuses for his tardiness, and Adrien didn’t care to push him. After all, nine times out of ten his father didn’t even make it home for dinner and with this being the tenth rare chance Adrien knew better than to demand any more from him.

“How is the show coming along?” Adrien asked, reaching to grasp his napkin which had fallen during his un-muttered greeting. With a distasteful look from his father, the butler immediately ceased it and replaced it with a clean one. Adrien, again, knew better than to protest, and instead mechanically lifted spoonful and spoonful to his lips. The taste was lost on Adrien at that point, he couldn’t even tell if the soup was cold or hot. Adrien was sure it had been good, but had to physically look at the broth to assure himself that he wasn’t spooning out water over his tongue.

Gabriel Agreste’s face twisted up for a moment, as if unable to conjure up the correct expression to show his feelings. Perhaps it was somewhere on the border of frustration that pulled together his brow, though the edge in his eyes the color of fire’s hottest hue was dulled. It dropped into its usual façade of cold calculated control soon enough, leaving no trace of the errant emotion behind it. (And Adrien wanted to chase it, chase that emotion back because it was something. Something more than looking at Adrien could summon.)

“The casting call went fine,” his father answered curtly and Adrien knew it hadn’t, “the models…well, they are as good as we will get—” (Adrien also knew what that meant: no one would ever compare to her)“but we did have some talent. One girl from Africa whose skin will contrast well against the white number, and the one who will model my last piece had a strong walk.”

“And this is for the evening gown collection?”

“Yes.”

“I see,” Adrien said, feeling his own smile become harder to conjure, “I’m glad.”

“Your grades are good?” His father asked in a way that was in no way a question.

“Yeah, I got an A on that chemistry exam—“

“Very good, and you attended all of your lessons?” He asked with the clipped tone of checking off things upon a list, and both of them knew full well that if Adrien hadn’t attended fencing at three and then hadn’t gone to Chinese at five and hadn’t conferenced with the photographer for Tuesday that this conversation (if it could even be called something as intimate as a conversation, it was more like an exchange of words) would certainly not be happening. But instead of saying any of that, Adrien just nodded. “Well done. Elise Beauregard, the new up and comer in my company asked if you would appear in the photoshoot for her casual line. I’ll have Nathalie change your schedule on Saturday to accommodate it.”

“Father, I—“

His father stood up.

“I believe I shall take the rest in my workshop,” his father stated and Adrien just curled his fingers in the fabric of his jeans.

“Good night, father,” Adrien wished him.

It was only after his father had disappeared from the room that Adrien realized that his father hadn’t even picked up his own spoon.

(“You are beautiful,” the young designer said as she fixed the cuff of her own creation. “Look at him, isn’t he just perfect?”

“Gabriel is a lucky man to have such a perfect son,” the hairdresser agreed as his locks were sculpted into the exact right shape and Adrien felt like his throat was closing up. Was this all he was, an empty container that was dressed in whatever suited the beholder? Was all he could ever be this perfection? It wasn’t him, the person in the mirror wasn’t him, he wasn’t—)

Adrien sighed and stretched as he walked down the bustling Parisian streets. He had managed to slip from Nathalie’s grasp the moment she looked away, before deciding to take the stroll back home the long way. The familiar strains of music from nearby street-corner musicians, the bright smiles of friends laughing at a café, and the warm sunlight on his neck bringing his first authentic smile of the day to his lips.

“Your father again, scheduling things despite the fact you had plans,” Plagg grumbled, his light weight on his shoulder.

“It’s alright, Nino understands how my father is. Besides, Nino said he was going to meet up with me,” Adrien said as he held up his phone with a mischievous grin. “After all, I finished with everything on the schedule. And I do remember my promise, I’ll make sure to grab some cheese.”

“Ah Adrien, you truly know the way to my heart,” Plagg sighed and Adrien gave him a teasing swat before Plagg found his way back under his collar. It was then he recognized a store front, frosted cakes, pastries bursting with jewel-like jams and jellies, the irresistible scent of vanilla and butter making his stomach grumble. Adrien found himself walking in, and meeting the surprised gaze of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, who immediately yelped as empty boxes clattered from the counter.

“Oh gosh!” Marinette said, scrambling to grab them and Adrien kneeled by the help. She looked up as soon as the empty boxes were back on the counter, tucking a dark hair behind her ear as her cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “I’m sorry—uh—hello, what are you doing here Adrien?”

“Well, I was hoping to buy something to eat,” Adrien said with a smile of his own, he held out the boxes and Marinette took them after a moment of hesitation. Their eyes met, blue and green, and immediately Marinette broke out in a chorus of giggles. Adrien couldn’t help but chuckle back at the sound, utterly happy and light.

“Right, right, of course,” Marinette said momentarily pressing her palm to her forehead before ducking behind the counter. “What can I get you?”

“Can I get a pain au chocolat and a cheese danish?” Adrien asked, and watched as Marinette quickly rang up his order and settled it in his bag. Her eyes flitted up again, as if catching something in his expression that made her take pause.

“Did you have a photo shoot today?” Marinette asked, ducking out from behind the counter to hand him the bag.

“How can you tell?” Adrien asked, and when Marinette motioned to her nose, he reached up and pulled away to see the light makeup. “Ah, yeah. I guess I forgot to take that off. I mean, yeah, I do wear makeup for the photoshoots—”

“Wait, here,” Marinette said, rumbling in her purse for a moment before holding out a package of makeup remover. “I mean—if you want it.”

“Thank you,” Adrien said gratefully. “Uh, I mean, but I don’t want to just take it.”

“Of course you do,” Marinette said as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You obviously worked hard today, but the day’s over right? I mean, wow, sorry that came out strong. What I mean is, yeah, you work hard for the pictures and they always come out good and um…don’t worry about it?”

Adrien took the package from Marinette’s hand, and held it as its weight almost eased everything else that day.

“Thank you, Marinette,” Adrien said, the most honest thing he had spoken that day.

“Thank you Adrien—I mean, your welcome,” Marinette said with that nervous flush and sweet smile as always.

“I’ll see you on Monday?” Adrien offered and Marinette nodded so much he swore he got a headache looking at her. “Alright, until then.”

“Bye!”

The door swung close behind him, and Adrien still had a smile on his face as his phone rang with Nino’s text.

“Is that cheese danish for me?” Plagg asked hopefully.

“Yep,” Adrien said, reaching into the bag and breaking off a piece for him.

“What a nice girl,” Plagg told Adrien as he munched happily.

“Yeah,” Adrien said with a smile and thinking back to Marinette’s words, “yeah, she is.”

(“How are you feeling?” Ladybug would ask Chat Noir later, after Chat Noir took a head-first trip into a park bench. And Adrien through Chat Noir’s mouth smiled.

“I suppose you could say I’m purrfect.”)

Chapter Text

Adrien wondered how anything could breathe in that house.

Was it even possible to draw in breath? Adrien couldn’t say, because his childhood had been spent jumping from one frame to another, one glass case to another, one empty dining room table to another. He had been kept in pristine condition, restored and handled with the utmost care by aids and assistants who dusted off the slightest smudge against his skin as if it were made of ancient porcelain that could crack at the slightest pinch. That house that wasn’t a home, it was a museum and Adrien was its centerpiece, its pride and joy.

(That house was a temple and Adrien was the knockoff idol that could never truly replace what had disappeared, what had left that gaping aching hole within that sealed off tomb. But Adrien was buried, moment by moment he was buried under its weight, filled with the backwards looking ghosts within his father’s eyes.)

Adrien was sure that he could escape those walls, but there was truly no escape. Not when his father’s eyes peered down at him in that piercing blue hue. The museum, the temple, the tomb, the cage still trapped him. The flashing cameras dazzled Adrien as he stood next to his father feeling dizzy. His father stood beside him, however his presence was like the weight of the world on his shoulders, his shadow cast domineering over him. His father’s smiled a smile that softened his face everywhere but his eyes which barked out a single command at him: Look good for the camera. An arm wrapped over his shoulders as they took their place on the carpet.

Adrien smiled the red-carpet smile, his teeth flashing in the white camera beams, his cheeks lifting to reveal his carefully hidden dimples. His father mirrored the act with a smile like cocktail parties and fine cigar smoke.

“Looking amazing as usual, Agrestes!” A reporter shouted, and Adrien felt a perfectly timed squeeze of his shoulders (the ghost of affection, that Adrien wished he could just soak in though it was as fake as his father’s one-sided mirror smile).

“Ah, it helps when your boy is best in all of Paris, eh?” His father said with the cold-heat of pride in his lips and a pat before letting Adrien go (though Adrien would stay there bound by his father’s unspoken command).

“We’re all excited to see your new line, Mr. Agreste. How about you Adrien?” The reporter asked and Adrien just continued to smile.

“My father does amazing work, and he works so hard,” Adrien said honestly, “I’m just happy to be able to see his hard work come to life.”

“Thank you,” his father told the reporter before suddenly his was ushered away. His father brushed his immaculately tailored three-piece Italian silk suit with something akin to displeasure, as if physical touch had misplaced something there and Adrien tried not to let it sting. The smile was gone as if it had never existed at all, and instead his face was symmetrically neutral. “Nathalie will have you seated, after this is all done we’ll have to at least make an appearance at the after party but hopefully not too late for you have your fencing tomorrow.”

“Yes father,” Adrien said and as his father took a few steps away Adrien couldn’t help but call out, “good luck!”

His father didn’t turn around, but instead gave perhaps a nod of acknowledgement before suddenly Adrien was standing alone.

“Are you nervous?” Plagg asked. “Your father’s show will go fine, no need to worry. The faster it all goes the faster we can get out of here and I can have that cheese you promised me.”

“Yeah,” Adrien said trying to muster up more energy to his smile. “Let’s go find Nathalie then.”

(The music stirred with strings and piano as the models walked out anointed by his father’s fingers. Every hand-made flower, every stitched sparkle, every gossamer line and hem screamed of his father’s haute couture. They spun at the edge of that walkway, casting out silken or organza twirls, perilously perched on heel-points that hardly secured them from falling over into the darkness. It was that carefully contained chaos, that beauty right on the edge of danger. It was a world so foreign from his own except when he was masked and flying from rooftop to rooftop, and never felt as he sat in the cast lights of his father’s eye. But something resonated within him as he caught the green eyes from underneath coal black lids and golden curls. He blinked and it was gone as the girl turned and walked back down that laminated walkway with butterfly-wing skirt fluttering in the air.

They would all be free, their fleeting perfection would be washed away in the warm Paris evening with expensive champagne and fine indulgent sweets. But Adrien would remain at the edge of that walkway until he teetered over one side or the other, because Adrien alone could never restore what his father had lost until he reached that unreachable perfection.)

“Hey man,” Nino said, reaching over to give Adrien his morning fist-bump. “I heard that runway show was fire.”

“Where did you hear that from?” Adrien couldn’t help but ask but was answered by Alya giving Nino an affectionate bop on the head. Alya pointed to Marinette who flushed at the sudden attention and dropped her pencil case causing pens to scatter across the table.

“Did you watch it last night?” Adrien asked and Marinette nodded so much he was worried she would grow dizzy.

“You are—I mean your father’s, your father’s evening dress line was gorgeous,” Marinette stuttered before giving a shy smile.

“I watched it on TV last night with Marinette, we even saw you when the camera panned around,” Alya said giving Marinette a teasing jab in the side.

“I watched it for a little bit, I even think I can do the model walk,” Nino said jokingly.

“Oh really?” Adrien asked half-amused and half-daring. Sensing the dare, Nino got up and jutted a hip out as he took long sassy steps to the teacher’s desk and turned with the ferocious grace of a hippo doing ballet. Adrien couldn’t help his laughter which bubbled up until his gut strained. Nino struck a pose, causing Alya to clap loudly.

“Think you can top that, Agreste?” Nino dared and Adrien was hopping out of his seat immediately. They walked down again together, ridiculously swinging their hips until they turned. Everyone in the class was in a riot of laughter, even Chloe who turned her nose up and hid her mouth under her hand.

“Alright class, settle down,” Miss Bustier called good naturedly as Adrien and Nino took their seats once more.

“Nice fashion show,” Marinette told him with a sweet smile.

“Thanks,” Adrien said before turning to his paper.

(“Chat, stop that! Landlines are not a walkway!” Ladybug scolded him in good humor as Chat Noir twirled his tail in his hand and struck a pose.

“My lady, every way is a walkway!” Chat answered her, using a bounce to send himself flying as he caught sight of the akuma.)