Work Text:
Adrien thinks about Strikeback.
It's never given him pause before, and really, it shouldn't: the team was in danger, all of Paris was in danger, and Ladybug dealt with it in the best way she could. In truth, Chat Noir wasn't even that attentive to that fight, distracted as he was by the jealousy churning in his stomach.
But the memory has come back unannounced, and he doesn't know what to do with it — doesn't know how to treat the nausea creeping up his throat. Maybe it's because it's July, the summer before his fifteenth birthday, and there's no hiding from the giant fireball in the sky; maybe it's because he's in the garden, a sun hat firmly set upon his head, and Nathalie examines the laurels with surgical precision.
“Aphids,” she concludes soberly, rising back from where she'd been kneeling in the grass. “At this rate, they will suck the entire flower bed dry before the season is over. I will have to take measures.”
“Right.” Adrien nods. Swallows. “What… hmm, what kind of measures?”
Nathalie slides the gloves off her fingers — still perfectly manicured, still wearing Mum's signature nail polish. The pause gives her joints a moment of respite, but Adrien isn't supposed to know that.
“Do you remember the old gardener?” Adrien shakes his head. “Your mother had him fired when you were four. He used to douse the entire garden with pesticides.”
“I didn't know Mum was such a staunch supporter of biological horticulture.”
“After she had you, your mother became a staunch supporter of many things.” There's a hint of fondness in her voice, though it's hard to tell who it's intended for. “She called it poison — said it would be bad for your little lungs. After he left, she breathed a little easier too.”
“So we're not going to use chemicals.”
“No.” Nathalie moves to cup his cheek, but seems to think better of it; her hand floats awkwardly between them before settling on his shoulder. “We're going to take a leaf from a certain heroine's book.”
Adrien nods, relishing the warmth that seeps through his shirt; then realises he has no idea what she's talking about.
Then realises he does, actually.
“Oh. Is that…” He should stop there; but a tilt of his guardian's chin encourages him to go on. He loves her for trying, even though silence is usually easier for them both. “… is that really the most humane option?”
“They're aphids, Adrien. Ladybugs eat aphids — it's the natural order of things.”
“… Right.” He bites his lip. “But… surely, plants being eaten is also the natural order of things?”
Nathalie frowns, but it isn't a punishment: she simply doesn't understand.
***
Later, he thinks of Felix.
Specifically, he thinks of an episode of their childhood, in that very same bedroom he's struggling to make his again: he'd left the window open that night, because it was so warm outside, and because he was too little to reach it on his own. The bed had been too big then, and it's still too big now: Adrien tosses and turns, a frail little skiff on a sea of covers, and reaches for the empty spot next to him.
Felix isn't there.
Felix was never supposed to be there, not even when they were little; but not once did that stop him from slithering into his cousin's space. He's never been one for sleeping anyway, nor for standing still, nor for keeping quiet. Thinking back to the time before — back when Uncle Colt was still alive — Adrien pictures his cousin as a rubber band bracelet: twisted, pulled taught, yet refusing to break. All it took was a moment of inattention (an opportunity, as Felix himself would call it) and he would snap back into himself — loud and furious like the crack of a whip.
Those bracelets, Adrien keeps them in one of his drawers: souvenirs from Disneyland, from a Jagged Stone concert, from a night out with his friends. When he started modelling, he was told to stop wearing anything that didn't highlight the brand; it doesn't mean he's ready to part with the memories yet.
Or ever.
Anyway, it all happened on a night quite like this one, windless and sticky; except not quite like this one, because Felix was there. Adrien can't remember what they'd been talking about, but he knows he was laughing, quietly, sincerely.
And then, all of a sudden, he wasn't.
“What's wrong?” Felix's face had grown serious — older, like it sometimes does. “Adrien? Are you still in command?”
He hadn't known how to respond to that. Instead, he'd extended a finger, trembling, pointing at the creature lurking in the shadows.
A spider, crawling its way up his cousin's arm. It seems ridiculous now — but Adrien used to be tiny too.
“Oh, that?” Felix had done a double-take; then grinned, as he often did. “Don't tell me you're going to scream like a baby.”
“Don't move!” He'd whisper-shouted, biting his nails to muffle the fear. “It's going to bite you!”
“It's a house spider, not Count Dracula. Gods, you're even more of a coward than Chloé!”
Felix had shifted, rolling his eyes; and, in an episode of insanity only rivalled by the Red Moon incident, he'd offered the eight-legged intruder his hand. Adrien had watched in horror as the thing climbed onto the little fingers, a splash of brown against the pale skin.
His cousin had sat up, cupping it in his hands. Holding it as delicately as he would his bunny plushie.
“Aren't you going to kill it?”
“Why would I? It's not doing anything wrong.”
“But it can't stay here.”
“Why not? Just because it isn't pretty? That's not fair.”
“I don't want it here!” Adrien had insisted, pulling the covers up to his nose. “Take it away. Please?”
There'd been a flash in Felix's eyes: something he'd never seen before, and has never seen since — at least not directed towards him.
Suddenly, his cousin had thrown the covers away, jumping bare-footed upon the too-hard floor.
“I'm going to the garden,” he'd said, back turned and shoulders tense. “And then back to my room.”
“Felix —”
“Don't,” Felix had warned, a bite on the edge of his teeth. “Good night, Adrien.”
He wonders now, as he drowns in his childhood house, if that was the night he lost him.
***
“That hurt you, didn't it?”
Felix's eyes have always felt like daggers, but the magenta turns them into branding irons: for the flicker of an instant, Chat Noir is convinced they will burn their way past the mask. He isn't sure what to think about that — whether he would like him to know who hides underneath.
Anyway, Argos' default annoyance soon morphs into something that suits Felix better: curiosity. He tilts his head, a birdlike little gesture, and it makes Adrien's heart ache with fondness.
“When we threw Strikeback into the sun,” he precises, awkwardly. “That wasn't right. I'm sorry.”
“You didn't do anything.” This isn't an accusation, nor is it absolution: moreso Argos putting him back in his place. “Too busy choking on your own jealousy, no doubt.”
“How many times do I need to tell you? There's nothing between Ladybug and I!”
“She has a someone, you know.”
“So have I. What's your point? Boys and girls can be friends.”
“Boys and girls, yes. You and her, though? Not until Hell freezes over.”
Chat's tail flicks with annoyance — a 'perk' of his costume upgrade that truly damages his carefree exterior. He's not sure what's worse: that his cousin refuses to believe him, or that he can't seem to convince himself.
Luckily, Felix returns to the matter at hand.
“There's not going to be another one, you know. Not ever.”
“Sentimonster?” The fan unfolds; Chat raises his hands placatingly. “That's fine! We're not counting on it.”
“Not yet. But the demands will come, eventually.”
“Well, not from me.”
And then, muscle memory plays a trick on him: Adrien doesn't even realise what he's done until Argos, perplexed and severe, is staring down at the consequences.
That stretched out pinky looks weird, with no one reaching for it.
“Ha… anyway.” He takes his hand back. He wants to die. “You won't have to use your power, I promise. And if the others try to ask that of you —”
“Which they will, being people.”
“— which they won't, being good people.” Felix snorts at that. “Whatever. The point is: I'll stand up for you.”
He doesn't get an answer to that. Doesn't think Felix believes him.
But neither of them leaves the rooftop, which is progress enough.
***
“So!” Marinette says, clapping her hands together. “What do you think? Do you like it?”
“Uuuh…”
Adrien pauses, remembering his PR training: he doesn't want to upset anyone — especially not his girlfriend, who does so much for him always. Besides, it's not like the infusion tastes bad.
But… it's not like it tastes good either: if anything, it kind of tastes like boredom, and brings him the same amount of pleasure as eating cardboard might. He would know — that happened to Chat once.
“It's great!” Is what he says instead, keenly aware that one grossly chopped leaf has found its way between his teeth. “What, hmm, what is it exactly?”
“A nettle infusion. Old recipe from my mas… I mean, from my grandpa.” A cloud passes over her bright blue eyes, and he worries he's let the dear girl down; she recovers quickly, shaking whatever caused her pain out of her head. “Nathalie told me you had an iron deficiency.”
“The doctor said so… coffee and tea are off-limits for the next few months.”
“And that's hard, isn't it?”
“Not really… I mean, I already didn't drink them. They make your teeth yellow.”
Marinette slams her fists on the kitchen table. Droplets fly. Adrien nearly has a heart attack.
“Buttercup.”
“… Oui, mon amour…?”
“You musn't let anyone tell you what to drink or not drink or eat or not eat. Are we clear on that?”
“Not even the doctor?”
“The doctor isn't just anyone! This is important medical advice. They're trying to protect you —” Her arms flail in a billion directions. “Look, there are bad rules and there are good rules! What really counts is the thought behind them.”
“So I still can't drink caffeine.”
“No. But you can drink this!” Marinette insists, pushing the cup forward. “Here, have some more.”
Adrien nods, reaching for the bottle of milk. Maybe it will change something?
It does change something: the decoction takes on a sickly shade, halfway between molded fruit and rigor mortis. He supposes he'll get used to it.
“You know,” Marinette says, once he's managed to drink a third of it, “It really makes you think.”
“The infusion?”
“Yes, the infusion. The nettle infusion,” she adds, leaning over the table. “The thing is, no one likes nettles. They're itchy and ugly and they spread like crazy. In many areas of the world, they're still considered an invasive species.”
“Right.”
“But!!! They actually have plenty of uses!!! In the wild, they're a food source to many endangered butterflies. Its fibers are a staple of the textile industry. And of course, they make great remedies!” Her eyes, the same blue as the sea, dilate as she speaks. Is this a new hyperfixation he should learn about…? “What I'm trying to say is: just because a plant is a little different doesn't mean it's necessarily bad. In many cases, it's actually great! Nettles are great! You're great!!!”
“Oh.” She's trying to tell him something, but he doesn't quite get it; as an apology, he takes another sip. “Thank… you…?”
Marinette nods frantically; whether from satisfaction or stress, he cannot tell. Silence settles over them, thick and sweaty — it's far too hot for this kind of warm drinks anyway.
And then, something. A buzzing somewhere he can't see.
“Fuck!” The eruption takes him by surprise. “I forgot to plug the diffuser... urgh, I hate mosquitoes! I bet it's already sucked on both of us.”
There's a newspaper on the table, abandoned by her dad after breakfast; Marinette reaches for it, rolling it into a weapon.
She jumps off her chair. He doesn't stop her.
***
“So?”
“…”
“Come on, wet cat. Just say it! You'll feel better afterwards.”
“Why are you like this?”
“Because someone needs to hold you accountable for the silly little tales you spin.” A pause. “And, I suppose, because I need to hear it. I need you to acknowledge it.”
“Fine. You were right.”
Felix smiles, bitter, and nails his gaze to the horizon line.
It was Kim who came up with it, of course: a 'big ram Sentimonster' to 'smash past the akuma's defences'. And that had gone approximately as well as one might expect: Argos yelling, King Monkey yelling back, the other heroes standing by in confusion. Ladybug yoyoing between them, at last, and shutting the plan down manu militari.
In the end, there'd been no Sentimonster — Sentibeing. But there could have been, and Chat highly doubts it would have been allowed to live out its days munching on giant grass in a giant field.
“Look, it doesn't — it doesn't mean the others will follow. It doesn't mean they'll want to do it now.” He grunts, burying his face in his hands. “It's Kim.”
“Please don't tell me he's ‘not mean, just a dimwit’. That would be an insult to my intelligence.”
“Oh no, he absolutely is mean. But he's still primarily an idiot. I don't want you to underestimate how fucking stupid he is.”
“Hmm.” Is that a hint of amusement behind the rage? “Nevertheless, Pandora's box has been opened… you can hardly ignore it now.”
“I know. I'm sorry.” Chat throws his head back. “I really thought — I'm so sorry.”
The drumming of Argos' fingers is like a hammer to his skull; but… sort of soothing, too. After all, it is proof that his cousin is still here. It stops suddenly, replaced by a ruffle of fabric: Felix is looking at him, but Chat doesn't dare look back.
“You kept your promise, though.”
“Uh?”
“When the baboon decided to run his mouth. You stood up for me.” Oh. “I didn't expect that.”
“Clearly, you don't know me at all. I'd never miss an opportunity to stick it to Kim.”
“You're right… perhaps I don't know you.” He hears Felix rise, and brush something off his coat. “Fortunately, I am a fast learner.”
Adrien does look then, and is surprised by what he finds.
***
He also fell into the sun, once.
At the time, Snake Noir hadn't given it much thought: he'd activated Second Chance, materialised back at the saving point, and that had been all. His focus had been on defeating Miracle Queen, Chloé, someone he'd known since the two of them were in diapers; and, frankly, on not getting Groudhog-Day'ed again.
But it did happen. It's sort of crazy that it did happen.
Adrien reaches for Froggy, another memory recovered from a cardboard box. Papa-rapluie… Life had been different then, when he was little: already, there were things he didn't undershand, but the grown-ups would laugh them off like an inside joke — not flee his gaze or order him back to his room or snap the whole damned world out of existence over it. Adrien knows his family didn't mean to hurt him, thinks they didn't mean to hurt him; but it does hurt all the same, much like the solar flare that licks his skin once more.
He presses Froggy's belly, the button hidden inside the stuffing: there's a click, then a pathetic wail of a sound. The battery is dead, which isn't exactly surprising; he should ask Nathalie for a new one.
He presses the button again.
And again.
And again and again and again.
The rale, like someone coughing up ash, slowly untangles his nerves. Does it say something about him that he enjoys it, finds comfort in it?
He doesn't know — doesn't want to know. But that gargle is much closer to the father he knew.
***
“You have ants.”
It's the first thing Kagami says in almost fifteen minutes — or a month, depending on how one counts. The last time they spoke, all the way back in London, he was crying in her arms after the end of the world; then there'd been the silent train ride home, and then the awkward head tilts at his pool party. These days, she mostly sticks to Felix, and Felix to her.
He tries to be normal about that.
“Ah…” Adrien blinks, looks down at the table. They have ants indeed: one of them is crawling into his plate right now, enthralled by the sweet scent of frosting. “I suppose we always have. But Nathalie's taken care of the aphids, so — now they need to find food elsewhere.”
“'Taken care of',” Kagami repeats, spoon sinking into her carrot cake. “You continue to overuse euphemisms.”
There used to be some form of connivence between them; but that time is well and truly over, and she's become yet another person he's catastrophically let down. He's not sure why she came, what she wants to do with him now after weeks of distant coexistence.
“Felix misses you.”
Oh. Adrien feels the old ache creeping up his throat.
He hasn't processed Flairmidable, Red Moon, any of it: Felix said he'd done it all for him, but what does that really mean? Between Father and Bug Noire and Nathalie and Father and Lord Graham and Father Father Father, he's been pulled in too many directions. Felix is always on his mind, a familiar wound he should get checked out; but he's terrified of the diagnosis, and he's gotten used to the dripping of blood.
Through Chat Noir, at least, he gets to have something. Felix hates Chat Noir, so there's no wondering where they stand.
“If you say so.” Adrien watches the ant: it scampers with a crumb thrice as big as it is. Atlas, he thinks distantly. “I figured he would have other things on his mind… other people.”
“We kiss. A lot.”
“I know.”
“He kisses me as much as I want. I never have to ask him first.”
“That's great. I'm happy for you.”
Kagami exhales softly into her cup: matcha, of course, because she doesn't have a defficiency. Adrien knows he made her feel like that, sometimes — but he was always the incomplete one.
The reason for their break-up. A holder like any other.
The twin who screams at spiders.
“You two are a surprisingly good match.” He clears his throat, but the sting refuses to let go. “I–I miss him too.”
“You should tell him instead of telling me.”
“It's not that simple. He's done things I don't agree with.”
“People do things I don't agree with all the time.” Her gaze flicks down to the lucky charm on his wrist; then back up, as if to challenge him. “I have learnt to let go of certain things.”
“He could reach out first.”
“He has. Your entire lives, he's been the one to extend his hand towards you.”
“… You're not exactly unbiased about this whole situation.”
“I am not.” She twists her eyebrows, her favourite way of communicating with him. “This is your mess, Adrien. Fix it.”
Adrien opens his mouth to protest — but no sound finds its way out: he catches the moment the ant climbs on Kagami's hand and, worse, the moment her eyes catch it too.
The thing about Kagami is that she hates insects, every single one of them; the other thing about Kagami is that she never hesitates. He saw her kill a wasp once, crush it between her bare hands so the sting wouldn't even graze her skin — her mother taught her that technique, she'd said.
And he does see the disgusted little pout; it's there, undeniably. But she still reaches for the laurel leaves, and lets the creature be.
***
He's still crying about it later, much later, when he hears a knock on his window; and his first reflex, a childish one, is to hide his face against Froggy.
“Go away. I don't want to see you right now.”
“This is a Graham de Vanily property, remember?” Felix's voice comes muffled too, piercing past the glass barrier. “You can't deny me entry to my own house.”
“What part of 'go away' don't you understand?!”
“Come on, don't be stubborn. Open the stupid window.”
“I can't deal with your bullshit right now. Get lost!”
“Is that your final answer?”
Adrien turns his back on his cousin — literally. He's facing the wall and intends to keep it that way.
So he never knows what Felix does to the lock.
“There are ladybugs everywhere,” the intruder groans, dusting his tailcoat before flopping on the bed. “Whose genius idea was it to hatch some in the middle of a heat wave? This is the warmest summer France has known since 2003!”
“How did you —”
“A magician always keeps his secrets.”
“You're impossible. That's your answer to fucking everything.”
“It's a good answer. Why waste energy on a new one? I hear Paris is aaall about recycling now.”
Adrien snorts — he hates that he snorts. He never seems to even graze Felix, but his cousin always catches him somehow.
“Kagami sent you, didn't she.”
“She said you suddenly broke down over ants,” Felix says, flicking his fan open and shut. “The term weeping was even dropped.”
“I'm not weeping. I'm fine.”
“As can clearly be seen from the tear tracks on your supposedly expensive foundation. Why do you still wear that crap?”
He doesn't know. He doesn't know. Nathalie told him that wasn't necessary anymore, and so did Marinette, and so did Nino and Alya and even Luka — though technically Luka didn't say anything, sticking to a hum and a gentle strum on his guitar. Adrien has dropped his hair stylist and thrown out his Gabriel shoes, and he doesn't even care about wrinkled clothes most days; but he's stuck to his old skincare routine, because… because. Maybe he's scared his mask will crack, and the people he loves most will see the disgusting mess underneath.
“You don't want to answer that. That's fine,” Felix says, index tracing the plumes of his fan.“But won't you at least tell me about the ants?”
“It's not about the ants.”
“Obviously not. Your mal-être has been spamming my Miraculous all week.”
“It can't have been that bad. You only came to check on me after Kagami asked you to.”
“You're supposed to be mad at me, remember?”
“That's rich, coming from you! You're always mad at me about something.”
“That would be because you're a bloody idiot.”
“Well, there you have it. I'm sad-slash-angry-slash-ashamed because I'm a bloody idiot.”
Felix keeps quiet, surprised; he isn't often taken off-guard, so Adrien counts it as a victory.
Still, he buries his face in his hands.
“That spider, when we were six or seven…”
“You were almost seven, I was six and three quarters. It was late August, two weeks before your birthday.” A pause. “Are you still thinking about that? Seriously?”
“You obviously are, too.”
“Fine. The spider that summer before you turned seven. What about it?”
“I…” His breath comes out hitched, heavy. “I don't know.”
“Bullshit.” Felix swears sparingly, but always à propos. “One does not randomly gets all melancholy about insects and long-dead arachnids, Adrien.”
“Only you would bother with the distinction.”
“Only I. You're stalling.”
“It's about me, OK?!”
Adrien's hands fall away — between his knees: if he doesn't keep them trapped, he might tear everything away — the wedding bands and his Miraculous and his own skin. Maybe even the fabric of this world.
“Everyone treats me like this little porcelain thing, but I'm not. I'm not beautiful,” he spits out, unclogging his throat, “but I am fragile. I am small and destructive and an inconvenience to everyone around me. It's just that no one else has noticed it yet.”
“Adrien…”
“Don't tell me that's not true! You don't know me at all!” he hisses, and regrets it instantly. “All you see — all everyone ever sees — is just camouflage. It's good camouflage, but it won't hold forever… and I'm afraid that the day I drop it — the day someone finally scratches past the surface — they'll want me gone, want to set me on fire.” But even that fate would be sweet, compared to the repulsion he imagines in Marinette's eyes.
For now, Adrien feels Argos' eyes on him, the burning magenta he can never hold for too long; and Felix doesn't say anything. Instead, he rises, pulling away from the mattress — from him.
It's the first time his cousin has been in his room since… well, since the day he got Father akumatised; ever the detective of their pair, he investigates the shelves, bared from the dozens of trophies he's collected over the years. Nathalie said it would be better to start fresh, to make some space for new memories, and he'd agreed on principle; in practice, the room looks even bigger now, and gathers all kinds of dust.
Felix inspects said dust like it means something to him too. Gathers it between two fingers, in what looks a little too much like a snap.
“I take it back,” he declares at last, holding the nothingness to the golden light. “Turns out I have been the bloody idiot this whole time.”
Adrien blinks, then blinks again.
“You have?” Felix's face contorts into a grimace. “I'm… not following you.”
“You are, though. I never expected you of all people to be that perceptive.”
“Stop talking in riddles, Felix. You need to start actually telling me things.”
“You need to start actually telling me things.” The imperious index points to him this time. And then comes the bomb shell: “Isn't that right, wet cat?”
Now this is the part where Adrien should do something smart: feign ignorance, deny, cataclysm the memory out of him. He should. He really should.
But apparently today's not his day, for all he comes up with is:
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed. To your credit, you fooled me for an embarrassingly long time.”
“What gave it away?”
“That unmistakeable brand of sadness you carry everywhere with you.” Adrien pouts. “Yes, exactly that. But I wasn't entirely sure until Kagami called.”
“I hoped you'd say something along the lines of… my inherent charm, or my ameowzing sense of humour.” Felix grunts at that. “Or that Chat was suspiciously kind to you.”
“You haven't always been kind to me, Adrien.”
“I suppose not. But I've been trying to make it up to you.”
“Do you want to know?”
The question knocks the air out of Adrien's lungs: it's almost a confession already. He can read the quiet resolution on Felix's face, the anxiety as he folds his hands behind his back.
And it's not like Adrien doesn't have his suspicions. It's not like Adrien hasn't felt like something was… maybe not wrong, but out of place this whole time.
Maybe wrong is the word.
But…
“Not now.” He thinks of Nightormentor, of Antichat. “I'm not ready.”
“Hmm.” A wave of relief washes over Felix's face. “What do you need, then?”
Adrien looks at Froggy, at the now cold infusion on his bedside table; at the window his brother slipped through, and left open. He isn't sure what kind of creature will crawl in next.
He's OK with that, he thinks.
“I need you,” Adrien says, fist tight around his rings. “Just… be patient, please. You've got everything sorted, but me? I feel like I'm still tangled in my own web.”
Felix smiles: gently, wholly. The kind of smile who reminds him who they truly are.
When he offers his pinky, Adrien doesn't leave him hanging.