"We are getting so good at this!" yelled Chat Noir gleefully as Ladybug swung effortlessly around the corner of a building, he in her wake. He felt that he was really perfecting his style of moving through the rooftops of Paris – a mixture of parkour and pole-vaulting that was surprisingly effective. He'd only fallen off buildings three times so far, and they had all been little ones.
Plus, Ladybug had magic powers.
It was only their third patrol together, but it felt like their partnership was becoming a well-oiled machine already. They'd figured out a route around the city that only took about an hour, thanks to their efficient modes of travel, and so far had seen nothing out of the ordinary – not that Chat Noir had any idea of what they were really looking for. He'd had Plagg explain the whole "butterfly guy" thing to him, and he still didn't really get why he was such a threat. Still, it didn't seem worth bothering about for now.
"Can I practice Cataclysm again?" he begged Ladybug when they paused for a moment to survey the neighbourhood below them. (If Chat Noir was fully honest with himself, he'd admit that he had pictured them both busting robberies or preventing muggings. Ladybug had said no; she thought they needed to focus on the Butterfly miraculous, and that it wasn't their job to police crime. Chat Noir secretly felt that this was exactly the job of a superhero, and hadn't given up on the idea yet.)
Ladybug rolled her eyes – something she did a lot – and said, "Fine. Did you bring food with you?"
Damn. He knew he'd forgotten something. The Miraculous transformation was powered by the kwamis, and it used a lot of energy. Simply to transform a wielder into their alter ego was one thing, and the suits could be sustained for hours if necessary, though the kwamis had warned them both that too long might result in the transformation failing. But the special powers each Miraculous bestowed – creation for Ladybug, and destruction for Chat Noir – used far more energy, and the kwami usually needed to eat something within twenty minutes or so of employing them.
Unfortunately, Plagg existed solely and inexplicably on camembert cheese, which was remarkably difficult to carry around.
"Not exactly…" Chat Noir confessed.
Ladybug narrowed her eyes at him. "I told you, you're going to have to figure that out! What if we're in the middle of a battle and you need to recharge your kwami?"
He shrugged. "I'll just wing it." He could always dodge into a supermarket and grab some cheese, right?
His partner stuck her hands on her hips, a pose that never failed to strike both terror and awe into Chat Noir's heart. "You will not," she informed him. "C'mon, let's cover a bit more ground, and then you can practice before going home."
A few minutes later, Chat Noir stared in wonder as roof tiles crumbled to ash, then dust, then nothing beneath his fingers. It amazed him every time to see how Plagg's destructive powers worked. He was learning that he could fine-tune them, too – could direct the magic more or less to do what he wanted, as long as it involved breaking something. So far he'd only turned off street lights and turned bricks to rubble, but he was sure it must have hundreds more applications. Dismantling a lock. Interfering with security cameras. Maybe even messing with technology like GPS or other tracking devices. It was awesome.
Ladybug watched critically, her head cocked to the side, biting her lip in the way he had rapidly learned she always did when she was analysing something. It was distractingly endearing. Chat Noir was doing his absolute level best not to spend his entire time with her thinking about how beautiful, incredible, or clever Ladybug was, but he was finding it increasingly difficult.
"You've already improved by miles," she pointed out. "The first time you couldn't even control how many tiles you Cataclysmed."
He practically glowed. "Thanks!"
It was her turn next. Chat Noir watched as she held a hand out, palm up, and summoned her 'lucky charm', as Tikki had apparently called it. What must it feel like to have the literal power of creation at your fingertips? Even if the objects she summoned were sometimes a little… random, it was an extraordinary ability.
A few seconds later, a broom dropped into her hand, and Ladybug stared at it for a moment. Then she glanced to where some remaining flakes of ash marked what had once been roof tiles, and grinned.
"Tikki has a sense of humour." She shrugged. "And also likes us to take responsibility for our actions, I guess."
Once they'd swept up the dust, Ladybug used the broom to summon her secondary power and restored the roof tiles back to their original state. She'd explained how it all worked to Chat Noir – at least, she'd paraphrased what Tikki had told her – and it was something to do with reclaiming the energy required for the lucky charm to repair, heal or undo destruction, but he wasn't too clear on the details. Mostly, it just looked really cool.
"Okay," Ladybug said when all signs of their presence had been completely erased, brushing some strands of dark hair off her forehead. "What shall we do with our last fifteen minutes?"
Chat Noir made a huge show of thinking about it, bringing a hand to his chin as he edged slightly closer to the edge of the roof. "Hmm… well, I do have one idea…"
"Oh?" She quirked an eyebrow at him.
Chat Noir tried to rein in the grin that was threatening to break out. He adjusted his weight subtly, tensing his muscles. "How about… race you to the Eiffel Tower!"
He threw himself into mid-air before even finishing the sentence, giggling like a little kid at Ladybug's strangled exclamation behind him. She was fast – really fast – and it only took her a few seconds to follow suit, but he had taken advantage of his head start and was well ahead of her, whooping with excitement.
Life had never been so good.
Chat Noir was still thrilling with the adrenaline rush of having won that race – and Ladybug's flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes as she'd punched him on the shoulder in mock outrage – when he swung into his bedroom window and became Adrien again. Plagg flitted into the air, turning somersaults and grinning with glee.
"That was awesome," he chirped. "Bet Tikki hated losing that one."
Adrien threw himself onto the bed, folding his arms behind his head and staring blissfully up at the ceiling. "She is so cool," he said dreamily. "I can't believe I get to hang out with her."
Plagg snorted, diving to the desk and – from the sounds of it – shoving an entire wheel of camembert into his mouth. "Who, Shikki?" he said, with difficulty.
"No, you idiot. Ladybug."
Plagg swallowed audibly. "You didn't see," he drawled, "so I feel compelled to tell you that I rolled my eyes."
Adrien ignored him. He just couldn't believe his luck. He was at university and studying an awesome course, he had already made some amazing friends, he could eat and drink whatever he liked, and he was a superhero with the most incredible superpartner ever. He was having the best time.
Time…
A sudden spike of panic penetrated his moment of perfect happiness.
"Plagg, what time is it?" he demanded, sitting up and scrabbling in the duvet for his phone. Plagg located it on the desk and brought it over to him, dropping it in his lap. Adrien checked the time, and his heart sank. Three minutes past eight. He was late.
He spent a few frantic seconds at the mirror over his sink, trying to tame his hair – which always became an unruly mess after being Chat Noir – into a semblance of normality, before hurriedly pulling a shirt on over his T-shirt and buttoning it up with fingers that shook in spite of himself. When he sat down at his iMac, his stomach clenched at the missed call on the screen.
You're an adult, he reminded himself forcefully. You're not a kid any more.
But he had never felt less like an adult as he clicked the call button and waited, anxiety clenching his stomach, for it to be answered.
"Adrien."
The icy disapproval in his father's voice only heightened that sensation. Suddenly all the levity, the warmth, of patrol with Ladybug dissipated and Adrien felt cold, small, alone. Stupid.
"Bonsoir, père." He'd once heard Alya answer a call from her parents with "Heeeey you guys!" and had wondered how it felt to be able to address them without worrying about formality and etiquette. "How are you today?"
"You're late," said Gabriel Agreste. His face on the screen was impassionate, reserved, as it always was. "You should know better, son."
Son. When other parents called their children that, it was an expression of affection. With Adrien's father, it was a reprimand. Remember that I have authority over you. Remember that you are under my command. Remember your station.
"Sorry, père," Adrien mumbled. "I… I was playing a game with my flatmates and forgot to check the time."
Gabriel's expression didn't change much – perhaps a tightening of the eyes – but his displeasure was palpable. "Adrien, I expect you to keep to your appointments. Please do not be late on Saturday."
"Saturday?" Adrien frantically tried to remember whether he had any plans for the weekend. He thought Nino might have mentioned a gig of some kind.
"I have scheduled you in for the Louis Vuitton shoot. It begins at sunrise. Nathalie has the details. Be prompt."
Adrien opened his mouth and closed it again. He wanted to protest, but even if he could summon the courage to, he knew it was pointless. This was part of the agreement he'd fought so hard for – the price of the freedom he valued so much. In return for Adrien being allowed to live away from home while he attended university, he had to do all the modelling his father required, whenever and wherever that was. It was a stark reminder of how shackled he really was, even living away from that house. Of how little power he truly had.
"I trust you are finding university an enjoyable experience," his father went on.
Adrien perked up, feeling some warmth seep back into him. "My course is wonderful, Father! Yesterday I had a lecture about—"
"Are you eating properly?" Gabriel interrupted him, leaning slightly closer to what was probably his iPad, held up by the ever-dutiful Nathalie. "You look like you've gained weight. How often have you been attending the gym?"
"I—" He'd been three or four times. Not enough, by his father's exacting standards.
"I do not pay that considerable fee for my own entertainment, Adrien," that cold, relentless voice went on. "Please ensure you make use of it daily. I expect to see an improvement. Nathalie will monitor your weight and measurements. I will speak to you at the same time next week. Bonsoir."
Then he was gone, and Nathalie – cool, efficient, business-like – replaced him on the screen. She opened her planner, glancing down at the schedule.
"The shoot on Saturday is likely to go on for eight or more hours, so please come prepared. I will send you the details shortly in an email. You will also be required to attend an event on the seventh of October…"
Adrien nodded dully. Back to the familiar feeling of being overwhelmed with responsibility, with the knowledge that he was never quite good enough but must never stop trying to be perfect. Back to the walls closing in on him. Back to wondering why his life was so different from other people's, but knowing it would never change.
He wasn't sure why he'd ever thought he might have escaped.