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“Last minute” didn’t even begin to cover it.
Adrien's house looked like a fabric store had exploded. Dresses draped over the couch, shoes scattered across the floor, and the faint scent of hot glue lingering in the air. Marinette darted from the bedroom to the living room, clutching a half-zipped suitcase in one hand, her phone clamped to her ear in the other.
“No, no, the satin has to be in London by Thursday, Thursday, or the whole runway order falls apart—” she cut herself off to snatch a shirt from Adrien’s hands. “Not this one! This is a London business trip, not a casual brunch!”
Adrien held the offending white button-up defensively. “What? I like to travel in style.”
Alya, lounging against the couch arm, shook her head. “Girl, if you stress any harder, you’re gonna pass out before you even get on the plane.”
“I wouldn’t be stressing if our sitter wasn’t currently on another continent,” Marinette shot back.
Adrien cleared his throat. “Okay, technically, that’s on me. Misread the text. I thought she was coming from Tokyo, not going there.”
From the doorway, Nino stepped in like a man arriving to save the day. Cap turned backwards, hands in his hoodie pocket, he grinned with all the overconfidence of someone who had never babysat three Agreste-Dupain-Cheng children at once.
“Guys. Relax,” he said, spreading his arms. “It’s three kids. I’ve known you since lycée. I’ve handled DJ booths, blackout concerts, and Chloe Bourgeois’s Sweet Sixteen. I got this.”
Alya’s eyebrow shot up. “You think you got this.”
“I know I got this,” Nino replied, puffing his chest out.
“Alright,” Adrien said, clearly relieved. “Kids, say hi to Uncle Nino.”
Three pairs of eyes turned toward the doorway.
First was Louis, seven years old, blonde hair, blue eyes, and a smirk that screamed trouble.
Next was Hugo, his twin, dark-haired but with the same sharp blue eyes, quieter but with a subtle gleam that said I know exactly how to cause problems.
Last was Emma, two years old, blonde with wide green eyes, perched on the couch clutching a pink stuffed bunny like it was a crown jewel.
“They’re angels,” Marinette said, though her voice wavered.
Louis and Hugo immediately exchanged a glance, and without a word, bolted upstairs. The sound of shuffling, giggling, and a drawer slamming echoed through the apartment. They reappeared moments later—wearing each other’s shirts.
Nino squinted. “…Wait a second.”
“I’m Louis,” Hugo said confidently.
“No, I’m Louis,” Louis grinned.
Nino pointed to one, then the other. “You’re—”
“Wrong!” they chorused before collapsing into laughter.
Adrien winced. “We, uh… have a system for that.”
Marinette shoved a massive binder into Nino’s arms. It was thick enough to knock out a grown man. Color-coded tabs peeked from the sides. “Everything you need is in here. Meals, bedtimes, what snacks they can’t have, what to do if Emma won’t—”
Emma toddled over mid-sentence, tugging at Nino’s pant leg. She looked up at him solemnly and held out her stuffed bunny.
“Oh, thanks, kiddo.” Nino took it, set it down on the coffee table—
Emma’s wail could’ve shattered glass.
Marinette swooped in. “You never put Bunny down unless she’s asleep. Never.”
Emma’s cry stopped the second the toy was back in her arms. She sniffled once, hugging it close, and stared at Nino like she was already plotting his punishment.
Adrien zipped up the suitcase, clapped Nino on the shoulder. “Just… good luck, man.”
Nino grinned. “Piece of cake.”
...
The door closed behind Marinette, Adrien, and Alya. Silence.
Louis and Hugo stood side-by-side, identical grins plastered on their faces. Emma sucked thoughtfully on Bunny’s ear.
Nino exhaled and turned to them. “…So. Who wants to watch cartoons?”
Louis smirked. Hugo’s eyes glimmered. Emma said nothing.
It was in that moment that Nino realized—
He did not got this.
...
Morning in the Agreste-Dupain-Cheng household did not start quietly.
It began with a crash in the kitchen, a triumphant “I FOUND THE CHOCOLATE CEREAL!” from somewhere behind the counter, and the sound of Emma babbling from her high chair like she was narrating a disaster documentary.
Nino stumbled in, hair sticking up under his cap. “Okay, who’s ready for breakfast?”
Two identical grins beamed at him from opposite sides of the table. Nino grabbed a bowl, poured cereal for Louis, slid it over, and gave himself a mental high-five. Easy.
Ten minutes later, Louis wandered back in with a guilty expression and an empty bowl. “Hey, Uncle Nino, I didn’t get breakfast.”
Nino blinked. “…Wait, didn’t I just—”
“Nope,” Louis said, shaking his head solemnly. “That was Hugo.”
Sure enough, Hugo popped up from behind the couch, milk mustache in place, looking way too smug.
By the time Nino realized he’d fed Hugo twice, Louis was halfway through his second breakfast and Hugo was strutting around like a champion.
“Alright, new rule,” Nino said, pointing dramatically. “You two cannot trick me anymore. Got it?”
The twins glanced at each other, then back at him.
“Bet,” Hugo said. “If you can guess who’s who right now, we’ll stop.”
“And if I get it wrong?” Nino asked suspiciously.
Louis’ grin was positively evil. “You have to wear the tiara.”
Nino snorted. “Pfft, easy.” He squinted at them. Louis had the lighter hair. Hugo’s hair was—wait. Was that a wig?
Ten seconds later, Nino was sitting on the couch in a sparkly pink plastic tiara while the twins paraded around him like they’d just won the lottery.
The humiliation didn’t end there.
Emma refused to nap. Not just fussing—this was full-scale, arms-crossed, “I am a queen and you are beneath me” refusal.
“She only naps if you hum the song,” Louis said, leaning on the crib.
“What song?” Nino asked.
“The song,” Hugo added helpfully.
Nino ended up FaceTiming Marinette mid-meeting. She answered in a whisper. “Nino, is everything okay?”
He shoved the phone toward the crib. “What song?!”
Five seconds later, Nino was awkwardly humming the lullaby Marinette sang—off-key, voice cracking—until Emma finally drifted off, clutching her bunny like a tiny dictator satisfied with her demands.
At 11:32 a.m., Nathaniel and Marc dropped by with their adopted daughter, Clara—a shy, redheaded four-year-old clutching a picture book.
“Hey,” Nathaniel greeted. “We thought we’d hang out—”
“Perfect,” Nino interrupted, practically shoving a juice box into his hand. “You’re on backup duty. Twins are over there, chaos level seven. Emma’s asleep. Godspeed.”
Nathaniel, who apparently had some secret “kid whisperer” mode, crouched down and within thirty seconds had Hugo and Louis sitting quietly drawing in coloring books.
Nino stared. “…How did you—”
Marc smiled. “We bribe them with stickers.”
...
By lunchtime, Nino was convinced the universe was conspiring against him.
Whenever strangers passed by the open window, Hugo would chirp, “Hi! I’m Louis!” and Louis would yell, “No, I’m Louis!” so that by the time Nino intervened, the neighbor looked like they’d just walked into a badly written sitcom.
Even worse, Nino would call out, “Hugo, get your shoes on!” and Louis would answer, “Okay!” before deliberately putting on Hugo’s shoes.
Nathaniel leaned against the counter, sipping coffee. “You know, for someone who said he had this handled, you’re… really not handling this.”
Nino glared over the tiara still perched on his head. “Shut up, man.”
By nap time, the twins were pretending to be asleep just to whisper jokes at each other, Emma was drooling peacefully thanks to The Song, Clara was neatly organizing stickers by color, and Nino was slumped against the couch, questioning his life choices.
He’d made it through the first morning. Barely.
...
By the second day, Nino had a new strategy: divide and conquer.
Marc would take Emma to the park for a calm, peaceful stroll. Nino and Nathaniel would take the twins to the aquarium, where glass tanks and marine life would hopefully keep them occupied.
Simple. Foolproof.
Or so he thought.
The moment they stepped inside the aquarium, Louis gasped. “The fish are right there.”
Hugo’s eyes narrowed in challenge. “Bet you won’t touch one.”
Louis grinned. “Bet I will.”
Nino spun around just in time to see both boys leaning over the touch tank way too far. “Hey—HEY! Back up!” He lunged forward, grabbing the back of their shirts.
“They said you could touch the starfish,” Hugo protested.
“Yeah, but you were about to swim with them,” Nino hissed.
Meanwhile, Nathaniel was calmly sketching a jellyfish. “You could… sit and draw the fish instead,” he suggested. “It’s fun, and you don’t get wet.”
To Nino’s surprise, it worked — for about fifteen minutes.
When he turned back from checking the time, both boys had marker moustaches. Hugo had gone for a refined, twirly design; Louis had drawn a thick cartoon villain stache.
“Why,” Nino asked slowly, “do you have moustaches?”
“Artists at work,” Nathaniel said with a shrug, though he was clearly suppressing a laugh.
Before Nino could lecture them about permanent markers, his phone buzzed.
Marc: EMERGENCY. CALL ME.
He stepped into the hallway. “What’s up?”
Marc’s voice was panicked. “Emma… had a situation.”
“What kind of situation?”
“The… explosive kind.”
Nino froze. “You have the spare clothes, right?”
Marc’s pause was damning. “…They’re in your backpack.”
“In my what?”
“My backpack is across the city!”
“I know!” Marc yelped. “She’s wearing my hoodie like a dress and glaring at me!”
Nino pinched the bridge of his nose. “Alright, just… keep her in the shade and I’ll meet you after the sharks.”
They finally reunited outside the park entrance. Emma was indeed in Marc’s hoodie, looking like a tiny, furious mob boss.
“Don’t laugh,” Marc warned.
“I’m not laughing,” Nino said, snickering.
That night, dinner was supposed to be calm. Spaghetti night. Easy.
Nathaniel had the twins at the table. Marc set out garlic bread. Emma was in her high chair, slapping the tray happily.
For about five minutes, things were normal — until Hugo leaned toward Louis with a noodle hanging from his mouth.
“Lady and the Tramp,” he whispered.
Louis grinned and bit the other end.
Soon, they were trying to reenact the entire scene, complete with exaggerated chewing noises and dramatically closing their eyes.
Marc was laughing, Nathaniel was trying not to encourage them, and Nino was calculating how much laundry detergent he’d need for the marinara splatters now decorating the walls, the table, and possibly the ceiling.
By bedtime, everyone was exhausted… and Nino considered Day Two a semi-success.
Nino stood in the middle of the living room, wide-eyed, as if afraid to breathe and ruin the miracle: Emma was asleep in her crib, the twins were passed out in their beds, and Nathaniel and Marc had finally gone home.
He checked his watch. 9:32 PM. All three asleep at the same time.
For a moment, he just stood there in awe. Then his knees gave out, and he collapsed onto the couch like a man who had survived a war. The tiara — still on from losing the boys’ morning “Guess Who” challenge — slipped sideways on his head. Someone’s plush giraffe ended up tucked under his arm. He didn’t care.
...
That was the scene Adrien and Marinette walked in on.
Marinette froze in the doorway, luggage still in hand. “Oh my gosh…”
Adrien’s grin spread slowly. “This is… beautiful.”
In the dim light, the whole living room looked like the aftermath of a pajama party gone rogue. The twins were curled up on the pull-out couch, wearing the wrong “I’m Louis” / “I’m Hugo” pajamas. Emma was snuggled between Nathaniel and Marc’s daughter’s abandoned blanket pile, drooling onto a pillow shaped like a croissant.
And there was Nino, asleep, clutching a plush giraffe like it was his lifeline, tiara slightly crooked.
Adrien tiptoed in and gently shook his friend awake.
“Bro…?”
Nino jerked upright, blinking groggily. “Are… are they still asleep?”
“Yes,” Marinette said softly, smiling like she was seconds away from laughing. “And judging by the look of this place, you’ve earned these.” She handed him a box wrapped in a bakery bag — the unmistakable scent of her homemade croissants filling the air.
“Hazard pay?” Nino asked hopefully.
“Exactly.”
The twins stirred just enough to hand him a folded piece of construction paper. The front said in bright crayon letters:
BEST BABYSITTER EVER (But Still Doesn’t Know Who’s Who).
Nino stared at it for a second, a slow smile breaking through his exhaustion. “You little monsters,” he muttered fondly.
Adrien clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks, man. Seriously.”
Nino, dead serious: “Never again.”
From the couch, without opening their eyes, the twins mumbled in perfect unison: “We’re totally doing this again.”