Being alive was strange, Chevalier decided. Amazing. But strange.

Being able to move on his own, at his own wish?

He's watched his Princess do it every day, with her little companion. Seen her friend do it the few times she visited. Same for the little girl that came to play with them. It was an accepted fact. They can move.

He can't.

And yet, he was.

He was as animated as his Princess.

He wanted his arm up, it moved on it's own, going as high as he wished. He wanted to stand, he stood. He wanted to jump, he could go high.

There was no one to pick him up.

No one to control him.

He was in control.

Chevalier could do as he wished.

It was a strange and invigorating thought.

It was something he could get drunk on.

No more just stillness and warmth and the fleeting voice of his Princess as she came and went. No more simply waiting for her touch and attention.

Chevalier was in control, and could do as he wished.

And his wish was to please his love, his Princess.

His hurt Princess.

Who's been hurting for a while now.

He can easily remember it, as he could remember every day and moment since his creation, since he saw her face for the first time, cutely twisted up in her concentration, pink tongue sticking out as she set his mask on, making sure it was perfectly placed. Her hands were precise and gentle that day. And warm. She was so sure and steady in his creation.

And once she was done, she held him up so high, her eyes so bright and proud and gleeful.

It was a feeling that just poured into him, sharing her bliss, so happy alongside her.

And then she set him down, eyeing him, then allowed him to watching the making of his partner, the Ladybug, her.

It was the first mesmerizing show she offered him, letting him see her creating, making, shaping.

It was miraculous.

But being able to see her came with drawbacks he learned.

He remembers seeing her slumped at her chair, hunched up before her desk, crying big fat tears while the small red spotted being, Tikki, tried to reassure her, and make it better.

But there was only so much she could do for his princess.

Just as there used to be only so much that Chevalier himself could've do, outside waiting for her to notice him, wait for her to pick him up and hold him tight.

But now, now that he was alive, now that he was in control; there was so much more that he could do.

He picked her up.

He held her close.

It was amazing.

Though it'd be better if she wasn't so sad.

As soon as the transformation took, and his Princess was before him, covered in a black cloak, echoing her feelings of abandonment, her desires to hide from the world and all that hurt her, that didn't want her. Chevalier acted on his wants. He pulled the hurt Princess close, picked her up and fled to her favorite spot in the city.

He would love her when no one else would.

He would be there when no one else would.

But, he was aware that it couldn't be just him. That his Princess needed more than just him. She was a creator, and she was happy when she was creating.

With her safely set down where no one else could hurt her, he promised his nervous love that he'd be back.

He was securing her happiness.

Even if it meant leaving her side for just a while.

It'd be worth it for her happiness.

And he'd be quick. He had to be.

But, Chevalier didn't account for the strangeness he'd feel slipping back into her room, their home, the warm, pink abode they shared together.

Chevalier crept into slowly, taking it all in.

It was so weird.

It was so much smaller now.

His presence filled the soft pink room. Chevalier prowled around, running his claws along the chaise, feeling it beneath his gloved fingers, fascinated by the sensation. Then he turned to the loft that held her bed. He slowly went up the steps, a little mystified. He's only ever gone up these steps when she carried him up here to the bed. He stopped when he was able to see above it.

There guarding the head of the bed was Ches, a creation made long before Chevalier.

A creation he got to meet when she first brought him up here.

A creation he got to be near because she made this their spot.

Slowly, Chevalier crawled onto the bed, pausing only a little when he felt it sink under his weight. He drew near the large plush, shyly reaching out, setting his claws on the smiling cat's head. "She doesn't think she's loved," he told Ches.

The cat just kept smiling.

Chevalier drew the cat near, holding him close and sliding down the bed, working down the steps. Chevalier stopped, looking around the room.

She loved this room.

They may return here sometime.

It could be their own personal palace. A nice niche to hide away from a bothersome world.

But they couldn't be here.

Not when there were people who knew about it, people that hurt her.

Not yet, not yet could they be here.

But she shouldn't have to abandon her passion while waiting for them to disappear.

Determined, Chevalier set Ches down on the chaise, then went to her desk, pulling out a big bag. A big he filled with sketchbooks, fabrics, her sewing supplies, pencils, colored and plain, pens, erasers. Everything Chevalier could think of that she could need, he piled into this bag.

He stopped when he came across the chest of toys.

A home he had shared with them a few times.

Chevalier crouched down, opening the chest. Rogorcop, Evillustrator, and Lady Wifi smiled back at him. There was a dragon plush in there too, in the process of being made. He remembered them being made. He remembers witnessing two of them. He remembers Evillustrator coming into her room, inviting her out for the evening. He remember Lady Wifi, coming in and taking them, and their dear creator rushing in with her… Chevalier's inspiration. He remembers being taken to a small child tainted with magic, remembers her magic washing over him, the magical strings pulling him along and lacing over to the one that inspired Chevalier's existence.

He had forgotten that she made them in his rush of life, in his awakening.

Staring down at their smiling faces, he doesn't doubt that they would love her as much as him, as creations should.

Chevalier shoved them down, especially Evillustrator. He closed the chest, and draped a cloth over it, hiding it from the world.

They weren't needed.

They weren't loved as much.

He would be enough.

Him and Ches.

They were the favorites.

They were who she kept close.

Satisfied, he went back to scavenging, grabbing anything he thought she'd need. Anything he saw her use before. When the bag was full, he slipped it around his shoulders, noting it felt light as a feather. Pleased, he gathered up a few more sketchbooks, just to be sure, and moved to head to the window.

He stopped when his green eyes settled on the wall.

A blond boy he knew well smiled back at him, taking on a variety of poses and looks, looking flirty in some, sheepish in others, and coy in others.

A growl bubbled out of Chevalier's throat at the sight of this boy.

His Princess' love, her proclaimed prince.

One she didn't create, unlike him.

But still, he was here on her walls, there in her heart, his name on her lips and this boy filling her thoughts.

Where was he when his Princess was upset?

Where was he when she was alone and abandoned?

No where.

He didn't care.

But Chevalier did.

That was why he was here.

That's why he's awake and active.

He cared. And he'll continue to care.

He drew near the pictures, pictures he knows that she adored.

But, despite this, he could not help but reach up, one claw hovering over the blond's smiling face. Adrien's smiling face.

How easy it would be, just to make one little tear across that perfect face.

She wasn't going to need those faces anymore.

Not when she had him.

Not when he was going to be there for her.

But, she loved these pictures.

She loved Adrien for some reason.

Chevalier withdrew from the picture, his tail giving an angry lash; the boy's face safe, for now.

But she won't care about him forever.

And Chevalier will happily tear those pretty images apart. Someday.

Chevalier turned away from those pictures and headed for the window once more, picking up Ches as he went. The window easily moved under his nudge and he took a step out on the frame, looking out to Paris, out to where he hid his princess.

There was a gasp below and Chevalier looked down to see a boy staring up at him, a boy he didn't know.

A boy he didn't care about, that didn't matter.

He had a special delivery to make. Turning away from the boy, Chevalier dashed off back to his Princess, eager to be by her side.

It's where he belonged, after all.

It's where he'll stay.