Summary: Adrien attends class, and tries to turn realizations into actions in his relationships with Chloe, Lila, and Marinette. Of course, every action has an equal and opposite reaction. When pushed, people push back.
Adrien has never had any difficulty rising in the morning for school.
Oh, sure, Nino and, in deed if not in word as she always fumbled them in his presence, the perpetually tardy Marinette have both told him that his obsessive punctuality is abnormal, but the prospect of actually escaping his father's mansion and delving into the bustling Parisian streets and then settling into a classroom with other kids is just too enticing.
Even if he always has to sit in the car and settle himself, make certain that nothing slips through the cracks in his skin that might compromise the brand, it's not enough to disrupt the joy or the shivering anticipation.
For weeks after he had first made his escape and enrolled in Francois Dupont, he'd awoken long before his alarm had sounded. He would rise with bruised eyes, carefully touched-up with concealer, because he had been wiggling his toes and shifting in excitement for hours as he lay in bed, gazing at the latticework of lights painted on his distant, white ceiling and dreaming. Possible interactions would cavort about in his mind, plans for games, conversations, and group-work assignments and lunches shared with his classmates.
His friends.
Today, it's worse and better than ever.
He barely sleeps, and when he rises, it's an hour before he actually has to wake.
All he can feel is shivery excitement and that's a pretty good place for forgetting too, plastering over so many of the reasons that he longs to break free of the mansion, but not quite all of them.
Plagg, Ladybug, Marinette, even Marie, in her own way as she was crushed under foot by- by someone who robbed her of something precious to her just to satisfy his own cupidity-
All of them are making him think.
He can't conceal all of that, and, maybe, that's a good thing.
It's nice and horrible to think.
And he has not even the slightest desire to stop thinking about Marinette, despite the fact that she sets his heart racing and leaves his palms sweaty. The way she looked when she declared not with bluster, awe, and frothing frenzy like his fans, or cool confidence like Kagami, but with voice and face tender and sincere:
He's the most special boy in the world.
The school is abuzz when he arrives. With his classmates thronging, court is once again in session, held by the new undisputed queen bee who has long since displaced Chloe: Lila. Even Nino is there, caught up in the press of students that are all listening in as the Italian girl regales them with some new tale about... something. Adrien's tuned her out. From the furtive gestures he shares with Alya, his bro is in some strange silent lovers-conversation with the blogger, but still tips his cap as Adrien enters.
Nino knows how important it is for Adrien not to be ignored.
That's not just true of him, though.
His oldest friend sits against the far wall. Chloe is waited on only by Sabrina, who cleaves and clings as if in parting from the blond girl she would be swept out into the wide ocean of their classmates by a riptide, adrift without someone to hold her.
There's another thought there, another thing that, maybe, he should think about, but now – now is the time for feeling and not for thinking.
He thinks that's true.
That too is a choice, and one that only now he's aware that he's making: to choose to feel and let that feeling guide him. To realize that there's something to master, when he's always been thrall to it, and those who could use it.
"Hey, Chlo."
"Adrikins! Were you coming to sit next to moi for this class?" Her fingers snap right in Sabrina's face before pointing towards the redhead's chair. "Sabrina, disinfect your seat and desk. You can go sit somewhere else for today's class."
Apparently, Sabrina carries a bottle of organic spray disinfectant around in her bag. Without question or objection, she sets to work, squirting and scrubbing.
"Uh, that's okay, Chlo." Abashed by a show of servility that he doesn't deserve or desire, Adrien holds up a hand, though that's not enough to actually interrupt Sabrina's task. "I really just wanted to talk to you for a bit."
Lila's voice echos in the stifling heat of the classroom, despite the open windows, despite the width and tall ceilings, and he props himself up on the desk, seated before his oldest ... possible friend. It's always difficult to tell, now more so than ever since he's felt ... the confused melange of whatever this is for Marinette, and has Nino, and Ladybug, and Kagami alike, though she's still not really on speaking terms with him since they broke up.
"Of, course," Chloe coos in what might be an attempt at emulating her mother's inflections. There's a quick glance over to the crowd around Lila, a bubbling laugh that feels only half genuine, and half another lie, catching up in his lungs at the glare. "I can see why you'd want to talk to someone worthy of your time."
"I just thought you might be a little lonely over here." Perhaps he should have realized that a long time ago, but it's better to see the truth, even if a situation might be too far gone to correct, than continue to ignore it.
"That's so sweet, Adrikins, but you don't have to worry about me." She thumbs her nose at the gaggle of students on the other side of the room. "It's not like I want a bunch of filthy peasants clustering around me, getting their germs all over me! I prefer someone who's a little more well-bred and knows a thing or two about personal hygiene."
It's at this moment that she would normally lean into his space, tuck an arm under his, splay a hand over the developing muscles along his back, press their chests together, but in the few seconds' pause as she rises, he has time to think – think about Marinette and her hug, the experience before and after.
A hand stops her as Chloe's rounding the desk. Her face betrays shock, incomprehension that mirrors his. "Adrien?"
Hand still raised, he licks his lips. "Just... just a friendly hug, right? Not too hard and... not too long, okay?"
He sounded so stupid and for a minute he thinks that she's going to cackle into his face and clutch him to herself like he's some kind of massive stuffed animal that her father had one of their bodyguards win for her at a carnival, not that Chloe would have left the car, but she's staring him right in the eyes, and he's not looking away.
"Okay."
It's a side hug, just long enough for the floral punch of an exorbitantly expensive perfume that would have a pleasant aroma were it not over-applied to tickle his nose. When his arms drop, hers do too.
With faltering steps, she takes her seat again.
"It seems like we haven't really talked for a while."
"Well," she sniffs as he watches Sabrina scuttle off to the corner of the room to pretend to read while still watching both of them, yearning, hungry for something, waiting to be called. "I can't always make time for you, Adrikins, even if I'd like to. I'm a busy young woman, you know. So many responsibilities. Daddy's hotel would fall apart without me."
"Is that how you're keeping busy these days?"
"Oh, it's just dreadfully busy there, all the time, entertaining the world's best."
"Well, I hope that you're taking some time for yourself." Of course she is; there's a good person, or what he'd once conceived of as a good person, under that facade that runs so deep it might have coiled its tendrils downwards like a fungus, right into the root system. "If... if you ever need to take a spa day or something, you... you could call me."
Does she understand the underlying invitation? Does he? Chloe has her toys, her places for forgetting as she burrows herself further and further down. Maybe there is no depth; only a hole to exhume.
"Well, I know how much you must have been missing your time with someone as fabulous as moi."
"You remember how we used to have spa-days as a kid? Most days, we'd head out to, uh, get pampered, and sometimes-" ten percent of the time "-you'd come to my room and we'd play."
Given the disgust with which she'd viewed his action figures, the majority of their games had focused on role-play as she'd assumed various "important" duties, bustling him and, on occasion, her butler around the room at her whim. mayor, super-heroine, CEO, queen – all roles into which she'd slipped during their play-dates, but in rare instances, on her cell-phone, she'd just watch as he played, not participating.
"Even then I was such a talented actress." Even though her golden mane is perfectly locked in place by hairspray, she primps it, unsettles it.
"Well, maybe we could do that again some time."
"Ugh. You're far too handsome to play Chat Noir, Adrikins," she scoffs, eyeing him up and down. "I'll have Jean order up a new costume – something special for you. Something worthy of you."
Like two charging rams fighting for territory, cracking skulls, the dismissal crashes straight into Thanks for always being my hero, Chat.
There's no question which one will survive the concussion, this time, even though the loser has a lifetime's worth of inertia behind it.
"Actually, Chloe, I was thinking that we could go to the spa, and then head back to the mansion or the Grand Paris so that I can show you ... some of my action figures. Something that you really like, and then something-" phlegm is caught up in his throat, and he has to dislodge it, even if she looks mortified and disgusted while he clears his throat - "Something that I really enjoy."
That's the offer, the olive branch, and he thinks that she might actually see it as such.
The mortification on her face is wiped away with an eye roll, a scoff, a hand wave dispersing a stinking cloud of inconvenient smoke. "I'm an adult. I put away silly, cheap toys a long time ago. That's all they are, you know."
"Maybe, but they matter to me."
"Egh." He nose crinkles in disgust. "Why?"
"Well, because they're a part of my childhood. I – used to play with my mother, and it's nice to be able to revisit the good moments."
Chloe falls silent, that usual air of dismissive concealed interest falling away as her posture settles into something natural. Like she's watching a really good movie, getting swept away by feelings
"It just ... reminded me of how important the past really is." A flurry of blinks has her image flickering. "Made me feel like I did back then and more."
"Why would you want to feel like you did when you were just a silly, snotty, filthy brat?" Chloe caws, rolling her eyes. "I mean, you were always gorgeous, Adrikns, but kids are totally icky."
Of course Chloe wouldn't want to delve into the chasms of the past.
"But I got to control that, you know?"
"Control what? Being your usual gorgeous self? Of course you do. Just like me." She's preening again, pulling a nail file from her purse to scrape off the excess keratin, sharpening, even though they're immaculate claws. "Get enough sleep, Estee Lauder Energy Crème, some pampering in the spa – that's all you and I need. No wonder the peasants are so hideous. They can't afford to take care of themselves."
Chloe cannot take chastisement; in a way, perhaps, their antithetical upbringings have led them to the same place, shutting down in their own unique fashions; while the impulse to correct and guide is strong, stronger than ever since his everyday ladybug has told him that Adrien is brave, he doesn't give in.
Chat Noir bulldozes.
Adrien should think.
Because he's thinking, part of the truth comes out mangled. "I mean being a kid – on my own terms. It feels like – like I didn't quite get to do that the first time, and now, maybe, I can."
"Who cares about the past? It's the future we should be thinking about! You and me, Adrikins, taking Paris by storm." She edges forward in her seat, pressing closer to him, a way of imposing, of breaking boundaries because, he realizes, he's testing hers. "A power couple to rule the city – fashion, politics, business, tourism. We'd have every angle covered."
"You know, the person who controls the past controls the future, and the person who controls the present controls the past." He's a literature dork. Sue him. Books and toys were among his only friends, aside from Chloe herself, in his youth.
Chloe blinks, marring the concealer on her cheeks by rubbing at it faintly, loosing a tsk in frustration, and then delving into her purse to pull out her compact mirror and makeup. "The what? What does that even mean?"
It's never a surprise when Chloe's vain, haughty, arrogant, or selfish; she displaces the burden of all her work onto the shoulders of toadies, at least as she views them: her butler and Sabrina, but she's not actually stupid. Not really.
"I guess the important thing is that I want them."
Though there's no disruption in the smooth motion of her hands as she evens out the tone on her cheeks, her eyes flick from the glass to his face and back again.
"Well," comes the huffed reply, "That's all that matters. If you want something, you should just get -" There's a hiss, a pause, a thought as her fingers stall out and then race back to work again. "You should have someone buy them for you."
"I have to buy them myself." So many things to do by himself, for himself, that he has to learn. "My father won't let me have them."
"Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous," Chloe spits, pitching high on her 'ighs' in a twisted screech that attracts some of the other students and dismissing the idea with a roll of her wrist. Her designer golden bracelet with gem-studded charms jangles.
"I thought that the toys were." He hates the sneer on her face, even though it's not directed at him any longer, but still jabs him in the heart.
"Of course, but that's not the point!"
"Oh, no?"
"No!" It comes across as a child's remonstrance, snivelling and violent. In her own way, Chloe also revisits the past, stays tucked away there so that nothing can harm the girl that she is now. "A parent should buy you whatever you want. That's the only thing that they're good for."
"But now I get to buy it on my terms. Do something-" his voice drops a few decibels, whether that's for the sake of maintaining a clandestine conversation rendered utterly ridiculous since the toys have already been shown off at school or because it's a challenge to get out the words, he doesn't know. "Something that I'm not supposed to."
When all the pretense falls away for that single instant of stupefaction that makes Chloe look a little bit more like the child who didn't, but might have played with his action figures, might have done what he wanted for a change, she's actually kind of cute.
A smile that is in no way malicious, but still keen and imperious, warps her countenance, and he doesn't have time to wonder what effect that actually has on her appearance, good or bad.
"I'm so proud of you, Adrikins," she sniffs, feigned hysterics bubbling up as if she's on the verge of cackling and crowing. The compact mirror in her hands snaps shut with a clack like a hammerhead striking a nail. "If someone doesn't give you what's yours, you just take it."
Of course what he wants, the forces that truly give shape and meaning to him, all his efforts to placate his father and apologize to Ladybug, and that paint his life – his toys, his heroism, and his juvenile fixations – in such beautifully ugly water-colours isn't something that he can take, inherit, demand, or earn.
Perhaps Plagg was wrong and it's unfathomable to deserve it when only grace, favour unmerited by anything he could ever do, might grant it, and that's what makes it precious.
It's nothing that can be earned, or traded, even if he can invest everything in it, all that he is on one turn of fortune.
And something that he might already have.
Marinette walks into class.
She's even more beautiful when she's at peace than she is when in a righteous rage.
Lila's still talking, only imperceptibly louder now that it's not to a crowd, even though they're still clustered, so that her voice pitches upward and pierces.
"So you see, I know that Ladybug was- was just so hurt by Chat giving away that toy. It made that poor little girl a real target for Hawkmoth." Condescension and consternation, feigned but well delivered, has her cupping her hand to her cheek, eyes surveying the breathless crowd, hungry, seeking heroes and gossip to devour like sweet morsels. "They can't show partiality to any civilians, and with how the figure looks, it's really just reinforcing racist stereotypes, you know?"
There is no detonation of the TNT that's been stocked and compressed and shaped to form Marinette's body, no revisitation of the Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla franchise that everyone seems to be anticipating with dread.
A smile twists Marinette's lips as she settles into her seat, placing her bag on the desk before her and turning to her foe. She's looking at Lila, but it feels like she's talking to him, or for him, and though he's always hated it when people do the latter, this time, it's like being given back his voice.
"Lila," she asks with painful gentleness, none of the enmity or acrimony or indignation or mutual-loathing, plastered over by pretense, that crackled between them day after day, pulsing and building up. "Do you think that you could not talk like that when I'm in class?"
Lila sniffs as if she's been offended, rubbing her arm, eyes flinching away. "Well, Marinette, Ladybug was completely okay with me sharing things like this. She never asked me to keep it to myself. I- I just want to be honest about what she's told me."
The shockingly robust muscles in Marinette's forearms and bicep flex, clench, unclench, her hand tight on the strap of her purse as she sets it to the floor and then releases like an eagle dropping a turtle to shatter its shell.
"Okay," she grants slowly, eyes locked with Lila, "but I'm not asking you to stop. I wanted you to know that hearing that sort of things about Chat Noir really hurts me because I think that he's a hero, so as a friend, I'm asking you not to talk about it when I'm in class. We are all friends here. Right?"
As if taking note of the quick flash of teeth that, to anyone not so used to faking broken grins as Adrien himself, might seem to be a smile, Alya interjects, twirling her cell phone in her hands.
"Yeah, I mean, I love spilling the tea as much as anyone, and nothing's more important than the truth, but even the news puts up content warnings, so people can make the choice if they want to see or hear about something."
"Ladybug was donating all that charity money to help with mental health, right?" Mylene ventures, and there's a quiet, rolling wave of acknowledgement that starts to split the crowd.
Inspired because he's a good boyfriend, though it looks like he's holding Mylene's hand for his own comfort and confidence as much as he is for hers, Ivan adds, "That's important. Thinking about that sort of thing."
All of them, in their own unique ways, some of which Adrien can detect merely as a cleaving away from Lila so that they're orbiting, rather than clustering, are supporting Marinette.
He-
He can't let her go it alone, which is folly because she already has support.
I trust you.
Thank you for always being my hero, Chat.
The most special boy in the world.
"Actually, Lila, as a friend," Adrien strains, not looking, "I don't think that I'm comfortable hearing those kinds of things about Chat Noir either. I- I don't think that he deserves it."
People lie to him all the time. Some lies are comforting.
And there's something about putting an idea to words that makes it real, metamorphoses it into a nearly tangible object, a force that pushes, pulls, and echoes.
If he says it, maybe he can make it real.
"And I'd rather not hear it, either," he finishes lamely, repeating himself.
The flash of honesty that splits Lila's face like a lightning bolt cracking open an ancient tree, sagging with its rotten core bursting forth from the fissure is actually terrifying.
He's never seen honest and true revulsion, real hatred, real ugliness. Given years in a cutthroat industry and a bevy of instructions on how best to deflect ravenous paparazzi, he thought that he understood it, but now, now he knows how women and even little children could accuse neighbors of being witches, or watch as the consequences unfolded before their eyes in grim, forgotten hollows or darkened rooms.
He's seen it now.
Lila smiles, and the moment passes. "Of course, Adrien. All anyone had to do was ask."
That silent conversation that is still ongoing between Alya and Nino leads them to request permission, with Marinette and his leave, to swap seats.
Class begins shortly after the other students disperse, but he does have a minute to spend with Marinette.
"Thanks for standing up for- for me, Adrien." Her hand rises to squeeze his shoulder, but it hovers there, as if assessing his response and she works up enough courage. A shade of pink that he never realized until this moment might be even more flattering than Ladybug red tints her cheeks. "I really appreciated your support. Chat Noir probably would too."
"Alya had more to do with that than me," he deflects, but a subtle shift in his posture is read instantly, almost instinctively, and he enjoys the pressure of her friendly squeeze.
"Yeah, but she's my best friend." Marinette begins to unpack her schoolbag, splashing her desk in a chaotic mess of school supplies. "She has to stick up for me. It's in the code."
"There's a code?" Adrien boggles, though it might be exaggerated. How – how is he supposed to act around her? Chat Noir flirts? Puns? Adrien Agreste, the model? What makes up the person that she wants him to be?
Does he have to be that person at all?
Who is he if he's not?
"Something close to it." Her fingers drum across the table before she clutches at a pen and starts to twirl it in her fingers, energy rolling off her hands in hot waves. "There are always... little unwritten rules to everything, right? Every relationship."
"Oh. I should probably talk to Nino about that, then." That feels like a defeat or a retreat. "He could give me some lessons."
"Maybe, but they're not really something that you can learn like that." Her voice is gentle, and it sounds like she's teasing something out of him, or that she knows something that she's aching to tell him. It's the opposite, though. This is so unfair to her – that he should know how she feels, and – and not be quite sure if he can, or does, reciprocate. He thought he did. "They grow and change with time as you get to know each other. Decide the rules together."
"It would be nice if I could just study for it like a test." There's a weight in the air, a heaviness to his motions, as if he's dreading exactly that: a test when he knows that he doesn't have the answer.
Marinette's easy to like, easy to be with, easy to-
But how does he know? How can he?
He's off-balance.
"Ugh." That nervous twitching and fiddling dies down with a shiver of disgust before she elbows his arm playfully. "No thanks. I'm failing enough tests as it is."
"Do you need some help?" With sufficient bribery by way of good behaviour and cajoling, Nathalie could be convinced to free his schedule, or the successful More Multimouse campaign could give Chat Noir the chance to tutor her. He just has to play his cards right. "I could tutor you if you like."
"Th-that would be nice. I... I'd like to spend more time with a really good friend."
"Yeah that- uh. That would be pretty nice. Helping each other out?" It's when he's holding her hand in his own, having taken it without meaning to, watching her resolve crumble and blush bloom so hot that her blood vessels appear as if they're trying to burst out from under her skin that he realizes.
He likes making Marinette blush, and not just in a cute cat-playing-with-his-food way. No.
Even rough with callouses on her thumbs and sewing fingers, the skin of her hand is soft.
"Mm-hm." A bouncing head approximates a nod that sends pigtails flying. "Yeah, just froo tends yelping each other."
Right. Just froo tends and maybe not just friends. Maybe it's okay to try now, to see what possibilities are out there, to see if it's worthwhile to put himself out there.
Of course, Marinette's worth it.
It's not a betrayal of Ladybug or his feelings for her, no more than was Kagami, but the resolution to explore this strange new world that he'd never considered because friendship and safety were too important feels different.
Maybe it's just a permission of the will to take the first step, reconsider things, try to see the world differently.
But not everything is different, of course. No matter how warm Marinette's palm is, no matter how much he wants people like Chloe to change, or how many lies he tells himself to try to make them become real and true.
At the end of the day, Lila's grin chases him out of the classroom. It's a sick thing, like a swollen maggot, gorged, ready to burst.
When they get home from fencing practice, his bodyguard is called away to discuss contractual matters with Nathalie while she orders him, by way of tablet as today is a "bad" day, to go to his room, as he must be certain to focus on his studies.
In his room, his shelves are empty, pristine and freshly dusted.
His drawers have been ransacked and then carefully reordered.
He looks, and feels nothing except the gentle weight of Plagg on his shoulder, cheek to the soft bare flesh of his neck.
Of course he knew what he was going to find.
Nothing.
You didn't think that Lila was unaware of the fact that Nino dropped off Adrien's figures at school, did you? She just holds certain cards close to the vest until it's time to play them.
Author's Notes
Hardly a fluffy chapter this time, but I wanted to acknowledge Adrien's complex relationship with Chloe and the parallels between their experiences and responses as a means of exploring Adrien's developing self-awareness and his growing ability to apply this understanding to his life and relationships.
While "Action Figures" and Adrien's artistic enterprises are still going to be a major part of the story, his growth, and gradual recognition of those things that impede it, are going to be center points of the narrative, alongside the progressive development of his relationship with Marinette/Multimouse and Ladybug.
As ever, she has a plan that's working out in the background. Without even being aware of it, this time, Adrien's going to follow and lead the way.
I hope that you've enjoyed the piece and the continued evolution of Adrien's character, and, once again, thank you for all of your insightful and engaging comments, and, more than anything, for doing me the honor of reading my work.
Next chapter will deal more extensively with Gabriel's reaction to the knowledge that his son has disobeyed his express instructions.