Adrien thought it would have been easier to find someone in the library, even a library as spacious and well-appointed as this one. It had the tense, nervous silence common to libraries, which should have simplified things.
Chloe had hidden herself well, though, and was keeping quiet. It took him a while to track her down, hidden as she was at the end of a row on the second floor. She was messing with her scarf when he came upon her, almost running into her before he realized she was there.
She was snarling at him before he could speak. "People don't hide when they want to be found."
"Sometimes they do," Adrien said. His gaze fell upon the scarf. Flushing furiously, Chloe tugged it up so it covered the whole expanse of her neck. Realizing his mistake, Adrien tried to cover. "Just like sometimes people run away when they really want to be with people."
"Well, this isn't one of those times," said Chloe, stamping her foot. "I really do want to be alone, and I especially don't want to be anywhere near you."
"Why not?"
"Why not?" she said, incredulous. "Why not? Because you let yourself be seduced by that whore Marinette…"
"She's not a whore," blurted Adrien.
"Terrific!" shrieked Chloe. "So you hunted me down so you can gallantly defend her honor, huh?!"
"No, I came after you because you needed a friend," Adrien said.
"Oh, that's even better," she sneered. "You chased after me so you could give me the "let's be friends" talk. My favorite!"
"But that's what I've always wanted from you," said Adrien through her venom. "I've always valued being friends. You were there for me before anyone else—while I didn't have anyone else."
"Fat lot of good it did me, though," she replied bitterly.
"I'm glad we were friends all that time," Adrien said, not honoring her retort. "I wouldn't trade that for anything."
"Other than the chance to tap Marinette's flat ass," said Chloe.
"I didn't think it would be a trade," said Adrien. "I thought… you remember Homecoming? Where our class voted to go as a group? I thought it would be something like that."
"Don't you remember?" said Chloe, voice as caustic as ever. "I voted against that idea."
"I always wondered why you did that," Adrien said. "I thought… oh." His eyes widened suddenly. "Because you were hoping I'd ask you out."
"You're a few months behind the curve," she said sharply.
"Well…" his face burned with embarrassment, and a hand was wandering behind his head as an excuse to look elsewhere, but he spoke all the same. "That would be the usual."
Chloe's eyes narrowed. "What does that mean?"
"I mean… I never get these sorts of things," he said. He glanced up at her and gave the most sheepish of smiles. "Do you want to know who I thought I loved?"
"If you say 'Marinette', I swear…"
"No! No, that's recent, I promise!"
"Well, what if I don't want to know?" She turned, crossing her arms in a humph. "Do you think it's fun for me to listen to you talk about loving people who aren't me?!"
"If you want a chance to laugh at me, sure."
She whirled back on him with a gaze sharp enough to shred paper. Adrien stuck to his guns. "For the longest time, I was crushing on Ladybug," he said, with so much shyness in his voice it was a wonder it cleared his mouth.
"You've got to be joking," said Chloe flatly.
"I wish I was," said Adrien. He felt Plagg thrashing about in his pocket, knew the kwami was alarmed by the turn the discussion had taken, but he had to see this through. He knew what he was doing. Well, mostly. Sort of. Kind of. A little. Fine, maybe not. But he had to try.
He nodded at her disbelieving look. "It sounds crazy, huh? I didn't know her, not really. I barely ever saw her, and never talked to her about anything other than the latest emergency. I still felt something, though. Or I thought I did." He chuckled in a self-deprecating way. He wasn't making the story up, really—his affections for Ladybug before her unveiling were nothing like what he felt for Marinette now. "It's not like I was thinking much, to be honest. Was it a crush, or just some childish fantasy?"
Chloe side-eyed him. "Falling for a superheroine would be really dumb," she said, cautiously, as though suspicious that she might be agreeing with him on something.
"It was," he said with a nod. "I'm not proud of it. But… what did I know? It's not like I knew any better, and I hardly understood what I was feeling anyway. I'd never had a crush before. There was hardly anyone in my life I could have had a crush on."
A look of offense erupted on her face. "Are you trying to get me to forgive you because you were too dumb to realize how I felt?"
"Not exactly," he said, the sheepish smile vanishing. "I'm saying that I'm sorry for not being considerate of your feelings."
That took her aback. Adrien pressed on. "I didn't want you to be hurt. I was stupid and sloppy, and it came to the same thing. You were hurt anyway. I didn't do a good enough job. I apologize."
Maybe it was how strange it was to hear those words from Adrien, or the fact that Chloe had herself never apologized for anything, but for a moment Chloe seemed to have no idea how to respond. "You… you really think that's it? That just makes it better?"
"No," said Adrien honestly. "Not by itself, anyway."
"Good," snapped Chloe, a little more sure of herself. "Because it doesn't."
"I understand," said Adrien, and he swore to himself that he did. "If you wanted to be angry at me, I wouldn't blame you. I hope, though…"
"Hope what?" she said, crossing her arms. Protecting herself, he thought.
"I hope we can still be friends," he said meekly.
She rolled her eyes broadly. "Please, so it's that talk after all? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous."
Her words were disdainful, still—but there was much less venom and heat in them now. "I'd miss you," he said.
A frown flickered across her face. "It's not as easy as you'd like," she said, and her voice was suddenly soft. "The things we do… matter. They have consequences."
"I know."
"You can't just do whatever you want and then not have to deal with the outcome." She shot him a scathing look. "Mr. Adrien-and-I-never-use-condoms-whoops-now-I'm-pregnant."
The words might have been meant to hurt, but they didn't. Adrien smiled. "I understand that as much as anyone, I think. You just said why."
"But you didn't think about it before, did you? Typical." She tossed her head arrogantly. "I'm better about that. It's why I've been on the pill for years, just in case."
Adrien blinked rapidly, but the sight of Chloe didn't get any clearer. "Huh?"
"Do I have to spell it out? You could have been fucking me for ages risk-free. I was ready for you whenever you were, and I would have rocked your world. Instead, you have to reckon with the fallout of your poor judgement."
He cracked a wry smile. "I think I'll manage."
"Good. Because the offer's expired." She gave a decisive huff and spoke with highest condescension. "I am officially off your menu."
"That's fair," he said amiably. It was almost a relief, he thought—he hadn't wanted her like that anyway…
But then the façade cracked. She looked at him, and her pride broke. A look of terrible, forlorn hunger appeared in pride's ruins.
He felt, in that moment, just how strongly and how long she'd ached for him. His nonchalant answer, his affirmation that he'd never ached for her, had devastated her.
"I should get back to studying," she said, and her voice trembled with every word.
"Wait," said Adrien.
"What, chasing after me already? Regretting your decisions so soon?" she said. He could hear how hard she was trying to inject mockery into the words, but her heart wasn't in it.
"Not exactly," said Adrien. "I want to help you with the scarf."
"I know how to tie a scarf just fine, thank you," she said crossly, turning away.
"It's not that. I want to help you explain the scarf to our classmates."
She stopped.
"Everyone's been whispering about it," he went on, and though her back was to him he knew she heard. "I'll help you tell whatever story you want. I just need you to tell me the real reason, so I don't accidentally tell the truth."
He saw her hand rise to her neck. He saw her fingers reaching inside the scarf to touch the flesh beneath. He wondered if she knew she was doing it. He couldn't see her face; he had no idea what she was thinking.
"That's a big ask," she whispered, "from someone who isn't… you know… intimate."
He didn't know how to answer. He was sure there was a correct response—some sympathetic, friendly thing to say that would get her to open up—but he didn't know it. He felt like such an idiot.
"I'm here for you," he said, and even as it came out of his mouth he could hear how lame it was.
She shivered, even though it wasn't cold. "…you are, aren't you?" she whispered, and turned back towards him. Her eyes were fixed on the floor. A second hand rose to join the first. Fumbling fingers worked the scarf's knot. She tugged it loose and drew it away.
Adrien sucked in a breath.
There was a thin line of raw, red skin circling the front part of her neck, like the flesh there had been scraped.
"Is that…" Adrien swallowed. "…a rope burn?"
Her eyes finally looked up towards him. As usual, she wore plenty of makeup; today, it did nothing to conceal the sheer emotion in her gaze. "What if it is?" she said with a shadow of her usual defiance.
"Chloe," he said in sympathy and despair, "did…"
"Did I what?" she demanded with a touch more force.
"Did you do that… on purpose?"
"Of course I did," she scoffed, though her voice still trembled. "This sort of thing doesn't happen by accident, you know."
"I never wanted you to hurt yourself," he said, and there were few words he'd said that he meant more. "I wanted so much more for you. I can't imagine that it'd… that you'd…"
He stuttered to a stop. What good were words at a time like this?
Her fingers traced over it again, and her eyes wandered away from his. "I didn't actually get that far. I… only got the noose on me, and then I panicked. I scraped myself getting it off. It wouldn't have worked anyway. I tied the rope to a curtain rod. It would have come down the moment I stepped off the chair. I… think I knew that when I tied it."
With visible effort she looked up at him. "But now I don't know what that means," she said plaintively. "I don't know if I ever really meant it, or if I proved anything by doing that, or if I should just hate myself more for not having the guts to… to take it seriously. Or if it means that I wasn't supposed to, or…"
She put her hands over her face. Her slight frame shook.
"I want you to live," Adrien said, hoping the conviction he felt came through in his voice.
She looked up at him between her fingers. "Really?"
"Really," he said firmly. "I want you in my life, Chloe."
Her hands fell, and the look of desperate hunger returned. "Are you going to put me through this again?" she whispered.
He blinked and opened his mouth, but no words came to mind.
"Are you going to tease me like this a second time?" she went on. "Taunt me with something I can never have?"
"I'll never taunt or tease you," he promised. "I'll give you exactly what I promise to give."
"Which isn't what you promised her," Chloe said.
"But it's everything I can. And it's what you need right now."
She sniffed loudly. "Hold me?" she asked in a small voice.
It seemed to take him hours to respond, like his brain and mouth were moving in extreme slow motion. He was afraid she'd lose patience, get fed up waiting for him, decide he didn't care—
"Friends hug each other," he said, more to himself than to her. He nodded. "I'll hug you—as a friend. Is that… okay?"
If his response had taken hours, hers took weeks. She looked up at him searchingly, though if she was searching him or herself he couldn't tell.
At last she gave another sniff. "I could use a hug from a friend," she squeaked.
He spread his arms. She walked into them.
And Adrien got a working definition of the word 'platonic'.
"Chloe! I was looking for you."
Chloe jerked to a stop; Adrien did, too, after another step.
Marinette kept her face and voice bright. "Just who I was hoping to find."
Chloe's eyes narrowed. "And why were you looking for me?" she said. Her voice was entirely too shaky to be scathing.
"Because I need your help," Marinette said.
The eyes became mere slits. "Do you?"
"Yes," Marinette insisted.
"Sure you're not just jealous?"
"I'm sure," said Marinette lightly. Marinette could see the telltale signs that Chloe's mascara and eye shadow had run and she'd redone them in haste, but her lipstick looked intact. Marinette's gaze went to Adrien. "Should I be?"
"No," he said.
"Well, that's all there is to that," said Marinette.
She was cheating a bit, of course. She had (despite Tikki's protests) eventually followed Adrien, because old habits died hard. She'd approached just within hearing range. She'd wanted to know exactly what was going on with Chloe. Now she understood.
Which was why it was time for healing.
"You know the poet laureate, don't you?" Marinette asked Chloe. "Or your father can connect the two of you?"
"You can write your own love poetry," Chloe said sharply.
"It's not for Adrien," said Marinette. That took him aback; her lip curved slightly. "It's for someone else we both care about. We have the opportunity to do something nice for someone, and you're the key."
"Me?" said Chloe, skepticism rich in her voice.
"It has to be you," Marinette affirmed.
"You do know I hate—" Chloe cut herself off. She glanced at Adrien, at Marinette's belly, at Adrien again. She swallowed, and ate her preferred reply. "You're not my favorite person."
"I know," said Marinette. "I've never been in your fan club, either. But we can still work together. We can still do nice things for other people. What do you say?"
She felt the weight of Chloe's scrutiny, and did her best to bear it, to keep her resolve firm. She must have passed, because Chloe's eyes returned to their normal proportions. "What do you need?"
Marinette smiled, and explained.
Three days had passed since Gabriel's (rather substantial) lapse. Three days in which he interspersed periods of calm competence with episodes of brooding. Three days in which his ability to function seemed to change like the weather.
There was a conspicuous lack of alcohol in the manor. Gabriel had a hunch that Nathalie had seen to that. He couldn't bring himself to countermand her. It was probably for the best, he grudgingly admitted.
Without that form of therapy, and without any other moderating influences—for he had long since removed anything from his life that would keep him from doing as he pleased—he oscillated wildly. No focus. No purpose.
He ordered Gorilla into a Gorilla suit, just to see what it would look like. (Answer: not much different.)
He did one more scan of the Grimoire to try and find some reference to the Biological Imperative. (He gave up in frustration thirty minutes in.)
He set off one of the mansion fire alarms out of a desire to share his irritation with the staff. (It didn't work; he had as much aggravation afterwards as before.)
In a fit of pique he shredded sketches for the next three months' designs, then—regretting the act—recreated them from memory.
He firmly denied any requests for conversation from his increasingly distressed kwami, though he did take a break to deliver an angry rant about how useless it was in the face of the Imperative.
He behaved, he finally admitted to himself, like a child denied.
He burned many, many hours trying to scheme a way to the Miraculouses. His schemes ranged from the subtle to the gross, from the simple to the outlandish. They all ended the same way, though. In some, he got the Miraculouses. In others, he failed. In all, Adrien never forgave him.
What was he supposed to do about that?
He didn't know… which was why he found himself at a café in the neighborhood outside his mansion. He'd bought out the café for an hour to preserve his privacy and render it a suitable meeting ground. If he were to be honest, though, he hardly noticed his surroundings. He was trapped in his own head.
"Sir."
He looked to his side. Nathalie had approached. She spoke again. "Your son and his… friend are outside."
That drew his gaze. Looking out through the café's windows, he saw the two of them waiting outside the door, casually chatting with Gorilla.
They were holding hands, damn them.
"Should I see them in?" Nathalie prodded.
Gabriel took a long, slow breath, desperate for any reason not to answer. But not answering wouldn't make this go away. Those kids were expectant; they'd moved, and were waiting for his answer.
"Yes," he said when he felt he could delay no longer. "Yes. Bring them in."
She hesitated. "Do you have any… additional orders, sir?"
It was a prompt. She knew as well as she did—of course Mayura would see in this an opportunity to gain the Miraculouses at last. Both at once! It should have held irresistible allure.
He couldn't get there. "No," he said. "Just bring them to me. I'll deal with them."
"As you wish," she said, and as usual she held her emotions completely under guard. He might have heard just a hint of disappointment in her voice… or he might have imagined it. Was he projecting, now?
Doubt was such a vicious creature.
Gabriel's brain idled as he watched her go to retrieve them. This should have been a time for planning or preparing. He didn't know what to do, and he didn't know what they meant to do. That meant there could be no planning or preparing. It was an uncomfortable feeling, to not be able to do what he knew needed doing.
All too soon they were standing before him. Still they held hands. "Good afternoon, Monsieur Agreste," she said formally.
"Hello," he said coldly. He would not acknowledge the "good" in her address, and he would not even entertain the idea that she was "welcome".
If she was bothered by his response, she didn't show it. "Thank you for seeing us today," she went on.
Gabriel detected the dynamic immediately: she was leading, Adrien was following. His son, reduced to an appendage, dragged along like a trailer! He turned to Adrien. "Why are you here?" he said directly.
To his surprise, Marinette didn't try to intercept the question. Too bad—he'd been ready for that, had even been wanting it. Instead, Adrien answered for himself. "We want to talk to you. I didn't leave on good terms, and I don't want to let things stay there. We want to discuss how things will go from now on."
Gabriel scarcely dared hope. "You're ready to come crawling back then?"
"That's not what I said," Adrien replied.
"Then I don't understand what we could have to talk about," said Gabriel, his skepticism confirmed. "If you're not here to apologize or make amends for what you've done, if you're not here to discuss your return to my house, we have no business with each other."
The words cowed Adrien, as Gabriel knew they would. His son shrank back. Gabriel could almost see the gears turning, trying to figure out what he would need to do to win back his father's—
"I disagree."
Gabriel, annoyed, turned his gaze on Marinette. She was calm and focused at the same time. He saw her squeeze Adrien's hand; he squeezed back. Gabriel's annoyance redoubled. "I don't recall speaking to you," he said.
"You're speaking to us," Marinette corrected, and to Gabriel's astonishment Adrien nodded his agreement.
"We're together," Adrien said. Gabriel could almost see him finding courage—see him recovering from Gabriel's words. "Speaking to one of us is speaking to both. That's why we're both here."
"So neither of you are here to apologize or make amends or come crawling back," Gabriel said. Giving voice to his spite was almost fun enough to make up for the hurt he felt. "There is still no need for you to be here, then."
"And what if we want to be here?" Marinette said.
Gabriel's eyes narrowed. "What for?"
"We have a message for you."
"And?" Gabriel said impatiently.
Marinette raised her other hand. In it was a large manila envelope. She placed the envelope on Gabriel's table.
"You could have mailed this," he said without moving to take it.
"I don't think you understand what's in it," she replied. "Take a look."
Gabriel kept his eyes on Marinette for a long moment. She was looking back unwaveringly. This confidence, this steadiness—he'd seen it before. Seen it in this girl when she wore spots.
He was impressed despite himself, and hated her for it.
Scowling, he took up the envelope. Inside were pictures. No, not pictures: designs.
"What is this?" he demanded.
"These are my designs for the upcoming season," she answered. "I've been working on them for a while. They're ready to go."
Disgust welled up within him. "The nerve you have! To seduce my son and have the gall to come crawling here looking for a job…"
"That's not what happened," interrupted Adrien. "She didn't seduce me. We fell for each other."
Adrien, Gabriel noted, had stepped forward, probably without realizing it. He'd partially placed himself between Marinette and Gabriel. Shielding her. Putting himself in harm's way for her.
Just as Cat Noir did with Ladybug.
The comparison was so vivid Gabriel could almost make out the mask on Adrien's face, could faintly see the ears standing tall out of the mop of blonde hair.
It did not improve Gabriel's mood.
"I will not be used like this," Gabriel said harshly. "I will not allow my son to be leverage for some whippersnapper trying to break in on my business."
"That's not why we're here," she said again.
"Then why are you here?" he said in frustration. "You keep telling me why not, and I'm out of patience."
"We're here to do the opposite," she said. "We're here to show you that we'll be okay. We won't starve. Look at the designs, please."
Despite himself, he did. "Am I supposed to be impressed?" he said.
"They're good," she said matter-of-factly. "They're competitive with anything on the market now. I've won almost every school, city, and province design competition for three years now, and these are better. You can tell, I know you can. You have the best eyes in the business. You can see it."
"I'm not buying these," he growled.
"You don't have to," she replied. "I'm not asking you to. In fact, I'd be more comfortable if you didn't. But someone will, and you know it."
"You're an arrogant one," he said unkindly.
"Look at the designs," she said, as calm as ever.
His eyes slipped to the drawings again, even though he would have liked nothing more than to toss them into the shredder. It was probably just curiosity, he thought to himself. Morbid curiosity.
Flip. What, this design? He would have trimmed that edge tighter.
Flip. What rubbish. That corner could use some expansion, fill it out.
Flip. That color needed to be a lighter shade, otherwise it wouldn't fit in enough outfits to make sense.
Flip. Flip.
On each design he found something to criticize, something that could have been improved. She thought this stack proof? She thought they could withstand his scrutiny? No, they all needed work.
His eyes widened as the thought lingered.
Not "they all needed work". It was, "they were almost ready."
One of his personal mantras sprang to his mind: "You don't polish rocks, you polish gems." He never wasted time trying to revise or perfect designs that would never see the light of day. Works-in-progress were beneath him. This kind of detail-oriented editing, this kind of optimization, he reserved for designs with true potential.
In his criticism, he'd acknowledged her.
He looked up at her, wondering if she saw what she'd wrought. She wasn't looking at him at all. She was eye-to-eye with Adrien, and the two were sharing some kind of wordless conversation.
His gaze sank down again. Flip. Flip…
The next design stopped him in his tracks.
Spots.
Spots, splattered across a dress, and arranged in such a way that the gaps amongst them seemed to be spots themselves. It took no effort at all for Gabriel's visually-oriented imagination to throw that dress on to Marinette, mentally add a mask and a yo-yo, and see Ladybug before him.
The sheer audacity of it…
Did she know? Was this a coded message?
No, he thought shakily. No, they couldn't know. This would be a different kind of confrontation if they knew; they wouldn't have dared meet him if they knew him to be Hawk Moth.
He was shaken even so. It was so bold for her, whom he knew to be Ladybug, to dare put spots on a design. All he had to do was put the picture up next to her and he could see her in it, see it all…
And as she looked back to him for the first time in a while, he did.
He saw the implacable blue eyes that had challenged him from behind a mask. Those eyes belonged to a woman who had seen through his tricks and schemes. She'd walked into his traps and walked back out again. She'd faced down every horror and monster his imagination could conceive. She'd withstood every tyrant and villain his magic could create.
He held no power over her.
Over them, he thought belatedly, his eyes nipping over to his son. Adrien wasn't looking back, though—his eyes were on Marinette, just as Cat Noir's were always on Ladybug, protecting her, helping her be her best self.
In that moment, he became Hawk Moth again, and felt the weight of his many defeats crashing down upon him all at once. Just as Hawk Moth had never triumphed, now Gabriel, too, had been beaten by these damnable teens.
He couldn't match their eyes. He gathered the designs and returned them to the envelope. "What's your point?" he said, managing to keep his voice very nearly steady.
"We'll make it," Adrien said. "Marinette and I… we're going to live together. We'll make a life together. We're going to get married and raise our daughter. We don't need your help for that, or your permission. And…"
He gathered himself. Before Gabriel's eyes, he could almost see the power of Cat Noir residing in his son. "And as long as we have each other, we don't need anyone else. We'll be okay."
Gabriel knew how sincere his son was being. Knew… and resented it. "I'm glad for you," he said, covering his hurt with sarcasm. "Feel free to rub it in elsewhere. Go away."
"One more thing, first," said Marinette. Adrien visibly relaxed; Gabriel knew that his declaration had taken a lot out of him. "We asked for this meeting because we wanted to."
"And you're leaving because I want you to."
"Please hear me out," she insisted. "We want to give you an opportunity. You were right before—a lot of what we said we could have said in a letter. I hope you realize that there was more to it."
"Like what?" he challenged.
"We want you in our lives," she said, unintimidated. "No letter could show you that. We're here to prove it. I want to meet my father-in-law, and learn about him, and learn about what went into Adrien. Adrien…" She stopped, looked to her lover.
"I want to spend time with you," he said. His voice was tentative, but genuine. "I always did."
"And there's more," Marinette went on. Her free hand went to her belly, where even now, Gabriel knew, life was growing. "I want our baby to have a grandfather."
Grandfather. Gabriel's eyes popped wide open at the word.
"We want a relationship, is what we're saying," she said. Her eyes narrowed. "But you have to earn it. You've done us wrong. You tried to keep us apart. You hurt us. There's a lot you have to make up for first. We'll give you the chance, but only if you deserve it.
"And if you ever make our relationship about power, or money, or who has to be where, or who owes whom what… we'll shut you out. We don't need that. Our family doesn't need that. I hope, though…" She smiled, and it was like the sun breaking through the clouds. "I hope you'll let love win."
Gabriel sagged backwards in his chair until it reclined. He had no words.
For the first time, nerves flashed across Marinette's face. "That's really it," she said, and she released Adrien's hand to gather up the envelope and the designs. "Thanks for meeting with us, and we'll do as you asked now—we'll be leaving. Would you please think about what we've said?"
Gabriel nodded mutely.
"Thank you, father," said Adrien.
"Yes, thanks… grandfather," Marinette added.
Gabriel felt his eye twitch.
Adrien walked for the door. Marinette turned to follow. Gabriel couldn't help himself. "I like your earrings," he said.
"Do you?" she replied, hand brushing them thoughtlessly. "I've always thought there wasn't much to them."
"Don't lie," he said, which caused her to whip her head around sharply at him. After a moment, he said, "They suit you."
She frowned curiously. After surveying him for a moment, she smiled and nodded. "Thanks."
Then she was gone.
Gabriel could have watched them leaving. He didn't need to. They hadn't really left. They were in his head.
"We survived," said Marinette, almost falling over.
"Hey, hey," said Adrien as he caught her and steadied her, "it wasn't that bad."
"That took every bit of energy I had," she moaned. "And we still have to study for tomorrow's test, and…"
He laughed. "Can we just relax for a bit? You know, be glad at what we just did?"
"We didn't really do anything," she said. "Nothing's changed."
"You're beating yourself up on purpose now," he replied. "You knew nothing would be resolved today, that was the plan! Your plan. We were going to put the ball in his court, let him know the terms, and see what he decides."
"I hope it works," she said. "I hope I didn't do the opposite."
"'Do the opposite'?" he repeated.
"I hope he doesn't think we'll be starving in a month now that he's seen my designs," she explained.
"Why would he think that?" said Adrien, out of his depth. "You said yourself they were your best."
"Well, yeah, but that doesn't mean anything," she said, wringing her hands together. "That doesn't mean anyone will actually like them. No designer knows if their work is any good, if we did no designer would ever go bankrupt! There wouldn't be any flops, and fashion flops all the time! We do our best to draw up what we think is good, and then we hope against hope other people think it's good, too."
Adrien blinked. "So when you said that my father knew your designs were good, you were…"
"Lying," she said with a sigh.
"You were confident," he corrected. They came to a stop at a busy intersection. "You were confident he'd see it the same way you did, or that you could convince him to."
"He was probably just humoring me," she said, moping.
"You really don't know my father. Trust me. He wouldn't have been making those faces or saying those things if he thought your work was garbage. He'd have just said it was garbage and thrown us out."
"If you say so," she said, sounding unconvinced.
"I know so. But I think your confidence won him over, it really did. 'Fake it until you make it' is the phrase, isn't it?"
She winced at the words. "Ew, that sounds awful. Never say that again."
"As you wish, Bugaboo."
"Or that," she added sternly. "Besides, I've never faked anything."
He gave her a devious grin. "That makes me feel much better about myself, thanks."
It took her a moment to register his meaning, and then her jaw dropped in outrage. "You cad!"
"Light's green!" he said cheerily, and stepped swiftly into the crosswalk. She chased after him, like she had for years.
And as she did, she felt a great weight leave her shoulders.
Next time: Offering