As a boy, Adrien had adored action figures. Plastic representations of all his favourite super heroes and film characters had been stored in massive tubs under his bed, and lined the shelves of his room.
There was something simply satisfying about digging his tiny fingernails under the blister card of a new action figure and tearing off the bubble packaging to expose the figure inside, picking up another familiar face, a friend to join in his adventures.
Best of all, his mother would play with him. It was license to be silly, to invent all the madcap adventures that he wanted to see in the comicbooks and films and anime that he loved, and to weave those stories together with his mother.
There were even crossovers! Han Solo and Optimus Prime teaming up to stop Lex Luthor from using his new Klingon transporter to steal the gold from Fort Knox had been a treasured adventure.
His mom adapted on the fly to his crazy innovations while using her acting talent to throw on impressive voices for Wonder Woman, Majetia, Princess Leia (all of whom Adrien had crushes on, but not when they were being played by his mom because that was just weird).
Originally, all the stories were action and adventure, villains plotting world domination and death-rays and damsels in distress, and his mother made great sound-effects and mock-screams for the ladies who got tied to time-bombs or train-tracks so that Wonder Woman and Superman could save them. When she wasn't around, he had to be a little bit more inventive; rescuing damsels wasn't quite so fun without proper voice-work.
So began a seven-year-old Adrien's exploration of plot to make up for her absence.
Month after month, his stories became more and more complex, and it wasn't so bad because he had his toys and his imagination.
That was enough.
It had to be enough.
Eventually, there was nothing else.
By the time his action figures started to shift towards real conversations and drama – Wonder Woman was in love with both Majestia and Superman! How could she choose?! (The answer of Polyamory only came to Adrien as a teen.) – rather than explosions, his mother had stopped playing with him at all.
And Chloe wasn't interested in action figure.
Making up his own stories, his own adventures, became a lifeline as much as any of his other hobbies, filling up his brain with something that would counterbalance all the facts and figures drilled into him by his tutors, leaving no space left for anything else.
It was nice not to think about things.
His interest had waned over time, but he still tugged out his collection to stage a Death Star Assault with his 3.75" Luke Skywalker and X-Wing fighter every now and then, just so that he could swoop in with his Millennium Falcon and imagine Han Solo arriving to save his friend, a callous rogue revealing his heart of gold: a man choosing to change and grow and let himself care.
The boxes under his bed lay untouched, save for those times when he wanted to swap out some action figures in his display shelf.
That hadn't really changed when he became Chat Noir. Being a super-hero was far more fulfilling, adrenaline surging through his veins as he punned and fought and flirted, than playing with plastic representations of them.
Now everything has changed.
After months of tooling and a couple of consultations and photography sessions - that were actually kind of fun because he got to guide Ladybug through the process - so that the company's designers could obtain detailed reference images of their consumes for the purposes of replication, the figures are ready.
Of course, Adrien had pre-ordered two cases of the full first wave of the "Miraculous" line, which features a fairly reasonable approximation of Hawkmoth, Chat Noir, Ladybug, and RogerCop, Darkblade, and Guitar Villain (Jagged Stone had signed off immediately because 'getting an action figure was absolutely metal'), with a Soneheart "build-a-figure" piece packaged alongside each one.
Wave II is already planned, and will feature a build-a-figure Dragon-Fang to go alongside Guitar Villain, as part of a marketing scheme. You couldn't have a piece of Dragon-Fang packaged alongside Guitar Villain to give Jagged his pet if you bought the entire first wave. You'd need to buy a completely new wave as well.
Adrien has already pre-ordered that wave too.
He's weak, even to disreputable business practices.
But now, it's time to actually do something he'd dreamt of since he was a child.
He's going hunting.
For toys!
Actually leaving the house to do his own shopping was unthinkable for his parents; they were too concerned about keeping him safe, after all.
Now, he's old enough, and clever enough, to sneak out, meet up with his friends, and go to a real toy store, rather than sending someone else or ordering online.
They wend their way down aisle packed with parents and whining children, and find themselves in the appropriate spot, right next to the Lego section. Sandwiched between the Hasbro marvel legends action figures and a host of role-play toys and the Star Wars: The Black Series figures, with all the Original Trilogy figures sold out while every single Sequel Trilogy peg is still completely full because children and collectors alike have taste, they find his action figures.
And only his action figures.
Empty rows of pegs, labelled with Darkblade, Guitar Villain, and the other figures, surround one skew of Chat Noirs. Two of the empty rows have stickers labelled with "Ladybug," centred under a massive display sign, announcing the figures, that features Ladybug's image.
And only Ladybug's image.
"Shoot. We've missed out on all the figures."
"Scalpers, probably," Alya offers while flicking at her phone with a scoff. "The Ladybug figures were one per case, and they're already up on ebay for fifty Euro a pop."
Marinette's face is growing red, lip gnawed between her front teeth. She must really have wanted one of those Ladybug figures, and as a great swell of regret bubbles up in his gut, a feeling akin to the twisting revulsion that erupts when smelling surfer or moldy cheese, he knows that as soon as his pre-orders arrive, he'll surprise her with a gift.
After all, he doesn't really need a Ladybug action figure. Seeing Marinette happy, maybe even half as happy as she makes him on a regular basis, is more important.
"I guess that's fair, even if it's pretty unkind," he says, eyes on Marinette because that's an uplifting sight.
It – it is fair, really. People were right to buy up all of his Lady's figures. It isn't as if he'd really be needed in any child's fantasy, or in any scalper's ebay store. Ladybug could handle any given crisis or akuma assault on her own, after all. Still, he would have thought that someone would buy a few of his figures, just to get the Stoneheart Build-A-Figure head.
"Still, it's take one and leave one for the next collector, right, dude?" Nino elbows him gingerly, and while it feels like a bruising strike, light though it is, he reciprocates.
He's about to reply when Marinette surges forward to pluck a Chat Noir figure off the peg, likely to review the bio on the back before returning it to its long-term resting place. The packaging is nicer the the figure, in all likelihood.
Rather than flipping the box over, though, she stuffs it under her arm with a nod to herself. It takes a moment for the implications to really register.
"Are you sure you want to pick up one of those, girl?" Alya asks, cocking her head towards the black and green package in Marinette's hands. "I mean, what's a Chat Noir without a Ladybug?"
Marinette's eyes darken with brimming, whelming ire like unto that which she looses on Chloe every now and then, before Alya presses on.
"I mean. They're a pair. You can't have one without the other," she tries to deflect while shuffling over to Nino as if to disperse the fire that's income over a wider target area, but considerate boyfriend he may be, Nino's no fool. He's backing off. There's a little twitting drum of her fingers on the rear of her cell phone case, which has been raised like a shield to absorb some of Marinette's downright baleful glare.
Of course, it's nonsense, though; a dozen collectors or kids, or one scalper, would argue, judging from the empty rack of Ladybug figures.
Marinette relents, smiling as she draws the Chat Noir figure to her chest. Lucky little blighter.
Why did he think that?
"No. It's alright, Al." She pats the case in a fashion that is as superficially innocuous as it is deeply threatening as Alya sweats out the terror and Adrien can only be grateful that he's now behind Marinette, a simple observer to this exchange. "I only need my Chat Noir."
Alya, however, does not seem to have full control over her mouth.
"You sure?" she asks. "You, uh. You could pick him up on clearance in about a month. Just like those figures from that really horrible Star Wars film that they just ignored with the Rise of Skywalker."
"You mean that admiral, or the ... uh – what's her name?" Nino pipes up in a clear attempt to divert the conversation into this safe topic.
"Rose Tico?" Adrien tosses it out while admiring Marinette's fine grip on his little alter-ego.
"Yeah." Alya thumbs her chin towards him. "All those figures that ended up in a garbage dump somewhere."
The thickly warbled snarl catches Adrien's breath away as Marinette, rather than rounding on her best friend, turns to the rack. For a moment, he knows. She's just going to put the figure back; it's not like she really wanted him – or Chat Noir. He was... bargain-bin fodder. Maybe- maybe even fit for a dumpster because no one wanted the side kick. Who wanted Robin without Batman?
"You know what, Alya? You're right," Marinette sneers, and instead of tossing little Chat to the store display, forgoing even hanging him back up, she plucks another one off the peg, she tucks him under her armpit and grabs another box off the shelf. "I should get a second figure. Chat deserves to stay mint in the original package and be played with."
She wants to... play with him and keep him... "perfect?" Admire him, and take him out of the box?
He has to clear his throat to rid himself of the tickle while Nino affirms him by crossing the warzone to squeeze his bicep, seeming to feel something wrong even if Adrien can't let him know what it is.
Acceptance is a strange thing in that he's only ever been able to show off one piece of himself, be embraced as Chat Noir by Ladybug, who played hide-and-seek or tag over Parisian rooftops, and Adrien by a legion of fans who would never know him because he was kept in a hermetically-steeled blister card of fame and propriety.
"Hey, Marinette?" he asks because he's not thinking. He doesn't think enough, and he knows that, but it's still coming out. "Are- are you really sure that you want those?"
She should say no; but he's breathless and quivering with the need to hear her say yes. She wants them.
Here eyes are narrow window-slits, cutting off the sight of her bubbly and adorable soul while pinning him in place so that he can't move. Can't think. There's only her frosty glare.
"You got a problem with that?" she asks, defiant, cradling the two little plastic Chats as if she's a mamma bear defending her cubs.
"No!" His hands waggle as if he's trying to ward off that stare. "It's just- just, uh-" Sheepish, he rubs at the back of his head and tries to laugh her off. "Could you... could you grab one for me too?"
Marinette blooms bright and grins, showing off pearly teeth and such genuine joy it makes him feel it too.
He already has preorders that should arrive in the next few days, but as Marinette deposits the second figure in his hands, the box still slightly warm after have been held under her arm, pressed to her chest – though that might just be his imagination – and she turns to pick up another one, he actually feels for a moment that it's worthwhile to own another one of him.