Author's Note:

I don't own Miraculous Ladybug or its characters, but I do own this story. :)

Published on Wattpad under the username backthataccioup. Go read it there too please!

Description: Between fighting crime, his distant father, and an over-scheduled life, Adrien doesn't exactly have it easy, despite all outward appearances otherwise. Can he find respite and refuge in a certain polka-dotted someone, or will he crash and burn? Anything's possible.

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The car dropped him off at the Agreste Tower at 4:32, just like it did every day. It was constant, carefully scheduled to give him precisely one hour at home before he'd have to get into the car again and travel to a photoshoot or publicity engagement.

Just like every other day, Adrien walked through the glass revolving door, exchanged a small nod with the doorman, got out his key card, swiped it in the elevator, and went up to the family level.

He walked out of that elevator at 4:34, and looked on the glass table in the foyer to see his schedule for the day. Sometimes a small note in Nathalie's painstakingly crisp hand would accompany it, reminding him to 'dress sharply'. There was never a note from his father.

He went to his room and dumped his bag on the floor, flopping onto the bed. He had a photoshoot today in the park, with a fashion brand his father desperately wanted to build ties with. And after that, there was a dinner scheduled with the mayor in a well-known café that pretended to be quaint and off the beaten path. Dinner with the mayor probably meant dinner with Chloé.

Maybe he'd be able to squeeze in his chemistry assignment before he was able to go out on patrol with Ladybug as Chat Noir. But usually he found it hard to restrain himself to his scheduled life once the day was done. The chance to be someone other than Adrien Agreste, and escape the crushing pressure that was placed upon him, was too hard to pass up.

It didn't hurt that Ladybug was insanely brave and adorable.

Adrien dug out his textbook, crumbling some cheese in his hand for the grumbling Plagg, and set to work. But 5:22 rolled around, and he stood up diligently, putting on a button down shirt and skinny jeans that had been laid out for him already. He stowed his chemistry work in his backpack again, and got into the elevator, descending, dropping.

He nodded at the doorman, who was a different employee this time, and every time, and stepped to the curb. 5:31. The car pulled up in front of him a moment later. The chauffeur got out and opened the door to the backseat. Dutifully, Adrien entered.

He was dropped off at the park by the Musée de l'Orangerie, and was led to a trailer where he had a different outfit laid before him. It was a casual, summery ensemble of well-tailored khaki shorts with pocket detailing, and a fitted graphic top that Adrien supposed was intended to invoke a more hip, teen vibe. It didn't, but he put it on anyway.

The hair and makeup artists coiffed his locks and gave his face an airbrushed, dewy glow. He went out to meet the photographer.

Standing outdoors by a tall tree were 3 men. One of them, a brunet with a popped collar, had a camera slung about his body. It was Pierre, a photographer who Adrien had worked with many a time before. He was quirky, but understood his art very well, and his subject's boundaries. Another, also a brunette, had round copper frames and a fine cashmere sweater that suited his 60 years of age very well. And the last man...

Adrien fought the urge to go and hug his father. Although he knew that now his father would hug back to present the image of a caring family in public, he could still remember the weeks following his mother's disappearance.

Flashback

A younger Adrien sat on the floor of his room, tears streaming down his face. Where did his mother go, and why? Had he been bad? He'd do anything to fix that if that's what had happened, anything.

Eventually it all got to be too much, and a wail escaped him, his cries finally vocalized instead of held within. Sobs wracked his body and he stuck his face into his shaggy rug.

The door clicked open, and Adrien looked up. His father stood in the doorway, face impassive, void of emotion. Had he finally come to check on him?

Adrien ran towards him, at almost Chat-like speeds. He wrapped his arms around his father, smelling his comforting cologne, feeling the fleecy warmth of his sweater, burying his tear-soaked face into his father's chest.

He felt warm fingers on his shoulders, and he felt his heart jump. His father had refused to touch him after the occurrence, but Adrien had thought he was just shocked. Was he finally breaking this self-imposed ban?

Adrien felt himself being pushed away and realized that was not the case. Even when his son needed him so desperately, his father couldn't bring himself to offer a little comfort?

"I'm trying to make some designs in the other room," Father informed him monotonously. "Would you mind keeping it down?"

Adrien nodded and the door slammed shut.

He threw himself on his bed and put a pillow over his mouth to muffle his sobs. What was going on with father?

Plagg took a rare opportunity to comfort him, floating alongside his ear and brushing against it, making him aware of at least one supportive presence.

End Flashback

So instead, Adrien nodded cordially to the whole group of men. "Hello, Pierre, father," he said, inclining his head.

"Ah, Adrien, this is Jean Plaskie, chief creative officer at Desdesign," said his father.

Adrien held out his hand, saying, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Monsieur Plaskie."

Messr. Plaskie took his hand gingerly, responding, "I'm sure."

Adrien fought to keep a frown off his face. Although modeling itself wasn't too bad, posing in the park could be a trying ordeal, between the rough, ABC gum-studded surfaces and the gawking crowds. He didn't need the very man he was supposed to be trying to impress to add to that.

Pierre led Adrien to a fountain, where he was instructed to lean against it in various manners. As he sat on the cobblestones, back pressed against the stone, he saw Messr. Plaskie lean towards Pierre and whisper something.

Pierre promptly dropped his camera, and was saved only by the strap around his neck. He had an incredulous expression on his face, and turned to clarify something with the other men.

Messr. Plaskie did not seem to be budging, and even though Pierre seemed to be pleading with his eyes for Gabriel Agreste to say something, he did not. So it was with slightly shaking hands that Pierre beckoned Adrien over.

"Adrien, Messr. Plaskie would like you to try some different poses that we don't normally ask models of your age to do," Pierre told him. He had panic in his eyes. "Would you be ok with that?"

Adrien trusted Pierre and knew that if the kindly photographer was trying to warn him, he should best heed it. But his father's eyes were steely and unyielding. Don't destroy our reputation, boy.

Drawing in a deep breath, he plastered on a fake smile and responded, "Yes." His false cheer must have been too much because his father shook his head slightly. Adrien wanted to sigh. Was it not enough that he was enthusiastic in his agreement to the damn poses? Did he have to do it entirely sincerely? Adrien tried time and time again, but it was never enough. It would never be enough until he lost all of his will and was a husk of himself, a doll that his father could pose for pretty pictures. He fought the urge to ruffle his hands through his hair, knowing that would only provoke admonishment.

"So, what's the first pose you would like me to do?"

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Adrien wasn't sure how his father had let it get to this point. He was standing up against a tree, the bark digging into his bare back, clad only in khaki shorts (albeit, well-tailored and embellished ones), hands in hair, head thrown back, in a park. In public.

This was pushing very hard at his boundaries, and if Messr. Plaskie asked him to pose one more time in that annoying, condescending nasal voice he was sure he was going to snap. He was sure that, although his body conveyed nonchalance and a devil-may-care attitude, his eyes showed how dead he felt. At least, that's what he figured when Plaskie had him start posing with his eyes closed, or his head up, or in ways where you couldn't see the true emotion within them.

As he stood there, eyes closed, he listened to the sounds of the park. The burbling fountain. The swish of the grass. The click of Pierre's camera. Giggles of teenage girls. Oddly familiar giggles.

His eyes flew open and he saw Marinette and Alya, classmates of his who sat behind him and Nino in class. They were accompanied by a little girl. He knew Marinette was a fairly talented designer, but that was about it. And while he didn't know much about Alya, he was very fond of her Ladyblog.

He smiled at them, and a beat later lifted a hand to wave, not caring anymore about breaking character or his pose. This shoot was already trying to break his character.

"Hi!" came from both the girls, though Marinette almost yelped it and turned a bright red, mouth open. Adrien looked down and noticed his lack of a shirt. Oh, that would do it. He supposed that would be a shocking sight, seeing as he usually was modest, never taking his shirt off on the hottest school days like some other boys did.

"Perfect!" cried Messr. Plaskie. "I think that's the shot."

Adrien felt his lips moving into a petite scowl, before walking away from the tree and towards his classmates, shirt in hand.

"Hey guys," he said.

"Photoshoot?" responded Alya. Marinette seemed frozen still, and Adrien shrugged on his shirt again.

"Yeah. Still not sure when I'm going to do my chemistry," he joked.

"Nice running into you, right, Marinette?" said Alya pointedly to her friend, who seemed to snap out of her funk.

"Y-yes, very nice," said Marinette, face blooming with red.

"See you tomorrow," cried Alya, grabbing the little girl and placing her on her shoulders, making her laugh. His heart ached a little. Many years ago, his father did that willingly with him.

Adrien walked back towards the plaza with the fountain, but his father seemed to be gone. He was probably at the tower prepping for dinner among the city elite. It's all about the reputation with him. With a sigh, he returned to the trailer, changing back into his clothes from earlier, and wiping the makeup off his face. If he was going to see Chloé, he at least wouldn't be looking his best. It was already intolerable for him. He may as well try to get his kicks where he could.

Walking out of the trailer, the car pulled up along the street, like clockwork. 7:32. The door was opened for him and he clambered in, sighing at the formality. The mayor's home was less than 2 kilometers away, and Adrien could have used some alone time to detox from the photoshoot and before entering Chloé's lair.

a/n:

so, just about 2k words! woohoo! I have more of the story written, but I needed a logical breaking point. R&R please