With his Lady's tepid yet ever dependable assurances that she would at least consider allowing Multimouse to train alongside them, Adrien resigns himself to the painful pins and needles prickling of delay.
He plays the long game.
The waiting game.
And the waiting game sucks because he wants satisfaction now.
He can barely sleep that night, caught within a happy spiral of dreams that flutter about in the haze between waking and sleeping. They feature a grey and pink little mouse scampering over rooftops alongside his Lady while he trails after them, just trying to keep pace so they won't leave him behind.
It's a happy fantasy.
Of course it is.
There's nothing to be done, though, so instead of sulking in an aggrieved huff like Plagg, who's wailing and gnashing his teeth over on his silk pillow while lamenting Adrien's terrible mistreatment, only offering him a quarter-wheel of Camembert for a very early breakfast, Adrien focuses on productive pursuits.
If he can't sleep, he can at least learn.
His paints, airbrush, and assorted brushes are set to arrive tonight, so now's the time for him to continue to educate himself on their proper use.
Tossing on a pair of noise-cancelling headphones to drown out Plagg's kvetching is just an added bonus as he settles in before his computer screen and loads in youtube, roughly an hour before Nathalie is expected to call him for breakfast.
The details are enthralling. There's an intricacy to the the techniques on display in the latest video tutorial that he never could have imagined.
He's so busy attending to the dictates of colour contrast and coordination while jotting down notes that he doesn't hear Plagg's squawking cease – doesn't hear anything but the thickly Belgian-accented voice of the painter who's running through glazing techniques.
Caught up within the smooth flowing strokes that have transformed a Warhammer 40K miniature's grey plastic into the war-torn face of a space marine, pitted, scarred, and shadowed in the recesses, the alien warmth of a hand on his shoulder sends him whirling in his seat, ripping his headphones off his ears as he yelps and cat-hisses.
The little yowl is paired with a leap that, had he not tamped down on the instinct, might have had him clinging to the ceiling using nothing but his fingernails. Instead, the undulation of his butt and hips only swivels him around to stare, heart dropped and throbbing in his gut, at the taciturn face of his bodyguard, towering above him.
The man nods once, almost feebly – certainly gently for him. An apology.
It matters when he apologizes, or even when Nathalie apologizes.
"Oh, uh- sorry. I didn't hear you come in," Adrien says, gaze flicking over to the pillow on which Plagg had been beweeping his outcast state. Fortunately, the little guy had either phased through the floor or darted off by all appearances.
Unperturbed, the massive hulk of a man brandishes the watch on his wrist, tapping the glass face with a shake of his head.
"We're going to be running late?" Adrien offers while closing down his browser tab.
A nod confirms his supposition regarding their deadlines, but for a moment, the Gorilla is drawn towards the arrangement of action figures next to Adrien's computer desk.
Little Chat Noir and Ladybug sit next to each other on a pair of miniature deck chairs, the extensive gap in Chat's crotch obvious as he leans into the other toy's space so as to receive as close an approximation of throat scritches as possible given the figures' articulation.
He'd set them up last night, tugging them out of his drawer, because he liked seeing them. Stupid. He should have put them away. They are, after all, contraband. Unlike his other figures, they can't be on display.
If his father knew...
Well, Nathalie would- would throw out little Chat too, and, more importantly, his Lady.
"Yeah, I – I picked up a whole set of them because – because they're going to be giving some of the proceeds to charity, you know? It seemed like a good cause. You- uh... you won't tell my father, will you? He didn't want me to have them."
The Gorilla eyes him critically, but without judgment, impassive gaze locking in as if to assess for threats while Adrien sweats under the examination. Hot even through Adrien's shirt, the Gorilla's hand is still on his shoulder and the tension, the fear that this is it – the jig is up and his bodyguard is going to turn him in – coils in his gut like a spitting cobra.
Of course his bodyguard is going to tell his father. Nathalie and – and everyone are always on his father's side. He pays them to be.
Suddenly, the grip loosens, and something deep inside of his chest, something he has never quite realized was there until this moment, does too, the heat of that massive palm and tight-squeezing fingers releasing.
His bodyguard guides him gently out of his room, giving him a minute to stuff his toys back in their drawer, covering them with some papers. He gathers his bag, using his back as cover to scoop Plagg into his pocket at the same time, and they make their way to the garage.
Striding towards the car behind his bodyguard, Adrien blinks, befuddled, as the man stands to the side of the front passenger side door, ushering him inside with a wave of his arm, an invitation to join him in the front seat.
The drive passes in a blur with Adrien sneaking glances at his bodyguard the entire way, while taking in the new view afforded to him by this strange position. It's ... odd to sit besides someone rather than behind them; and all he can do is stare at the Gorilla's sideburns which bristle and shake in ways he's never seen before.
Normally when they're driving, he only ever catches glimpse of the large man's eyes in the rear-view mirror or the prickly fuzz along the back of his neck.
This is a nice change.
Having arrived, as per usual, well in advance of the first bell, Adrien knows that he has time to spare. Typically, he spends the few extra minutes steeling himself for the experience of school which is mostly a joy, but a strain for someone who has to work through social quandaries that are obvious to the majority of his well-socialized peers.
Today, it's the fear of facing down Marinette that bubbles up inside of his intestines, and the thought that maybe Nino or Alya or other people who- who really matter might be talking about his figure and his failure.
He has to set the smile in place, real, but buttressed by falsehoods that can be erected if the first level of defence falls.
From his place, buckled into the driver's seat, the Gorilla disrupts Adrien's attempts to psyche himself up, extending his arm to tap the dashboard, just above the glove compartment.
It's not quite clear what he's implying.
Another tap.
Tentatively, Adrien reaches out, slipping his fingers into the dashboard handle and giving it a tug. The compartment falls open. He'd expected a smattering of maps, some mint chewing gum, or some documents like the car's registration and insurance, and they're there, of course, in a disorganized little pile.
But seated atop the little bed of important papers...
Breath held tight and hot in his lungs, as if as the slightest perturbation could dispel the mirage, he scoops up the items inside, one in each hand.
Little Chat.
And his Ladybug.
They're still a mess, sloppy paint applications miming makeup that his Lady doesn't wear or need to compliment her natural beauty , clumsy accessories, wonky joints and more.
Including white-washing possible racism.
But for some reason, he thinks that they're kind of beautiful as he tears his eyes away, blinking rapidly, and looks to his bodyguard.
He's smiling.
Not really, of course. The Gor- His bodyguard never smiles; no laugh-lines ever crease his cheeks; his eyes never shift and slant with a brow furrowed by amusement or joy; those thin lips never curl.
And they aren't. They don't.
But after all these years, Adrien can still see it. Maybe see it and see so much more for the first time.
The lumbering hulk of a man is smiling at him, just in his own way.
It's the opposite of the superficiality that defines Adrien's life as an Agreste, a model and celebrity who is adored by screaming fans, obsessed with the heavily airbrushed and photoshoped teen-heartthrob his father's PR firms have manufactured.
He has to look deep, beyond the facile facade to see it.
They have to know and understand each other.
And he sees it: a brilliant, heartfelt, and- and proud smile that has his jaw quivering.
After a furtive glance through the tinted windows of their car, his bodyguard picks up the Ladybug figure from his hands and mimes a flying leap that takes her from Adrien's knee to the dashboard. She bends at the waist, the Gorilla's thumb twisting her shoulder downwards so that her hand is palm up, outstretched to the little ugly-beautiful Chat Noir in Adrien's lap.
Adrien swallows, blinks, looks at – at his bodyguard's passive-smiling face and the little outstretched hand, a – a real invitation.
Held in Adrien's gentle grip, as if the toy is actually something valuable, Little Chat has no choice but to mime her leap, punctuated by an acrobatic barrel roll, and join his little Lady to survey the landscape of their car and peer out the widow, keeping a watchful eye for akuma.
Typically, Adrien has to work himself up emotionally to brave school. A smile is genuine and fake alike, provoked by the simply joy of being pressed up alongside his friends, hearing the bustle of other people's bodies and their chatter, but it's always necessary to double check so as to make certain that those grins won't falter from some ill-timed thought or Lila's grip or Chloe's bitter arrogance that makes him long to see the girl she was, and perhaps still is, underneath that cracking plastic-and-makeup mask.
Today, though, is different. He doesn't need to psyche himself up to keep his smile in place
After five minutes adventuring with Ladybug, maneuvered about the dashboard by the Gorilla's careful fingers, so gentle with the flimsy plastic because the toy – and maybe more than the toy – mattered, he doesn't need to think or try.
If little Chat's fixed, painted plastic face could split with a grin, it would be a perfect mirror to the one that Adrien has on his face when he steps out of the car.
Leaning over the passenger-side seat, his- his friend points to Adrien's chest, then back to his own bulging barrel of a torso, and mimes zipping his lips.
Adrien can only swallow down the fire in his throat and nod.
Nothing's washing the pang from his eyes, though, that pricks all the way to class.
He's late for class, just by a few minutes, and he can't find it in him to care. Even when Marinette flinches away from him, her conversion with Alya cut off mid-rant so that she can pretend to be reviewing her notes, his spirits are still flying high.
He can fix this.
All you need is someone in your corner.
At the end of the day, he finds his bodyguard waiting for him, and as the rear door is opened for him, his heart sinks. Was that moment they shared really so fleeting, a one-time expression of intimacy that the Gorilla regretted?
His packages are in the back seat, piled up and waiting for him, save for one that the Gorilla pulls out from behind his back and hands to him.
Except this one is not packaged for shipping or emblazoned with postage information.
No. It's neatly wrapped with Ladybug-spotted paper, offset by a dainty neon green bow that clashes horribly with the deep red of the packaging but nonetheless looks utterly perfect.
Tugging at the tape along one fine edge and then the other, trying to preserve the pristine wrapping paper while undoing the knotted bow, Adrien reveals a starter paint set with a dozen shades of flesh-tones arrayed from Flat Flesh to Salmon Rose.
"How-" he looks up at the stoic Gorilla who, for once, seems to be fighting a real smile. "How did you know?"
As if it sufficed for an answer, his bodyguard raises one meaty hand to point his index and middle fingers at his eyes, then casts them back towards Adrien's chest, repeating the gesture until Adrien feels himself grinning.
I'm watching you.
No.
I'm looking out for you.
"Thank you," he croaks despite himself, cradling the assortment of miniature paints to his chest and wondering if it would be weird, or wrong, to ask for a hug.
He doesn't have to.
It's friendly, his Gorilla's body a few degrees hotter than his, and the suit jacket rough against his cheek when he clings back. Much as he wants it to go on, he allows it to last just a moment because that's all that a bodyguard can give to him, even if it's far less than the titan who squeezes his shoulder in parting is really offering.
When they get home, his friend helps him smuggle every box, every item in his massive hoard, into his bedroom, and then settles in with the action figures that he withdraws from his pockets to mime a tea party with little Chat and Ladybug while Adrien unpacks and explores the collection of tools that are now at his disposal.
Even if he's inexperienced, he's going to make sure that his Lady is perfect.
And, especially since his father never allowed him to have even a single friend join him in his palatial room, it's a delight to have been able to smuggle in two living ones as Plagg floats up through the desk, just out of the Gorilla's view, and nuzzles his hand.
The Gorilla's slow and steady breathing fills the silence, and Adrien sets to work.