Adrien was not used to walking home to find one of his friends talking to his father. The last time it had happened, Nino had ended up possessed.
Being sent to his father's study by Nathalie, with the mention that Marinette was there, had been worrying. But Adrien had walked in to find them working on design and embroidery, quietly and peacefully. This despite the fact that Marinette could not stand Gabriel and had made that clear. This despite the fact that Adrien's father did not take kindly to disrespect, criticism, or human interactions in general.
It was miraculous.
"Father? Marinette?" he greeted them, still a bit incredulous.
Mostly, he felt giddy.
His classmate had already turned to him.
"Ah, you are home," his father commented without looking up from his drawing. "How was your Spanish lesson?"
"It went fine, Father. I, uh, so, uh, you…"
"Miss Dupain-Cheng just accepted to join us for dinner," Gabriel continued. "Why don't the two of you go to your room until it is served? I have to finish this."
He was a fantastic liar. The same could not be said of Marinette. She gaped in shocked panic before going through a series of amazing grimaces. The last was her sucking hers lips in and glaring at the back of Gabriel's head with bulging eyes. She took a long, deep breath then grinned and turned to Adrien.
"It's so very nice of y-your father to have invited me," she said, her smile looking like it was stretched into place by medical instruments.
"That's… yes, very nice," Adrien replied, peeking at his father's profile.
He caught the hint of a smirk, though maybe it was a trick of the light.
"Let's go then," the boy said, smiling to Marinette.
She jumped out of her chair and trotted to him. He put a hand on her shoulder to lead her out of the room. Usually, that would have caused her to fidget in embarrassment, but she was so focused on Adrien's father that she barely noticed the touch. She was fuming, and it took the study's door being out of sight for her to snap out of it. Adrien, who had observed her out of the corner of his eye as they walked, watched her expression move from 'frowny artificial grin' to 'oh my god what I am doing' to 'awkward smile'.
What is going on here? he wondered.
"So, uh, Spanish?" she said. "Was it a, er, nice lesson?"
"It went fine," Adrien replied (again). "Nathalie said you wanted to see me?"
She stared at him, wide eyed and paralyzed, then composed herself. She gave him a tired smile.
"I did, actually. I wanted to apologize. Again. Preferably without it ending in a disaster this time."
Adrien stopped.
"Oh," he said.
She took one more step then noticed he was not following. She turned back.
He smiled.
"It's… okay?" he told her. "I mean, you obviously sorted things out with my father. I think."
Marinette burst into nervous laughter.
"Oh, that. Yes. So-when-is-dinner-served-exactly? I have to call my parents to tell them when I'll get home."
That was smooth.
"Seven?" Adrien replied, distractedly, too busy wondering what had unfolded between his dad and his friend.
Marinette fumbled for her phone, conveniently turning away from him.
Plagg popped out of under his shirt and stared at the girl. Adrien shoved him back down with a wave of panic. He mouthed a 'what are you doing?' and closed his shirt, praying for Marinette not to have noticed his Kwami. Plagg struggled against him and passed through the cloth, darting to the ceiling to observe them. All his chosen could do was suck his cheeks in and try to keep his eyes' wideness in the "small to moderate" range of "saucer size".
He grabbed Marinette's wrist, dragging her to his room and away from Plagg. She stumbled after him, dropped her phone and kicked it away as she tried to catch it with her foot.
They watched the phone hit the wall and bounce on the floor, screen shattered.
"Aaaaghhhneeeeeehhh," Marinette squealed, hiding her face in her hands.
"I. I. I'll buy you another," Adrien exclaimed. "I. Right now. Let's go to Nathalie. What was the model? I'm so so so so so so sorry."
"Itsfine," she mumbled from behind her hands. "Happensallthetime."
"Really?"
She nodded. A dozen times.
"It totally was my fault," he pointed out, putting his hand on hers to pry them away from her face.
Blue eyes stared up at him, from above a vivid blush of mortification. He smiled to her and let her go, crouching to pick the phone up instead.
"Nathalie should still be at her desk," he told his friend. "Come on."
Thirty minutes later, a delivery man handed a box to Nathalie and fidgeted into place as she opened it, inspected the contents, and handed Marinette her replacement phone. Nathalie had ordered it through the internet, after uttering exactly four syllables: "I see. Alright". The syllables had come with a lot of typing and some inspecting of Marinette's broken smartphone, of course.
By the time they were done transferring SD cards, configuring mail accounts, and downloading applications, dinner was served. Adrien and Marinette ended up sitting next to each other at the dinner table, at the opposite end of Gabriel's empty chair, with the phone between their plates.
"And that's just it," Adrien explained about one of the games he had recommended. "You put food and toys in the garden, and the cats arrive."
"It's so cute! Does the same thing exist with hamsters? I love hamsters."
"Let's check," he replied, swiping back to the app store.
Marinette watched him scroll through pages of results, leaning closer and closer to the screen and to him.
"I will pay you back, of course," she told him when he reached page nine.
"You don't need to! It's my fault your phone fell."
"I want to. I kicked it. I kicked it. And I have several orders waiting, so it's not like I cannot afford to pay."
"Orders?"
"Yes! Two hats, a logo, and a custom doll for Manon's birthday."
That got Adrien to wince in recollection - dolls - but his friend did not notice.
"And I have gotten three other enquiries I still have to reply to. Between the Jagged Stone thing and the hat and accessories you modeled, I have gotten a lot of exposure."
"Not undeserved," Gabriel's voice commented, as Adrien's father walked into the room.
He did not look at them, walking straight to his seat at the end of the table. His empty plate was waiting for him, and he served himself his own food from the bowls and pans left on the table.
Marinette had gone rigid. She had been smiling as she talked to Adrien, but that smile turned sharp and sugary at once.
"Thank you, mister Agreste. That's a lot of praise coming from you."
Adrien's father looked up from his plate after serving himself a slice of roast beef.
"I give praise where praise is due," he replied. "You have skill. On that note, would you consider coming back to my company to finish your internship? I'm sure we can put the… past… behind us."
Adrien moved back on his chair and turned to Marinette, who straightened up. Her smile did not falter. Her eyes were defiant, and her chin tilted up.
"That's so very nice of you to give me that opportunity, mister Agreste!" she said. "I really appreciate it. But, as I was just telling Adrien, I have orders to finish before we get back to school, and plans with my friends on top of that."
Next to her, her friend was gaping. It was like watching snakes fight. Not that Adrien had any idea if snakes fought or what the fights looked like.
His father, who had given Marinette an opportunity she could not refuse, yet had , did not even look offended by her answer. He was amused . He liked seeing her resist him.
"I see. That's a shame," Gabriel declared, focusing on his food.
"OH!" Marinette exclaimed, turning to Adrien. She beamed at him. "Now that I think about it, I'm seeing Alya and Nino tomorrow. We're having a 'board games' afternoon at my place. It would be so nice if you could come!" - She looked at his father out of the corner of her eye, with an assessing squint that clashed with her light, enthusiastic tone. - "If you have some free time, that is."
The boy stared at her with wide eyes, so he would not stare at his dad with terrified eyes.
"I-"
"I'm sure that can be arranged," Gabriel cut in, slicing his meat in neat little cubes. "Actually, why don't the four of you spend the afternoon here?"
Marinette opened and closed her mouth, blatantly horrified.
"T-that…" - She collected herself and grinned. - "Why not? My room can get a little cramped. Thank you, mister Agreste."
"I suppose I might as well give 'Nino' a chance to correct the first impression he gave, since I'm hearing such praise."
"You will love Nino once you get to know him," Marinette replied, in a tone that sounded more like an order than a comment.
Adrien's father took a bite of his meat, remaining both elegant and composed.
"As long as he is on his best behavior," he commented, "I don't see why not."
That was unfair .
Whenever Adrien's behavior had even slightly resembled impertinence, whenever he had tried to push the envelope, his father had immediately put him in his place. Gabriel had always been harsh and uncompromising, and his son had always backed down in the end. He had fought so hard for the things he wanted most, like being allowed to go to school, that he had considered the trivial a lost cause, be it birthday parties or time together.
Meanwhile, Marinette did not just push for what she wanted, she shoved , and Gabriel liked her all the more for it.
Adrien sighed and smiled. Well. He would have to take a leaf out of her book.
"You will like him, Father," he said. Then, not letting Gabriel the time to answer, he turned to his classmate. "So, at what time will you be coming?"
He was all too aware of his father's eyes studying him, but pretended not to notice he was being observed. He spent the rest of the meal discussing Marinette's plans for the next day. Gabriel let them speak, though he seemed to be listening in.
Once dinner was over, Adrien escorted Marinette back to the gates, as she had to go home.
"He never invited you to dinner, did he?" he asked right after they walked out of the house. "He just dropped it on you to force your hand."
His friend froze, face twisting in a grimace of horror.
"What?" she squeaked with a nervous giggle. "I-"
"You can just tell me, you know. I have eyes."
She deflated, sighing.
"He did. He did. "
Adrien studied her face. She avoided his eyes, but looked more tired than guilty.
He rocked on his heels.
"It's kind of impressive how you can shove back when he pushes you. Not many people manage that, not even adults."
"I have to shove back. You can't give him an inch, or he'll walk all over you."
Adrien did not answer, looking at her and waiting for her to continue talking.
"It's like Chloé," Marinette ranted. "She bullies her way through everything, and why wouldn't she? It works ! It used to work on me until I started calling her out on it." - She huffed. - "Except it's not exactly the same with your dad. With Chloé, if you fight back, you see she's just empty air. Your father… He starts giving you leeway because he thinks you won it."
Once her tirade was over, she realized what she had just said, and slammed her mouth shut, eyes wide. Adrien swallowed a sigh. That sounded like an accurate assessment, though Marinette did not seem to realize how much his father liked her to begin with, and what of an advantage it gave her.
"I-I-I'm sorry," she stuttered. She turned away, lowering her head. "I should not talk like that about your dad."
Adrien sighed, shaking his head. He patted her shoulder.
"I get where you are coming from. He is not always… nice. But there's more to him than that, I swear."
"I know !" she exclaimed. "That's what irks me! He does not have to act like he does! He knows better ! He can do better! He is not even trying!"
Adrien remembered his talk with his father, when they had discussed Marinette's refusal to apologize and how she knew nothing of their lives. 'I no longer allow myself to underestimate how perceptive teenage girls can be when they set their minds to it', Gabriel had said. He had been so very right.
"He used to," the boy explained. "Without my mom, he… Anyway, he's doing better, lately."
Marinette did not point out that the 'lately' had started after she had taken it upon herself to scream at Gabriel. She studied his face for a second then sighed.
"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I know you love him, and that you'd like me to like him too, but I just… He is…" - She pursed her lips in frustration, looking at the sky. - "I can try to get along with him for you , but I can't likehim unless he does his best."
Silence fell. Adrien hesitated, looking at the empty courtyard. He scratched the back of his neck.
"Maybe just don't yell at him on my behalf? Please? I know you mean well, but it could just make things worse."
She crossed her arms, even though she was trying to look remorseful. It did not quite mix. Actually, the look of remorse was not that good either, and he nearly burst into laughter at her grimace.
"I'll try ," she mumbled.
"Try? Try?" he repeated with a mischievous grin. "Who just said the words 'he knows better, he can do better, he is not even trying'?"
She grimaced in horrified realization, eyes going wide as saucers, mouth doing a… thing.
Adrien did chuckle, this time.
Marinette scratched the back of her neck.
"Alright. I won't yell at him on your behalf. No matter how much I'd like to." - She breathed in. Her expression grew serious. - "The thing is, Adrien… I can go to war against him for you, and I gladly would, but you are the only one who can tell him how you feel. And you should," she told him, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You keep saying how things are difficult for him with your mother gone, and I know you like to put others first, but there's nothing wrong with putting them on the same level as you either."
She snatched her hand away, blushing, and hid it behind her back.
"A-anyway that's just my opinion," she blurted out, turning to the gates.
Adrien watched her take two steps away, her back turned to him. She did not know what to make of her hands, so she flailed a little, ultimately settling for keeping them straight as sticks to her sides.
"Thank you, Marinette," he murmured.
"Oh. Ah. Thanks. I mean you're w-welcome."
Adrien was hit by an overwhelming urge to press himself against her back and wrap his arms around her. He wanted to hold her, he wanted to bury his face in her neck, and he had no idea where that came from. He swallowed, feeling like a ball of steel was making its way down his throat.
"I really need to get back home," she commented. "I meant to work on Manon's doll tonight, it needs to be done by wednesday."
"Do you want me to walk you there? Possibly with the help of a very big and very silent man?"
She turned to him, chuckling.
"No, it's okay, the bakery is not far at all. See you tomorrow?"
"See you tomorrow," he confirmed, cheeks burning.
She left, waving. He watched her hurry down the street (or rather down the forty feet to the corner). He stood by the gates for five minutes more, distractedly patting his fire-hot face. Then he returned to the house, walked through the doors, and leaned against them after closing them.
He was supposed to be in love with Ladybug. Actually, he was in love with Ladybug, with every fiber of his being, except the treacherous one that seemed to fancy Marinette Dupain-Cheng instead.
This was an unexpected turn of events.
He slipped to the floor and spent the next ten minutes thinking. After that, he had to get out of the way of a very puzzled Nathalie who wanted to go home.
###
Twenty year old Gabriel had been famous . A rising star. His work had been on the cover of every fashion magazine and then some. His days had been a succession of shows, interviews and - most people tended to forget about that - good old-fashioned business management. He had not just been building his fame, but a company. His family's fortune was all in stock actions, real estate and technology, and had remained firmly there. Not a centime of it had touched Gabriel's own business: his father had not allowed it.
"Fashion is a hobby ," Olivier had told his son. "I am not about to let you squander what your grandfather has built because you fancy yourself an artist!"
Olivier had died too soon to see his child rise to fame, much to Gabriel's regret. There had been no anger between them, just the expectation that Gabriel would prove himself in time, but the young stylist had long wondered if he could have worked harder and achieved his goals quickly enough for Olivier to witness his success.
He had received his full inheritance at the age of twenty-four, after his mother had died too. By that point, his company had no longer needed monetary help.
At the age of twenty, Gabriel had moved in with Alice, in a luxury apartment he had decorated with impeccable designer furniture that she had promptly covered in pastel cushions and multicolor quilts. And stuffed toys. Dozens of stuffed toys. Mostly cats.
He had packed all of the stuffed toys away, and agreed on a compromise: the cushions and coverlets could stay, as long as she got rid of the plushies. He could not bring business contacts to a house filled with toys.
It had only been after stashing the last box of stuffed cats in their basement that he had realized he had just been tricked into keeping the decoration his fiancée wanted.
That was the story of his relationship with Alice, and he thanked the gods that complete absence of brains of his only surfaced in her company. He had a lot more business sense the rest of the time. That being said, from their first date, he had been completely at her mercy.
Living together had presented them with some challenges. One of them had been "Anne-Laure Lenoir's constant presence". Another had been "entertaining guests with Alice".
Gabriel's interpretation of proper etiquette did not quite match his fiancée's.
It led to evenings where one found oneself sitting at one's seat at the end of the table, attempting to keep the interest of a business angel without signing oneself into indentured slavery, while one's train of thought was an uninterrupted stream of "Alice, for god's sake, you are the hostess, you take the head seat at the end of the table. How is that complicated? How? We discussed this!".
They had discussed that. And Alice had tried. Gabriel had seen her try. She had spent half an hour sitting where she was supposed to sit, leaning closer and closer to her guests, but still presiding over the dinner. Thirty minutes, then she had squeezed herself between the PDG of Paris-Presse and his wife, to gush over baby pictures of the woman's third grandson. You did not do that. There was a seating arrangement for a reason . You did not flutter around like an overgrown toddler, you did not intrude your guests' personal space, you did not beam at everyone like if you were the sun stolen from the sky, you just did not.
Of course, Alice's interest for the pictures had been so overwhelmingly sincere that the old coot that was Mrs Pepin-Dufour had actually looked pleased. Not that it excused the horrendous breach in etiquette. Gabriel had fumed most of the meal - relenting every time Alice turned that blinding smile to him, as there was more magic in it than in Tikki and Plagg combined - but had been forced to hide his irritation. The business angel he had been talking to, Stephane Lenorman (why had he wanted that snake's money?), had been observing both his and Alice's behavior. The man might have disapproved of Alice's liberties with etiquette, but for Gabriel to appear flustered would have been much worse. So, the young designer had endured.
She had thrown in some physical contact and public displays of affection. At that point, he had known he was being punished. She knew he melted under her touch. She knew it. And everyone could see it, every time, always.
At the end of the dinner, he had watched her shake the hand of every guest, exchange a few last words - the personal, nearly intimate words one would have expected from an old friend - then close the door and turn to him.
He had exploded.
"WHAT. WAS. THAT? We had talked about this! We agreed it was a serious event!"
"You agreed with yourself, Gabriel," she had replied, dropping a kiss on his cheek as she made her way past him.
That had kept him silent and perfectly still for twenty seconds.
"I definitely started enjoying the evening more after everyone flocked to Alice," Plagg had chimed in. "All of that money talk. I don't get why you humans care about money that much."
" Plagg. "
The kwami had yawned and landed on the dinner table to sniff for cheese.
"What. Was. That?" Gabriel had asked again, following his fiancée to the bathroom.
"You were being grumpy. There is an acceptable level of grumpy," she had replied, poking his nose with a hand that also held a hairbrush. "You had gone past that level."
"I was being professional! You don't know what those people are like. It's already a wonder we did not get snide comments about living in sin."
"Those people were perfectly nice, Gabriel," Alice had retorted, brushing her hair with a pleasant smile on her lips.
He had pinched the bridge of his nose.
"You think I am perfectly nice."
"No, I don't. I think you can be perfectly nice when you bother trying . It's not nearly the same thing."
That statement had been followed by one of Tikki's giggles.
Gabriel had crossed his arms.
Alice had raised her eyebrows, watching him in the mirror as she braided her hair.
After a few moments of that, he had sighed.
"Please listen to me the next time," he had murmured.
"Please be less grumpy the next time. I am not kidding. Those people could have spent a better friday night elsewhere. They bothered coming. If they had spent a terrible evening, they would not have bothered again. You cannot be all business all the time, Gabriel. And if you have to be, then you have to trust me to take care of the rest."
He had pursed his lips.
"Boy!" Plagg had shouted from the dining room. "You trust that girl with your life. You can trust her with smalltalk."
"He has a point," Tikki had added, landing on the sink.
"Could the two of you not butt in?" Gabriel had snapped.
Not that it ever worked.
"I will stop butting in when you provide me with camembert!" Plagg had shouted back. "Because I can't find any ."
"Have you looked in the fridge?"
"I can't open the fridge!"
"Need I remind you that you can phase through solid objects?"
"Are you telling me I should lock myself in chilly, absolute darkness to eat because you won't bother opening a door?" Plagg had retorted.
Gabriel had taken a long look at Alice, who was still braiding her hair with a serene expression, then he had stormed to the kitchen to open the fridge.
"Good," his Kwami had drawled, diving straight to the cheeses.
Gabriel had chewed the inside of his cheeks and quietly walked to the living room, to sit on the sofa, in perfect stillness. A bit later, his fiancée had joined him. She had squeezed herself between the armrest and him, moving one of her pastel cushions out of the way, then trailed kisses over his shoulder.
"I am having lunch with Mrs Pepin-Dufour and her granddaughter tomorrow," she had announced. "She's getting married - big ceremony, no expense spared - and Mrs Pepin-Dufour thinks she would love your style. I am to bring your bridal dresses sketches and my charming young fiance."
Gabriel had tilted his head to the side. He had known about Jessica Pepin's engagement. It was a big event. She was the heiress of a media empire.
"How did you manage that?"
"I don't know, Gabriel. It's almost like I'm nice."
###