The tall blonde stalked through the empty halls.
Austere and grey, the shadows they cast were long. The large paned windows shedding light from the outside, that had so long brightened these halls. But now, they only let in the cloudy skies that were just as dismal as his mood.
It was supposed to be a time of joy and celebration. It had been for years. Joy and brightness had lingered here, filling the oppressive silence.
Not that he could even bring himself to celebrate right now.
*bring*
The solitary chime echoed out into the empty halls; the only refrain to cut through the silence anymore.
His stomach clenched anew. He really didn't even want to answer the phone. Not that it had ever stopped the ringing.
Not that anyone else had ever acceded to his whims. No one ever had but her.
He shoved a shaky hand through his hair, raking the wayward locks back into place. Back to the way she'd always liked.
His fist clenched around the fragile metal, glaring at the name on the screen.
But he didn't dare shut it off. Not while he still held out the faintest hope...
"Yes?" He murmured, a thin string of patience barely holding his anxious ire in check.
"You weren't going to pick up, Mister Agreste?"
He shuddered. "You know better than to call me that, Alya."
He could hear her self-satisfied smirk across the line. "But at least you picked up."
"I wasn't sure I was going to…" His now-wrinkled forehead pressed against the chilled glass pane. Swallowing heavily against the lump that half-choked his throat, he winced. "I'd really like to be left alone. Today has been far harder than I ever thought."
Alya sighed heavily. "For me, too, Adrien."
Silence reigned as he struggled to stir up some words on comfort. It was a challenge when he could hardly manage to comfort himself.
He almost didn't hear Alya's word trickle through.
"—did you open the safe?"
Startled, Adrien blinked. "What safe?"
"Adrien," Alya whispered, "What safe do you think? There's only one safe in your father's mausoleum of a house that we all knew about."
Adrien snorted, ruthlessly. "Why should I? I haven't touched that in years…"
"You might not have…" Alya conceded, her voice a bit shakier than he'd expected. "But Marinette always was a planner."
His eyes blew wide, athleticism not entirely lost to the villain of time. The only villain his love hadn't been able to easily defeat.
Racing down the halls, Adrien huffed with the exertion.
He staggered roughly into his Father's old office – the one Marinette had claimed for her own when they'd jointly taken over Gabriel. The portrait of his Mother still hung upon the wall, silently guarding whatever treasures his wife might still have kept...
His shaky hands reached for the edge of the frame, pulling it away just enough to key in the code.
The vault door creaked open, revealing a pile of packages.
A card with his name – and her careful, looping script – lay on the top, his fingers tracing over each letter, and the familiar wrapping paper.
Happy 67th Birthday, Adrien
Author's notes: Probable one-shot. Unbeated.