It all started with a tense 'family dinner', filled with emotionless comments from father that I wasn't listening to. They went something along the lines of 'take some more photos for that popular magazine' and 'I just made a new deal with the manager of some female model you don't even know so you can take some half naked photos with her. Oh come on Adrien, it'll be fun! The girls go crazy over this stuff.' Obviously not in those words.

Also what about the stuff I'm crazy about? If he paid me half the attention he does those models' managers he would have realised by now that it's definitely not girls in barely existent bikinis smothering me while people take photos of us.

So I rambled on for a bit about my friends, life, the usual. He wasn't having it. Then came the talk about my future. What future.

Adrien Agreste, daddy's boy, teenage heartthrob. The famous boy who models for his famous father's fashion lines -yes that's right, The Gabriel Agreste. That's the image.

I hate it.

I said that to him.

You can imagine how that went.

But the thing is, he doesn't really know what's best for me. He doesn't even fucking know me.

And the stuff I am crazy about? Try, escaping to the Couffaine houseboat as Chat Noir, hidden by the shadows of the pitch black autumn night as I jump from rooftop to rooftop, knowing that Luka is waiting for me. His autumn-inspired nail polish and a matching new guitar pick strumming softly, waiting for our long conversations that go nowhere and mean nothing. They mean everything.

Or spending a winter evening giggling under a pile of blankets and pillows with Juleka and Rose while Luka plays Christmas songs on his guitar and Anarka makes us all extra foamy hot chocolates. We all sing along, often completely out of time, drunk on love and laughter.

What about lounging on their deck chairs in springtime, Luka running his fingers through my hair, the two of us not bothering to hide our smiles as we watch Rose make daisy chains and then Juleka piles as many as she can onto her head and around her neck until she looks like a flower patch herself, but only for Rose, because she loves her.

And then there's the gorgeous summer sunsets Luka and I watch together, the beautiful array of pinks and oranges reflecting in both our eyes. Sometimes we just stare and lean over the railing, other times we are deep in conversation. Then we'll look at each other and share a long look that isn't saying anything, not even I love you. Because we already know that. Besides, we spend enough time repeating those three words like a prayer minutes later, our foreheads pressed together, my hands in his hair and his arms circling my waist and pulling me even closer.

'I love you,' he'll whisper, his hot breath tickling my mouth, but I don't mind, because it's Luka.

And I'll laugh before repeating the words back to him- just a soft chuckle that only he can hear. Because he's said it a thousand times. And every time he does, it sends a new excited shiver down my spine and a warm feeling to my stomach and my brain goes fuzzy. Like it means as much as the first time. It does.

And then his hand will brush gently against my cheek and he'll watch me in wonder as I look back up at him. He always looks at me like he's admiring an artwork. I don't think I'm worthy of a Van Gogh, but of course Luka disagrees- I'm his personal Starry Night. He says the yellow is beautiful, bright like the sun, happy, light and carefree like a field of flowers and other pretty things that people want to see. But all the deep shades of blue that flow and curl through the sky and the silhouettes of the buildings are his favourite. That's the side of me people don't know, the part of me they don't see in all the magazines and on fan websites.

That's what makes me interesting, he says. That's what made him fall for me.

(That and my undying love and devotion to baked goods from the Dupain-Cheng bakery.)

Then I'll play with the baby hairs at the back of his neck and he'll trace his fingers from my cheek back down my body to rest at the small of my back. And then beautiful, poetic Luka will pull me closer still and kiss me like I'm everything. Like I'm the only person that matters, that he'll ever love. He'll kiss me the same way I'll hold onto him- as if the world is about to end.

Which it just might, if my father finds out.

—

'What're you-'

'Leaving.' I throw a pair of jeans at my suitcase full force, just for emphasis. Natalie takes another tentative step towards me, no doubt unsure how to handle me in my uncharacteristically angry and unpredictable state, while I continue to slam drawers and messily fold t shirts.

'Adrien, what valid reason could you possibly-

'Father.' I cut her off again, with another sharp word. At this point, I can almost see her face reddening in frustration.

'Adrien.' She stands up taller and shakes herself, eyes half closing back to their usual neutral position.

'Whatever your father did, though I'm quite certain this is an overreaction, I'm sure you can talk to him about it and straighten this out.'

'He gives me no freedom, he doesn't give a shit about what I want, and he never listens!'

My room falls eerily silent, excluding my ragged breathing.

'Adrien,' she says my name again, a shiver taking over my body before I hunch further forward over my clothes.

'He only wants what's best for you.'

I freeze, now hovering over my underwear drawer. That's the last thing I wanted her to say. I tell her that.

I mean, I didn't exactly expect her to surprise me by sitting down with me and saying 'ok. I respect your decision, Adrien Agreste, valued member of society, person who is entitled to their own opinions and rights'.

I decide to say that as well, but I immediately regret doing so.

It comes out a cruel, disrespectful spit, with too many words I don't mean. Natalie has never spoken to me like this. Nobody ever has. I hope no one ever does. I don't tell her any of that.

'Well it's not like either of you will ever respect me! I'm a human too. Ya know, with rights and all. A voice? Why do you get to have all that? I wish you didn't. All you ever do is use your power over me to cut me off and tell me it's all for my own good.' Her face reddens, but my anger won't cease. 'It. Never. Is.' That part comes out choked. 'You're just as bad... no- worse- than Hawkmoth.' I pause to look at her, but for some reason I keep going.

'Why couldn't you and father have left me, instead of mother.' I'm crying now, hot tears stinging my pink cheeks, but I don't stop to console myself. 'Imagine.' A strangled laugh escapes my throat as I throw my arms wide, letting them fall and slap my legs a moment later.

'A household of freedom and love, instead of five intolerable years of this... this... abuse!'

That's it. I'm done. I can't possibly summon any more insults to throw at her. All the emotions I've bottled up have risen to the surface of the volcano, burning everyone in its path.

I collapse on the floor and slump backwards against the foot of my bed, hitting my head on the wood but only caring enough to fumble my hand through my hair and rub lightly.

Covering my face with my arms I press my nose against my knees and cry.

I don't hold back anything.

I'm a huge mess, strangled cries and sobs and breaths coming out louder than I want, but who cares. Father should know what he does to me.

Natalie really does surprise me now. After a minute of my insane sobs tearing through the silence of my massive and yet lonely room, I hear her heels click a few steps my way. She stops. I do too. Well, to the best of my ability.

I pathetically sniffle and rub my eyes and all over my face as the sound of creasing pants tells me she's kneeling. By my side. After I screamed that I hated her and father and wished they didn't exist.

'Jesus Christ, Adrien.' That's all she says, for a bit. I give in, even though she probably hates me. Even though I know she always sides with my father.

Natalie wraps her arm around my shoulders as I press my shaking body further into the side of her freshly pressed suit.

Five minutes later, I'm in exactly the same position, but she's sitting down next to me, her left leg stretched out, her right knee pressing against my bent legs.

I'm slowly curling into a tighter ball at her side.

I feel her inhale deeply, about to break the silence.

'Adrien,' a heavy, shaking breath out. A cool hand on my burning cheek as she adjusts herself to be sitting in front of me.

'I don't-'

'Sorry,' I mumble, leaning into her palm.

'I'm an idiot.'

'No you're not. Don't say that. It's been hard for you, Adrien. You're only eighteen. Your mother-'

I exhale shakily. Natalie looks me up and down and winces. She takes a ridiculously large breath and starts talking quietly to me, as if father might appear any second.

'I've always thought it was too much. The modelling, the scheduled family time, all of it. Your mother vanished, and yet he carries on like it means nothing to you.' As if I wasn't already taken aback, she inhales again.

'Gabriel is an awful single parent.'

I see the tiniest flicker of guilt, maybe regret, in her expression as soon as she's said it. But it's gone almost immediately.

She laughs nervously and I hold her hand, somehow grinning along with her despite everything.

Fuck regret. My father- The Gabriel Agreste- sucks. And Natalie actually agrees with me.