Every relationship has a backstory. It might not be interesting, it might not be long, it might not be pleasant. It can be as simple as "we've been friends since forever, and then", as brief as "wow, that girl is cute, mind introducing me?". Sometimes, it is sweet. Sometimes, it is tragic. Sometimes, it is crazy. Sometimes, it is nothing special.
Nevertheless, there is always a story.
Sometimes, it ends with a hairdo pulled apart pin by pin, hands running through smooth dark hair, lips running down a neck.
###
The first time Nathalie Sancoeur had met Gabriel Agreste, the encounter had been uneventful. Almost uneventful. It had occurred in a school hallway. He had been sixteen. She had been twelve, and late for class. Her being late had led to her racing across the school, bag clutched against her chest, eyes occupied with a last minute rereading of her homework, until her forehead had connected with Gabriel's solar plexus.
There had been some yelling.
Someone had been told to pay attention to where she was going.
Someone had been told not to stand in the middle of the hallway like he owned it (even though he probably did, what with the generous donations their school received from the Agreste family).
There had been no spark of lightning, no starry eyes, no butterflies in the stomach. For a start, Nathalie was twelve. On top of that, she was literally heartless, and so was the boy (figuratively).
###
If the age difference had not been so drastic (four years equated a century, when you were so young), teenage Nathalie and teenage Gabriel would probably have interacted more. They were incredibly like-minded. Both of them were unpleasant, conniving, backstabbing asses who lied, deceived, and would have sold their own parents to get their way. Nathalie, as a matter of fact, had actually sold her own mother to a fellow kindergartener, for the extravagant price of one bag of candy.
Had they been of the same age, they would have been happy to sit together, alone in a corner, frowning upon the rest of the world and observing it with contempt. They would not have exchanged a word. Maybe there would have been a nod, some communication in the form of raised eyebrows and huffs, but it would have been the extent of their interactions. They were not merely introverts: they liked to dislike people. It made their days (they wouldn't have admitted it, they didn't realize).
As things were, Gabriel had been older, and had spent his time near his classmates instead. That merry band of absolute imbeciles had done its best to somehow curb young Gabriel's antisocial tendencies, teaching him not to be kinder but to pretend better.
That merry band of imbeciles had included Alice Beauregard, latter known as Alice Agreste.
###
"This can't happen again", a much older Gabriel had told Nathalie when they had found themselves disheveled and panting and spent in his office, on that first afternoon.
He had been adjusting his clothes, back turned to her, standing a feet away. She had been adjusting hers. Her only answer had been a curt nod, which he had not even looked at. He had not needed to.
They were in entire agreement on the subject.
Nathalie had never, not once in her life, entertained the notion of sleeping with Gabriel Agreste, not even that one time her mother had pointed out how dreamy he was, when she had been sixteen. Journalists had hinted at the idea and been severely disappointed by Nathalie's reaction, or lack thereof. She couldn't fathom why everyone insisted that, if people of compatible sexual orientations worked in close quarters for too long, things could only devolve.
Well, obviously, people slipped every now and then.
Nathalie had entire flowcharts in her mind, with various decisions points such as "Is your job compromised? Yes/No" and "Was it pleasant? Yes/No". Every branch led to "don't do it again".
He had watched her twist her hair into a tight bun she hoped looked presentable. His face had remained blank, but she knew he didn't approve of the hairstyle at all. It had all started with that ridiculous bobby pins thing.
###
It is important to mention that Nathalie had never, up to the point where the "this can't happen again" discussions occurred once a week, been attracted to Gabriel Agreste.
Nathalie was not attracted to anyone unless she was clobbered over the head with direct offers. She didn't think about dating much: she had no time for that. She had plenty of memories to prove her distinct lack of interest in romance, men, and her employer. The one that came to mind first was that one time, when her mother had tried to convince her that her underage self would be wise to drool over an engaged grown man.
It had happened during a fashion show, when Gabriel had just started rising to fame. Nathalie's father had obtained tickets thanks to the friend of a friend of a friend, and her mother had wanted to go. Nathalie had wanted to stay home to reorganize her class notes for the upcoming exams, but it was a "once in a lifetime opportunity", and she had been dragged along.
Nathalie, once there, had spotted the appetizers. Her mother had spotted twenty years old Gabriel, and grabbed her daughter's arm to force her to look at him. The teenager, who knew full well what the blond looked like, and knew even better that Alice Beauregard occupied his every thought, had attempted to return to the salmon toast.
Her mother had gripped her arm like a vice.
"He is so dreamy", she had claimed, desperately trying to elicit some sort of human reaction from the girl.
She was losing hope. Nathalie had been a quiet, emotionless toddler who had grown into a quiet, emotionless child, who had grown into a teenager. As a kind, warm, exuberant woman, Aurélie had always been worried by her daughter's coldness. Considering her ex-husband had come with a warning label about his general disposition right in his last name, a disposition that had obviously been passed on to his equally heartless progeny, one wondered why she was so surprised.
"No, he is not", the teenager had replied.
"Come on, Nathalie. "Look at those eyes. Look at that hair. Look at him."
The girl had indulged her and stared in Gabriel's direction for a few seconds.
"He has to learn to smile", she had commented.
"He is smiling right now!"
"No, I mean he has to learn to smile. Close jaw, then move lips. The way he does it, it just looks like he lost his dentures."
"Nathalie, that's rude!" Aurélie had yelled, before blanching and lowering her voice. "Oh my god, I think he heard you."
He clearly had. His smile had vanished, and he had turned to the impolite sixteen years old, his expression nonchalant, to stare at her.
Her thoughts had been an unending stream of "oh my god he heard I'm so dead". She had gone for the easiest solution of all: looking straight right through him, pretending she didn't notice him at all, and keeping her features beyond bored. As soon as he had turned away, her knees had gone weak.
"Let's escape", her mother had whispered.
Nathalie had nodded, filled a napkin with salmon toasts, and followed her out of the room.
###
Nathalie liked her hair like she liked her clothes: strict and professional.
As a teenager, she had gone to war with her mother over hair dye, and suitable colorings for a fourteen years old girl ("the one you were born with and it is not changing"). It had taken her a year to win the battle, and she had celebrated her victory with a full head of blood red hair. Then, she had settled for something that actually worked with her complexion.
Her hair color had not changed in fifteen years. Neither had her haircut. Neither had her shampoo brand. Neither had her conditioner's. Yet, six months before, in a totally baffling turn of events she had not been able to explain, her bobby pins had started to vanish and her bun to dissolve, at random times of the day.
It had driven her nuts until she had figured it out. Actually, even now that she had discovered the how and the why, it still nearly made her lose it.
The first time it had happened, she had been with Adrien, busy explaining his activities of the day, and she had felt her bun collapse in slow-motion. The boy had been privy to her meltdown, complete with swearing and frantic attempts to put her hair back into place. She had only stopped when she had noticed he was staring at her like at a crazy person.
She had frozen into place, let her hair go, and composed herself.
"As I was saying, the photo shoot is scheduled at four, but you have to be at the office by two, your father wants you to give some tips to our newest child model."
Adrien had kept gaping at her.
She had retreated to the bathroom so she wouldn't bash his head in with her tablet, and so she could fix her stupid hair because she could feel it touching her back and it threatened her sanity.
Every day after that, she had secured her bun like one would have secured the restraints of Hannibal Lecter.
Her pins still vanished. Her bun still fell.
Weeks had gone by, and she had looked for the damned pins everywhere, getting on her knees in her office to check the floor, inspecting her keyboard and drawers from every angle, all but bringing a metal detector to work. They just vanished.
Adrien was so amused by her disarray that she had started to suspect the child was pranking her. She had spent days watching his every move around her. But the strange phenomenon happened even when she had not crossed his path for hours.
It had taken months (and a window) for her to finally discover what was going on, and it proved so surreal it nearly didn't register. She had been looking outside, waiting for the limousine to arrive and talking to mister Agreste, when he had passed behind her back.
She had felt nothing, not the slightest brush. If she had not seen it all unfold in their reflections in the window, she would have missed it. But she had seen Gabriel lift his arm, snatch something from the back of her head, and immediately pocket it.
###
The "this can't happen again" line had fallen out of their vocabulary. They didn't bother pretending they would stop: they functioned well as boss and employee despite the change to their dynamic. More precisely, they did not mention the change. Their days followed their usual routine until they didn't. Gabriel would always be the one to make a move, and never at home, never where they could get caught. The door was always locked, it never lasted long, they did not waste time with cuddling and pleasantries.
She didn't question Gabriel's motives. Sometimes, he grew bored of company management, and wanted a few minutes of entertainment. More often, he vanished for hours and came back starving for touch.
She didn't question her own motives. Her work didn't leave much room for dating and relationships, and while she was not lonely, she was just human.
###
The thought process involved in dealing with your extremely tight-laced boss stealing your bobby pins was long and convoluted and required diagrams. Nathalie's mind helpfully provided those at the drop of a hat.
When she had caught Gabriel red-handed, her mental flowchart roughly followed this path:
Your boss just did something weird and inappropriate.
Can you pretend it didn't happen? Yes.
Are you kidding? Yes.
Can you sue him? Yes.
Do you want to? Yes.
Your continued employment is more profitable than any compensation a lawsuit would bring.
Fine. Should you get angry? I want to gouge his eyes out with a bobby pin.
Would that help? Yes.
You filthy liar.
Can you remain calm? No.
Too bad.
Remain calm.
She had decided to remain calm. She had turned to Gabriel.
"Sir", she had asked after clearing her throat. "Would you mind giving that back?"
He had frowned, and she had pointed at his hand, still buried in his pocket. Her boss had paled. His mouth had gone dry so quickly she had heard his tongue unglue itself from his palate.
He had extracted the bobby pin from his pocket, looked at it as if surprised to find it in his hand, and handed it to Nathalie. She had taken it by the tip, with the tip of her fingers, and had pulled away.
"My deepest apologies", her employer had said, clearly embarrassed. "I… I used to - well, clearly not used to - suffer from a mild case of kleptomania as a teenager, I…"
She hoped it was kleptomania, as the other option fell into the realm of deviant behavior.
"I see", she had replied.
Her thoughts had been a lot more verbose, and could be summed up to "get therapy, get therapy for this, get therapy for your wife, get therapy for your relationship with your son, get therapy for everything, you need bloody therapy".
"It won't happen again", he had said.
He had kept his word for three days.
###
He was so apt at stealing unnoticed that, when his hand brushed her neck for the first time, she knew it was on purpose. She had been able to see he was studying her reaction, though his face had been cold and inscrutable as ever.
She had filed that away, just as the next touch, and the one after that. She had wanted to file it all away, to be sorted and analyzed. In the end, it had been for nothing. He had not given her the time to process her thoughts. Maybe she had hurried things along herself, by accident, by whirling into place without realizing he had just pilfered bobby pin 1048. She had crashed into him and he had steadied her, before pushing the pin back into her hair.
"Would a kiss be unwelcome?" he had asked.
I don't know. I dislike complications, and I have a thousand things to do today. Also, are you fourteen, or maybe Victorian?
She thought she had rolled her eyes, but she wasn't totally sure of that.
The kiss had not been unwelcome. It hadn't been just a kiss either: they didn't waste time when they had so little to spare.
###
Adrien was insufferable. Not in general, of course. He was a quiet boy, and the living proof that goodness had to be innate, because his father's education was most certainly not teaching him how to keep one's temper in check.
No. He was insufferable since the early morning.
He had ordered Nathalie to arrange a meeting with his father, later during the day, as soon as possible, and "no later than today, please, thank you Nathalie". It was now four in the afternoon, and she had not bothered trying.
When the boy came to knock on her door, she pretended not to hear. She knew it was him: there was a security camera pointed at him. It was his fifth visit of the day. She had better things to do with her time.
He knocked again, then just walked in.
"Nathalie, have you told my father I need to talk to him?" he asked.
You could hear the fury. You could see it. With that frown and that glare, he reminded her a little of sixteen years old Gabriel (he was not nearly frightening and malevolent enough for the ressemblance to be perfect).
"Your father is busy with R&D", she told him.
It was code for "I have no clue where he vanished to, he could be dead in a ditch for all I know, if you find him, send him to me."
"When will he be back?" the child insisted.
"I don't know. Be sure that I will inform him of your request as soon as he returns", she promised.
Never did she say she would convince his father. She could work miracles with a schedule and bend the laws of logistics, but some things were beyond even her abilities.
Adrien didn't answer and looked at her with a coldness she had rarely seen in him. Much like his mother, he was hard to really anger, and always felt guilty a few seconds in. She kept her face neutral, but his attitude did unsettle her. It was unlike him.
"Is there anything else?" she asked.
"Will he be working late tonight?"
"It's likely. I can check his schedule, if you want me to."
"I can wait for him in his office, if he doesn't plan to get home until late."
She sighed.
"Do you want me to try and call him?"
There was a glint in Adrien's eyes. She didn't like it.
"Please", he said.
She was willing to bet that he had tried and that his father had not picked up. If Gabriel took her call after ignoring his son, there would be hell to pay. She called anyway.
She let the phone ring once, twice, thrice, and hung up.
"As you can see, he is busy", she announced. "I will try again later."
Adrien lowered his eyes, sighing.
"Thank you, Nathalie", he murmured, hesitating in front of the door.
He stared at the phone, obviously waiting for his father to return the call. He was counting the seconds. She idly wondered if she could disconnect the cables with a kick, and if she would be noticed.
It took less than twenty seconds for Gabriel to call back. Nathalie pursed her lips. Adrien gave her a look of betrayal and loathing, and just left.
She picked up.
"Your son wants to talk to you", she announced over her employer's voice. "I don't think it can wait."
###