Author's note: Wow, so the last chapter really caused some feelings, huh?

Still, it had to happen. There was no other way - ever since chapter 1, I wanted to make it clear that this is not your fluffy reveal fic, where all pieces come into place immediately and they all live happily ever after without having to go through some serious thinking (and talking) first. I don't wish to make it overly angsty or depressing, either; I simply believe that an emotional turmoil is exactly what Adrien would go through after learning Ladybug's identity, and especially in such unfavourable circumstances.

That being said, I really want to thank you for all your reviews, no matter how short they might be. Seeing how many emotions the previous chapter had caused... It gave me more joy than you can imagine. I don't think I've ever received such a response to my fic, and certainly not to any of the MLB ones. For that I'm grateful - and I do promise to do my best not to disappoint you in the future.

I know some of you hate Adrien right now. I imagine the story might be unpleasant.

But please, bear with me. It's all a part of the plan.

And that's it, I suppose! I hope you enjoy this new chapter as I work on the next one.

Have a great time, my dear Bugs!
Yours, Bugaboo


Chapter 6
We Need to Talk

The photo shoot was a catastrophe, no pun intended.

Not objectively; after all, the morning was clear, with no more than a few clouds passing over their heads and the warm September sun that had rose no more than an hour afore. The lightning was spot-on, the temperature pleasant, while the team began and finished their work enthusiastic, despite the early hour and the tight schedule they undoubtedly needed to follow.

Adrien was surrounded by competent yet friendly people, in a scenery that could be called nothing but soothing, and following instructions that turned out to be the simplest he'd faced in a while.

And yet, it was a catastrophe.

It was a disaster.

He wished he could blame it on the absurdly small amount of sleep which, by the way, was exactly the excuse he'd used whenever someone asked him if he really was feeling as well as he claimed to. He knew they would notice the change in him as soon as they laid eyes on him - after all, it was there job to ensure that his looks were impeccable and thus were more than critical about what they saw; and so instead of pretending there was no problem at all, he clung to the one cause that seemed both probable and safe.

He was grateful to see it work, when quite frankly, he'd been more than dubious about his success.

After all, the dark bags under his eyes that required much more make-up than usually were one thing - the hollow, unseeing gaze was something else entirely.

They seemed to have bought it, however and went on with their plan without as much as a comment about his obvious lack of professionalism (though he sure was going to hear about it at home). They did his hair and put on his make-up, dressed him up like the doll he was and placed him wherever they thought he looked best.

Again, none of it was bad; it was routine, that's all.

Business as usual, for everyone but him.

"So, how much longer before we can go home now?" Plagg asked with a yawn, sticking his head out of Adrien's bag and gazing at the boy expectantly. "I'm hungry. And keeping a kwami hungry is a risky move, kid."

Adrien glared down at him with a frown.

"Get back inside before someone notices you," he muttered under his breath, hiding his lips behind a water bottle, while he prayed inwardly that everyone was too busy to notice him having yet another conversation with his accessories. "Also, there were at least two whole rolls of camembert in my bag, it should've kept you full for a day."

"Yeah, there were three actually. I ate all of it."

"All of it?"

"Look, it's not my fault I have a fast metabolism."

"You have an eating disorder, that's what you have. It's an addiction that I shouldn't encourage," Adrien was relentless. "What's more important, however, is that the amount packed is exactly what you usually need, so I don't understand how you could devour it so quickly. And I haven't even transformed today!"

"You did last night, though, didn't you? And given the emotional state you were in for most of that hellish patrol, you can be sure it wasn't exactly the time of my life, either. I don't remember you feeding me any cheese after we'd come home and since I can be considerate and tactful, I didn't treat myself with any while trying to talk to you. Oh, and I don't think I've had a chance to have a proper breakfast in the morning, with you storming out of the room like you did, only to wait for Nathalie for twenty minutes because - surprise, surprise! - we were there too early."

Adrien snorted discreetly.

"You could have very well had that meal after I'd gone to sleep," he answered viciously. "It's not my fault that you've decided to flee the moment I did, and for reasons you can't even explain to me."

"Pettiness doesn't suit you, kid," Plagg retorted calmly. "Also, I didn't flee. And surely not immediately after you'd gone to bed."

"That's not the point here."

"No. The point is that you're still mad and you're blaming everyone but yourself for it."

Adrien's glare grew even more steely. "Only yesterday you were talking about how I can't take all the blame and now you're giving me this?"

"Yes."

"You're contradicting yourself, Plagg."

"Not if I mean you should stop looking for the guilty party in general," was his companion's even answer. "Also, I think your make-up lady is coming."

He was gone before Adrien could utter a single syllable, hidden at the very bottom of the bag, safe from the curious eyes of said lady as well as the the young model's glares. Adrien sighed deeply and raised his hand to rub his face wearily - and then put it back down, remembering all the beauty products that were currently covering his face.

Smearing it all over his face right in front of the make-up director was hardly a good idea.

The shoot continued for a little more than an hour after that. When it finally finished, Adrien was sure he had never been this exhausted after so little work in his life, and that there was absolutely no exaggeration on his part in that regard; so when he was, at long last, told that it was all, he felt like he could quite literally kiss the photo shoot director in thanks for that news. That, or to crash on the ground and fall asleep that very second.

Considering that the director was about three times his age, the second option was far closer to his wish.

Still, as alluring as taking his nap right there and then was, Adrien stood firmly, determined not give the team any more reasons to worry - or worse, to call his father and ask him for the cause of his son's awful state.

So now he was back on the bench, pretending to be reading his history textbook, while he waited for the Gorilla to pick him up. He was aware of the glances and smirks (as well as the few awed sighs) he'd thus provoked, knowing full well that people expected him to fiddle with his phone rather than study, and especially in such a busy, noisy place. Not to mention, after the work he'd just done.

And yet, just this once, he wasn't in the least tempted to look at the device.

"You sure you don't need to check that?" Plagg asked in a dramatic whisper, as if he knew that he was supposed to be hiding but at the same time realised that his voice wouldn't have been heard in the mix of sounds around them. "Your phone's buzzed about ten times so far. Doesn't that mean it's something important?"

"No, it just means that Nino still hasn't learnt to write long messages and texted me a bunch of short ones instead," Adrien replied with an impatient sigh.

Gosh, just let him study.

"I know you're not reading this anyway, so you may as well drop the act and focus on me."

The glare Adrien gave him in response truly was a murderous one. "What have I told you about reading my thoughts?"

"You asked me not to do it, and I'm not. But I don't need to, either. It's written all across your face."

The boy let out a growl. One of his fellow models, who happened to be passing by on that exact moment winced, taken aback. She glanced down at him with an odd look on her countenance.

Adrien wanted to curl up and die.

"Sorry," he mumbled, fixing his eyes on the book in his hands, praying that the girl wouldn't linger around and just moved on with her undoubtedly more interesting life.

Luckily for him, she shrugged and did just that.

Adrien sighed again, and this time it was full of relief. Maybe it was a good thing that the fashion industry was were all kinds of eccentrics gathered.

At least no one paid attention to all the weird things he did.

He shifted his gaze to the textbook once more, determined to actually read the words printed on its pages, no matter how many more disruptions might come in a way. He was not going to look at his phone; he was not going to look around, searching for his bodyguard. And he sure as hell wasn't going to give Plagg the satisfaction of meeting his imploring stare again.

As if that changed anything.

Yet, he was to be unmoved. Despite the feeling of his kwami's gaze burning on his side as well as the noise said kwami was making (purposefully, no doubt), he didn't even stir, all the more intent on looking unfazed. He moved the book a little closer and pushed his bag under the bench with his foot without as much as peeking at it. He turned the page with the same fake-serene expression reflecting on his face.

He was fine, he was cool. There was no reason why he shouldn't be.

He was -

"I think Marinette is calling you, kid."

He was none of these things.

Several things happened at once then. The textbook Adrien was holding so firmly suddenly fell out of his grasp and landed next to his feet, only to be accidentally kicked away by him when he stood up rapidly and turned towards Plagg with the same violence characterising his moves. His eyes were wide with shock as he stared down at his bag; his hand shook when he reached out for it and took out the phone which, to his surprise, showed no sign of missed calls.

The few messages from Nino - ones he had already expected - were all he could see on the screen.

And yet, his heart was beating fast, his body stiff while he simultaneously felt trembling inside. With his gaze fixed on the phone and blood pumping in his ears, he nearly missed it when Plagg quietly cleared his throat.

Nearly.

Adrien looked at his companion and realised that what he'd been told was a lie, a ploy meant to provoke a reaction on his part. He frowned, annoyed and opened his mouth to scold the kwami for playing tricks on him in this way; yet, Plagg clearly wasn't going to let him beat him to it.

"I think we need to talk, kid," he said with a mixture of gravity and firmness. "And now."

Adrien couldn't help but swallow painfully.

He was screwed.


They didn't talk, however, and not due to Adrien's reluctance towards the subject. He was not going to give in to Plagg's suggestion of course (which, considering his deadly glare and infinite power of destruction, was more of a threat, really), not without putting some fight first, anyway; though he also realised that such a fight could not be of much use when his friend was so intent to have that conversation.

The very thought of having it made Adrien dizzy.

He was rescued by the sudden arrival of his bodyguard, who pulled up not a moment after Plagg had uttered the damning sentence. Aware as he was that this barely meant pushing the dreaded talk away for a while, Adrien couldn't help but sigh in relief, silently vowing to repay the Gorilla whenever he got the chance.

Now, however...

"Sweet block of cheese, I thought that ride would never end," Plagg said, once again making sure that his yawn would be heard just as much as the note of boredom that resonated in his voice. "To think that today of all days would be when we got caught in a traffic jam."

"It wasn't that bad," Adrien contradicted him, before glancing at his watch. "We're still earlier than I thought we'd be. Not as early as to make it to the current class... but enough to be left waiting for the next one to start. We've got about twenty minutes until that."

"Oh, now that's fantastic. You can finally tell me all the things I need to know without the risk of anyone overhearing."

Adrien set off towards the entrance with a grunt. "I told you I didn't want to talk about it."

"And I told you that I didn't care about your whims."

"What about my needs then? And weren't you supposed to be nice and tactful for once?"

"I'm always concerned about your needs, kid," Plagg retorted with renewed seriousness. "Which is precisely why we must talk; preferably before you walk inside and run into someone."

Before you run into Marinette, Adrien's mind readily supplied.

He wanted to bang his head against the door.

"Do we really have to?" he asked weakly, with his hand frozen on the doorknob and his forehead really coming close to resting against the wooden surface. "Will it really change anything?"

"It's not about changing anything, Adrien."

"What is it about, then? What's the point in going back to it, in reliving that horrendous time once again, if it's not going to make things better? Do you really just want to drag me through the mud so I remember how awfully I reacted last night?"

Plagg landed on his hand and shook his head with conviction.

"You know I don't. But there are things you should face before meeting up with anyone. Things you should think through before anyone asks you about them."

"All I've done since we quarrelled was think things through, Plagg," Adrien contradicted him. "Also, it's not exactly like I can talk about this entire situation with anyone without revealing my superhero alter ego, which we know isn't an option. If anything, I should come up with a good excuse for feeling unwell, but then again, if the make-up crew bought the one about lack of sleep, there's no reason to believe that Nino or Alya won't."

"And what about Marinette?" Plagg suggested with a meaningful look.

"Well, she will have to accept it, too," Adrien as much as spat, a new, sudden wave of anger overcoming him against his expectations or will. "Just because I've figured out her identity doesn't mean I'll share mine with her at the first given opportunity. Not to mention, I hardly feel like having her comfort me right now. Maybe it's unfair, maybe it's rude; but I just can't talk to her today."

"Yeah. Because you're disappointed it's turned out to be her."

Suddenly, all reluctance on Adrien's part was gone.

If that's how Plagg wanted to play it, then so be it.

He wasn't going to run anymore.

"Okay, you wanna talk? Fine," he agreed out of the blue. "I'll tell you everything you want to know and explain everything you can't grasp on your own. We'll find a place to hide until the next lesson starts and talk for as long as the time allows. In return, you'll promise me to stop nagging me about it later on. And I mean it: no sly questions, no meaningful looks and certainly no suggestions that I should go speak to Marinette about anything."

Plagg allowed himself to smile wearily.

"I can work with that," he consented eagerly. "So long as you don't hold back, either."

"I won't," was all Adrien cared to say, before finally pushing the door open and entering the hall.

Plagg followed right behind.