Introductions : Félix Agreste
Dark, heavy raindrops pounded against the thick glass of the airport limousine window. In the back of the needlessly air-conditioned vehicle sat two people, both quietly observing the surrounding grey landscape through the blurry glass. One of them was Gabriel Agreste, a world-renowned businessman and the CEO of Agreste & Sons, a largely influential corporate bank.
The other was his son, Félix.
The relation between them was unmistakable. They sat with the same stiff, straight posture, the same thin line scowled across their pale lips, the same unreadable expression in their stormy grey eyes. Their only source of movement was the occasional pothole for which the driver would hastily apologize, the slight bump shattering their statue-esque demeanours for a brief moment.
Félix's gaze languidly followed the landmarks as they passed by. Tree. Tree. Farmland. Paris, 10 km. Farmland. Tree. He tried to pinpoint something that felt familiar to him, but failed. It had been ten years since he was in France, after all- he supposed it would have been stranger if he did remember it. In the end, it didn't matter much to him. He was used to feeling like a foreigner, having followed his father all around the world as the Agreste empire expanded. Two years in England, another three in America, several-month-long stints in China, India, and Dubai and some other countries. And now they were back in Paris, just in time for his final year of schooling at one of Europe's most elite business lycée's.
The car jerked to an abrupt stop. The sudden disturbance diverted both Félix and Gabriel's attention forward, where they were met with the static crimson light of the rain-dirtied car in front.
"Traffic," the driver explained in a matter-of-fact tone, as though the large number of surrounding cars weren't immediately obvious. He cautiously leaned back in his seat, casting a wary glance into his rear view mirror.
Gabriel sighed, bringing up his hand to check his watch. "I have an appointment at 16 h that absolutely cannot be missed."
"Sorry, monsieur." They rolled forward a couple of metres. "Not much I can do. Looks like there was an accident or something."
Félix clicked his tongue in annoyance, propping his elbow against the leather interior of the car to rest his jaw against his knuckles. The driver visibly relaxed. They drove along in a sullen silence.
After half an hour or so they finally reached the city's inner core, just as the rain was beginning to lift.
Miraculously, Gabriel was not late for his meeting.
As they turned the last corner, Félix was met with the view of the looming grey brick walls of his childhood home. He took a sharp intake of breath as the driver pulled into the half-circle driveway, or at least as attempted to, since there was a large group of apparent paparazzi wielding cameras and microphones taking up most of it.
"Kid." The driver couldn't hide his surprise. "You famous or something?"
"You could say that," Félix replied coldly, unbuckling his seatbelt. "How much?"
"Hmm?" The driver glanced up from the window. "Oh, the tab- right. Fifty-five euros."
Félix leaned forward, pressing a few crisp bills into the driver's hand, who then immediately turned to collect the change, not noticing the two successive thuds that followed.
"Um, monsieur," he piped up after a few seconds, looking back. "I don't have enough change for-"
The backseat was empty. Outside, he could see the young man shoving his way through the crowd, luggage in tow, up to the front gate of the beautiful-looking mansion. Looking back down at the thin stack of fifty euro notes in his hand he shrugged.
"Must be nice," he said to himself before driving off.
Félix let out a sigh of relief as he shoved the front door closed behind him with his back. It was naïve of him to have expected the media wouldn't find out the Agreste's were back in town, although he had been hopeful when his father had made it into his business building unscathed. He could still hear the reporters screaming for him, which was itself a remarkable feat considering there was not only a good thirty feet between the front door and the gate, but the house itself was supposedly soundproof.
Evidently, state-of-the-art soundproofing technology was no match for good old-fashioned megaphones.
As Félix relaxed, he allowed himself to fully take in his surroundings. The entrance was a long, wide foyer culminating in a grand, carpeted staircase, complete with high ceilings and a statement chandelier- Swarovski crystals, no doubt. There was not a single speck of dust to betray the fact that no one had lived in the house for ten years; in fact, as far as Félix could recall, not a single thing had been changed from when he last saw it.
He carefully slipped off his wet shoes and soundlessly crept up the stairs. His room was in the back right corner of the house, his feet moving on memory alone. His door was the only one open in this wing of the house, and when he stepped inside he was immediately greeted by a wave of nostalgia. Hazy sunlight filtered in through the blinds on both windows, softly illuminating the room. The walls were painted that familiar shade of periwinkle blue, a colour he proudly selected at five years old after days of serious deliberation.
The furniture in the room was completely different- bigger, of course. He was much taller at seventeen than at seven. His white bookshelves, once filled with picture books and action figures, were filled with volumes upon volumes of novels, plays, and textbooks. The matching desk stood empty save for a lamp, that he hesitated to turn on. The instantaneous shadows felt oddly strange, and he immediately flicked it off.
He experimentally pulled open one of the drawers, but nothing was in it.
A warm-looking white comforter was spread invitingly atop the king-sized bed, and Félix left his luggage at the foot of the bedframe. He turned to the closet, slowly opening the door to discover a row of expensive clothes, all his current size, hanging crisp from the hangers. Not finding what he needed, he tried the armoire, where he located a drawer filled with sets of silk pyjamas. He closed it with a sigh and instead crouched down beside his suitcase and zipped it open, thumbing through the neatly folded clothes to find a pair of sweat pants and a plain cotton tee shirt at the bottom.
He undressed quickly and left his stiff pants and dress shirt in an unsightly pile at the corner of his bed. Following suit, he let himself collapse into the soft memory foam mattress. A quick run of fingers through his pale blond hair completely mussed the gel-stiffened locks that had been held perfectly in place through an eight hour flight. For a brief moment he considered taking a shower, but his fatigue combined with the comfort of a luxury bed encapsulated him and he soon fell deeply asleep.
Author's Notes: And here we begin.
Truth be told, I don't know if I will have the motivation to finish this fic. I know exactly where I want the story to go, but getting there seems scary and frightening.
Please enjoy it as I work on it, and feedback and constructive criticism (especially on the characters) are very much appreciated!