Chapter Text
It was a bright, beautiful morning in the most beautiful city in the world, and Adrien Agreste was fucking furious.
Planted in front of the doors to Collège Françoise Dupont like a particularly well-coiffed theme park statue, he returned each of his classmates' greetings with a tight nod and an even tighter grin. Nino had been waiting for him when his car pulled up to the curb, but he'd asked his friend to go on alone. One look at Adrien and his stitched-on smile, and the other boy had backed away slowly, as though arguing might provoke him to charge like a bull at the scent of a crimson cape.
The bell for homeroom had come and gone by the time Marinette came tearing up the sidewalk, an assortment of items spilling from her backpack as she spluttered apologies to passerby.
When she saw him, she froze—face red, mouth open, pupils shrinking to pinpricks—but Adrien was already hurtling down the steps.
"Hey, Marinette. I know you’re late, but can I talk to you for a second?”
"Wuh," she said faintly. "Sure—s-sure, Adrien, what can I do you for, I mean, what can I do for y—"
"I have to tell you something before you hear it from the rest of our class.” Adrien leaned a fraction closer, distantly registering the flush across her cheeks. “Père is making me take Lila to the gala next week."
She blinked, and then her expression flattened. Dropping her gaze to the concrete pavement, she knelt, scrabbling for her lost possessions. Adrien bent to help her, then slowly retracted his fingers as Marinette skidded away from him and rocketed to her feet.
"That Fashion Week party in the 1st arrondissement?"
"You know about it?"
"Yeah," she muttered. "Since when does your dad even like Lila?"
"Since that stunt she pulled with Kagami,” he replied flatly. “They had a heart to heart at my house, apparently. I guess he decided it was fine for her to stick around.”
"Okay, um. Okay. Wow.” Marinette balanced her bag on one knee and unceremoniously stuffed her belongings into it—pencils, homework, books, phone, and a monogrammed notebook she quickly shoved out of sight. “We are talking about the same Lila, right? The one that broke into your house and tried to drop you off the Eiffel Tower?”
“I don’t know what he’s thinking, Marinette. I’m sorry.”
That was a lie, at least in part. Adrien could predict his father’s changes of mind the way he could smell a storm before it blackened the horizon. If he decided something, then Gabriel decided against it. It happened with the consistency of clockwork, and arguing the point with the back of his father’s head was rarely worth his wasted breath.
Marinette looked back at him with genuine sympathy, her abused backpack clutched to her chest.
“Well,” she mumbled, “thanks for telling me, anyway.”
"I just needed you to know that it wasn’t my idea.” Pausing, Adrien studied her more closely. Marinette looked precisely as adorable as always, marshmallow pink from head to toe in a cable-knit sweater and matching flats. But her eyes were ringed with bruise-colored shadows, visible even through her concealer, and her shoulders drooped in a tiny slump as she considered the climb to the doors above them.
“I’m more worried about how you’re doing,” he said. “How did it go, talking to Alya?”
A pause. Marinette fidgeted restlessly, scuffing her shoe across a crack in the sidewalk.
“Lila threatened me in the bathroom about two months ago," she said at last. "I told Alya, and it finally got a reaction out of her. She knows I wouldn't make up a story like that."
The questions she did what? and this was when? and Marinette, what the actual fuck? came surging to the forefront of Adrien’s consciousness, but he bit them back for a better time, nausea welling in the pit of his stomach.
"Okay," he said slowly. "Okay, that's good."
"She said she believed me and that she’d keep her distance from Lila, but now I kind of feel like I shouldn’t have brought it up at all." Marinette looked away, not meeting his eyes. "I don't want to be the reason Alya becomes an outcast.”
A raw canker swelled inside him at the sight of Marinette so utterly diminished. They might not have been as close as he'd have liked, but his fondness for her ran bone deep. Her bright laugh and nervous smile were the illuminating spark in his softer memories, and their absence made his stomach twist, like a snake biting down on the end of its own tail.
“It’s really been that bad?” he asked stupidly.
When Marinette didn't respond, he reached for her shoulder, smiling tentatively as her head snapped up and her face turned the color of a ripe tomato.
“It’s fine, Adrien. I've dealt with worse.” She spoke too quietly to attribute to shyness. "I just wish that I knew it was actually going to get better. I mean—"
She sighed, shoulders hunched as she made herself small—and Adrien hated it.
"I-I mean, no one could ever dislike you. You’re always so nice to everyone, you know? But I didn't even have friends in class before you and Alya enrolled this year. And I’ve known most of our classmates since we were kids." Her voice dropped until she was barely audible. "It’s not that I need them to do something for me. I just didn't think that they'd drop me like garbage the second Lila arrived on the scene.”
Adrien stared at her in disbelief, mouth working around soundless words.
The truth was, he'd noticed this new level of absence. But Marinette had always been prone to canceling plans, and she seemed her usual cheerful self with him and Alya and Nino at lunch. It was only amongst themselves that they found themselves wondering, repeating excuses well-worn with use:
I think she’s doing extra credit? To make up for missed classes.
She said she was reworking her portfolio. Some contest she wants to do.
Her parents asked her to help out after school.
She’s busy, Adrien.
She told me she’s busy.
It seemed that none of them knew what was happening to Marinette. Nobody knew where she went when she left school, vanishing out the door and down the central steps before the rest of them could finish clearing their desks. Nobody had asked why she’d stopped attending their outings to the movies or the park or the public pool. Nobody had noticed that she barely spoke in class.
And they were supposed to be her friends. How much worse must it be from the others? From those with no reason not to believe Lila when she called her a bully, an airhead, a liar?
As Marinette turned away with a tiny “see you later” and trudged up the steps towards the oaken doors, a kernel of shame extended its roots through the bitter mire in Adrien’s gut.
The time for smiling through Lila’s advances had passed. The time for treating her with kindness had passed. The time for hoping she’d show a glimmer of remorse towards Nathalie or Kagami or Ladybug or Marinette—or hell, towards him, the boy she supposedly loved, but had lied to so often and in so many ways he could scarcely untangle the first from the last—had well and truly flown.
Lila Rossi wanted to go out?
Oh, please. He’d take her out.
“If you’re going to try to talk me out of it, Plagg, now’s the time.”
“Talk you out of what? The first good idea you’ve had in months?” Plagg’s voice drifted from his top dresser drawer, where he was currently in the process of scrounging for food and wreaking bloody havoc on Adrien’s clean socks. “Oh, no, kitten, I’m dying to see this. The only way you’re not going through with it is if you pry the satisfaction from my cold, dead claws.”
“Look,” Adrien muttered, “I know that it’s petty.”
“This from the kid that got a guy akumatized by lying about being Ladybug’s boyfriend. That wasn’t petty, but I guess this is.”
Adrien glared at himself in the mirror and tightened his tie with sweaty fingers. His nose itched, but he couldn’t scratch it for fear of rubbing off his foundation. Makeup was hell. Suits were hell. Adrien’s idea of a rollicking good time involved breaking bones and leaping off buildings, not drinking Schweppes from a fancy glass and talking to racists four times his age.
“You don't think I'm making a mistake?” he asked.
“Greater good, blah blah; just desserts, blah blah; protecting your girlfriend, blah blah blah. The long and short of it is, we hate Lila’s guts. Trust me on this one, it’s gonna be fun.”
Fixing his reflection—his perfumed, airbrushed, perfectly styled reflection—with a critical eye, Adrien stepped back and tousled his hair, flicking a few stray strands across his forehead.
“We’re not doing this for fun, Plagg. We’re doing this for justice.”
“But we’re still gonna crush her like a soda can, right? Good. Great. Glad we’re on the same page.” Polishing off the last of his snack, Plagg zipped into Adrien’s collar and hid himself in his inside breast pocket. “A little bit of spine looks good on you, kitten. Maybe that girl you’re so smitten with will think so, too.”
“I’m not smitten with Marinette,” said Adrien patiently.
“I didn’t mention any names.” Despite the dampening effect of Adrien’s jacket, Plagg’s voice was unmistakably smug. “But of course, cataclysming Lila’s credibility in public has nothing whatsoever to do with Marinette.”
“Shut up."
It was in no way a denial, and both of them knew it. But Gorilla was already waiting at the curb with the car, and Nathalie had to brief him before he stepped out the door. Sparing one last glance at the mirror in his closet, Adrien grabbed his phone from the top of his dresser and hurried into the upstairs hallway.
Lucky for him, justice looked just as good in black tie as it did in black leather, and he was five minutes flat to being fashionably late.
The party started as parties usually did: in a pleasant reverie of lights and laughter, tinkling glasses and tittering conversation, men and women mingling like hummingbirds on an open floor the size of a stadium.
His father—flawlessly dressed in a crimson vest and a cream-colored suit—excused himself soon after they arrived, disappearing into a closed boardroom with Nathalie close on his heels. The press, of course, was omnipresent as ever: news reporters, journalists, and a handful of revelers in nondescript dress who followed Adrien everywhere he went, smartphones blinking behind glasses of white wine.
He could work with that. He always did.
Adrien knew that he looked like he belonged there. He looked the way only a six-stylist team and a full face of makeup could make a person look, in his tailored vest and open collar and dumb little necktie like a leash around his throat. He looked like money, and he looked like a mark, and he looked like the exact sort of mutton-brained idiot that would lap up a line as obvious as—
“Oh my god, that’s Alessandra Palazzi! I had no idea she’d be here herself, it’s usually her consultant who goes to these things. I wonder if she remembers me from my internship last summer.”
Lila was glued to Adrien’s right side, hands tucked comfortably into his elbow. There was nothing possessive about her touch or the polite distance between their bodies; but every so often she'd dance her nails up his arm, or rest her head against his shoulder as she giggled at something he said. The perfect thing to imply intimacy. The perfect image of a newly minted couple keeping their hands to themselves while the cameras were rolling.
It turned Adrien’s stomach, but he simply smiled, letting no sign of it show in his face.
“That’s amazing, Lila! I had no idea that you were studying fashion. It must have been a challenge to do the work remotely.”
“Oh—yes.” Lila beamed back at him, her smile intact, though her grip tightened minutely around his upper arm. “It was pretty hard to sit in on the weekly meetings—because of time zones, you know. But the director was kind enough to make an exception after she reviewed my portfolio.”
“I’ve only worked with her as a model, but I know how high Madame Palazzi’s standards are.” Adrien nodded at the designer in question, raising his voice just enough to draw her attention. “Shall we go over there now? I’m sure your old mentor would love to catch up.”
“Ah—that’s okay, Adrien. It looks like she’s in the middle of another conversation, and I wouldn’t want to—”
“Madame Palazzi!” Tugging his arm free—gently enough for it to seem unintended—he crossed the room in long, confident strides, Lila skittering after him as the crowd parted ranks in surprise.
As Palazzi turned, a broad smile of recognition curving her brightly lipsticked mouth, Adrien let his own grin widen and draped an arm around Lila’s stiff shoulders.
“Why, Adrien! What a surprise and pleasure to see you here, young man.” Embracing him warmly, Palazzi planted a kiss on each of his cheeks before straightening to her full height. “How long has it been? Surely not a full year! I must speak to Gabriel about clearing your schedule. You’re growing more and more handsome by the minute.”
“It’s so good to see you again, madame. I’m sure my father sends his regards.” With a megawatt smile, Adrien ushered Lila forward. “And you already know my friend, Lila Rossi. She told me you loved her work last year.”
Deer: meet headlights.
The blank expression on Palazzi’s face was almost as priceless as the starburst of panic in Lila's eyes, her hands white-knuckled as they fisted into her dress.
“I’m afraid not, Adrien,” Palazzi said delicately. “I don’t believe the two of us are acquainted.”
“Oh—you wouldn’t remember me,” Lila interjected, with a loud, bright laugh that grated like a gunshot. “I did my internship remotely while travelling, and my health issues forced me to leave the program a few weeks in.”
It was like watching a car crash in slow motion. If Adrien was being frank with himself, he didn’t have the best track record when it came to honesty—secret identity, superheroing, blah blah his dad blah blah—but at least he knew where to cut his losses. It was morbidly fascinating to watch Lila dig herself deeper with every word that fell from her mouth, now that she was up against a grown adult instead of starry-eyed schoolchildren without reputations to protect.
Why did you come home late yesterday, Adrien?
What were you doing with your phone tracking turned off?
My rules were clear. You know the consequences.
Yes, père.
“A remote internship? Mademoiselle, you must be mistaken. What year and what cycle did you apply in?”
Before Lila could respond, Adrien turned towards her, infusing his voice with all the artificial sympathy he could muster.
“Oh, Lila, how awful. Why didn’t you tell me? I’d hate for your talents to go unseen because of a condition that you have no control over.” Slipping his phone from his pocket, he embarked on a marathon of one-handed typing. Lila gaped at the sleek device as though he'd whipped a pistol out of his briefs, but he continued blithely, pretending not to notice. “I’m going to send a public message to Madame Palazzi’s director of interns. I’m sure they still have your portfolio on file.”
“It’s alright, Adrien,” Lila squeaked. “Don’t go to the trouble on my behalf.”
“It’s no trouble at all. See, already sent.” Flipping his phone screen towards the two women, Adrien flashed his brightest grin. “I added a couple of the other designers I worked with last summer. If Madame Palazzi doesn’t have mentorship open, maybe one of my father’s colleagues will.”
Lila’s complexion went pale as chalk. Safely tucked out of sight inside his jacket, Plagg snickered against his chest.
“You don’t mind if we go and talk to Jagged, do you? Maybe you could introduce us personally. He’s my favorite performer, I’ve been his fan forever.”
Lila’s mouth grew tighter and tighter, and Adrien could practically see the mental gymnastics taking place behind her eyes. He blinked back at her, shining with innocence, exuding excitement from every pore. Finally, she caved, a watery smile straining her lips as her gaze flitted nervously around the spotlit hall.
“Of course, Adrien. But don’t be surprised if he doesn’t remember me on sight. It has been a while, and I’m sure he meets lots of people in the course of a career like his.”
“Thank you so much, Lila, I really owe you one.”
And with that, Adrien whipped out his phone, flicking on his camera recorder as Lila blanched the color of an soft-boiled egg.
“Hey everyone! It’s Adrien again, and I’m at Paris Fashion Week with my friend Lila Rossi.” He swivelled the camera to catch them both in the frame, waving at their invisible audience while Lila hastened to clamp her mouth shut. “Thanks to Lila, who rescued Jagged’s kitten from an airplane runway last year, I’m about to meet my number one musical inspiration! Say hi, Lila, you’re on stream.”
“Hi,” choked Lila, graduating to a color midway between white and sulfurous green.
Channeling Chat Noir to the best of his ability, Adrien winked and pivoted on his heel, holding his phone with the lens facing outwards as he made a beeline towards the nearest cluster of reporters.
“Adrien, wait.” Lila started after him frantically, her eyes fixed to the flashing cameras that hovered around Jagged like a cloud of electric fireflies. “It looks like he’s busy, maybe we can talk to him later—”
“There he is, guys. I think I’m gonna ask him to sign my forehead for me. Increases my net worth by at least five grand, am I right?” Adrien winked at the camera again. “I’m heading over now, so wish me luck! Excuse me, Mr. Stone!”
Jagged Stone lifted his head, kohl-lined eyes crinkling as Adrien joined him on the crimson carpet. His outfit was even more flamboyant than usual: purple jacket with silver epaulettes and matching studs stitched into the sleeves; skin-tight leather pants; and steel-toed combat boots liberally draped with chains.
Nice. Maybe he could bribe Plagg into giving Chat ones like that.
“Adrien, right? You’re Marinette’s school friend. I recognize you from those fashion posters she’s got in her room.”
“That’s me,” he said warmly. “Marinette and I are big fans of your music, Jagged. I loved her cover for your latest album.”
“Glad to hear it, kid. Anything specific I can do for you?”
“I’ll get a signature off you later, but for now, I thought you and Lila might like a chance to catch up.” Adrien turned and grinned over his shoulder, aiming his phone at where Lila stood frozen just inside the broken circle of cameras. “She told me all about how she rescued your kitten last year.”
“My what now?”
“Your kitten. From an airplane runway? The blast of the engines gave her tinnitus.”
“Well now, my condolences on your friend’s accident, but that can’t be right. I’ve never owned a cat in my life.” Jagged glanced at Lila, his eyes passing over her without recognition, before looking back at Adrien with a puzzled smile. “Love the little assholes, but I’m deathly allergic. And now I’ve got Fang, so it’s never gonna happen.”
Adrien paused just long enough to seem believable, making sure to inject a stutter into his voice as he spoke again.
“O-oh, well, I must have misunderstood her. I’m sorry for assuming, Jagged. I thought you two knew each other, and I was so excited to finally meet you, and I begged her to—God, I must sound like some kind of idiot.”
Even without seeing his own face, he knew he looked as crushed as he sounded. It was, admittedly, a little bit embarrassing to be playing the fool on his own social media, but Lila wasn’t the only one who could flash wounded eyes in front of a crowd.
A big crowd, if his climbing view count was any indication.
“It’s all good, kid. No skin off my back. I’m happy to meet both you and your classmate.” Noticing the blinking red dot on Adrien’s phone screen, Jagged struck a dramatic pose, grinning widely into the camera. “Any friend of Marinette’s is a friend of mine.”
Plastering a smile across her pale face, Lila let Adrien wrap an arm around her shoulder and pull her in for the umpteenth selfie of the night.
The last person on Adrien’s list was, undoubtedly, the most difficult to approach.
Not because he was getting tired of this. Not because he was getting bored. He was having nothing less than the time of his life leading his erstwhile stalker around by the nose, like a dancing bear on a digital leash.
But of all the shining ghosts he'd chased over the years—all the empty names and titles he'd courted at his father’s behest—Ladybug was the one person whose judgment Adrien cared about. The one famous face whose continued good opinion he valued more highly than his weight in gold; whose every smile and spoken word he cradled to his chest like an infant flame.
And god, the way she was looking tonight—shining black hair pulled back to her nape to show off the miraculous gleaming in her ears; blue eyes bright behind her spotted mask; lips cherry-red with the faintest touch of lipstick—talking about Lila Rossi was the last thing on Adrien’s mind.
Apparently, Lila thought the same, because the instant she laid eyes on the Hero of Paris, she grabbed Adrien’s wrist and dug in her heels, trying to drag him in the opposite direction.
The abject fear that flooded her eyes could almost have stirred a flicker of pity, if not for the searing, sickening memory that swelled between his ribs like a calcified tumor.
She’d tricked him into leaving his lady. Tricked him as Chat Noir, just like she’d tricked him as Adrien. Convinced him that she was in danger just to distract him from his duties, when all the while it was Ladybug who needed him; Ladybug who was fighting Kagami; Ladybug who could have been fucking killed while her so-called partner was halfway across the city.
But Adrien didn't know that, so he merely blinked at Lila in confusion, turning blindly in Ladybug’s direction. As though he was any more capable of failing to notice her than he was of unscrewing his head from his own neck, or ripping his still-beating heart from his chest.
Too late for Lila, she’d noticed him, too.
Ladybug made her way towards them unhurriedly, crossing the plush gallery in neat, measured steps. Her crimson dress gleamed beneath the spotlights, accenting her hips and her powerful legs, the black embroidery that bloomed across the bodice matching her heels and fitted gloves. Her neck and shoulders and arms were bare, a perfectly modest window of skin that nonetheless transmogrified his legs to limp spaghetti. Adrien’s heart clambered into his throat and attempted to vacate his body altogether, but he kept himself in check, swallowing moisture into his mouth.
He couldn’t screw this up.
Any other night he could swoon over his partner and be a pining idiot to his heart's content, but Marinette was counting on him to get this right.
He opened his mouth—be funny, be charming, be Chat, god, please—but before he could speak, Lila inserted herself between them, clearly hoping to commandeer the conversation before Adrien could uncover anything incriminating.
“Ladybug, what a wonderful surprise! I still can’t thank you enough for saving me from that supervillain.” She had her best fake smile pinned to her face, her eyes glittering with fevered intent. “I’ve been dying to thank you in person, but I never expected to see you at Fashion Week. You’re certainly dressed to suit the occasion.”
No doubt the compliment came like pulling teeth, but evidently—for the first time in their fraught acquaintance—Lila was desperate for any opportunity to talk about anyone other than herself.
“Hello, Lila. It certainly is a surprise.” There was something calculated in the sweep of Ladybug's eyes, though it vanished an instant later, her expression warming. “And Adrien, it's good to see you as always.”
“The pleasure’s all mine,” said Adrien shyly, trying to ignore the familiar warmth that blossomed in his chest and in the pit of his stomach.
“I love your dress,” said Lila fervently. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to share which designer dressed you?”
Ladybug tucked one leg behind the other and tossed her fitted skirts, showing off the intricate beading.
“I’m flattered that you like it. Actually, it was a commission from a mutual friend.” She straightened, her smile broad and brilliant. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. You’ve spoken, haven't you?”
Lila stared at her, bug-eyed with horror, while Adrien froze in incredulous delight.
Oh, no.
Oh, this was too good.
Oh, he couldn't have set this up if he'd tried.
“Marinette?” said Lila, hoarse with desperation. “The one in my class? From Tom and Sabine’s?”
“That’s right. She designed and sewed this for me months ago, actually. But crime-fighting doesn’t lend itself to formal wear, does it?”
“Months ago? I had no idea that the two of you were friends.” Adrien’s head spun, shock and glee and burning curiosity mingling in his gut with dizzying effect. “We’re all in the same class, actually, and she’s never claimed to know you personally.”
“Of course not,” said Ladybug slowly. “It’s been hard for her to keep it to herself, I’m sure, but it’s for her own safety and the safety of everyone around her. I would never befriend a civilian who couldn't respect such simple boundaries.”
Lila flushed with rage and humiliation, lips bitten red in her bloodless face.
All at once, a series of strange behaviors and even stranger coincidences clicked into place in Adrien's head, sliding together with seamless clarity:
Marinette reappearing in the middle of class, red-faced and panting, flimsy excuse in hand.
Marinette brushing off Alya’s theories at lunch, a tiny smile playing about her lips.
Marinette tearing outside, claiming she was going to call for help, scant minutes before Ladybug arrived on the scene.
Marinette mumbling about “a really good friend” whom she’d “met online” and “couldn’t introduce to them,” stubbornly refusing to invite them on outings no matter how often they extended the offer.
Marinette storming past him, eyes wet with fury, hands clenched into trembling fists: She’s lying, Adrien. I know that she’s lying. I just know.
Through a giddy fog of realization, the spark of an idea went off in Adrien’s head.
“That makes perfect sense, actually. It’s just a shame she has to keep it quiet.”
Ladybug's gaze seared into his own, and Adrien swallowed. “Marinette told me that her dream is to become a designer. Having your endorsement of her work could open up a lot of opportunities for her.”
“That’s very kind of you, Adrien.” She turned the full force of her smile towards him, and he barely managed to keep his knees from buckling. “Your friend Alya does the Ladyblog, doesn’t she? Maybe you could take a statement on her behalf. I know how hard it is to break into this industry, and it doesn’t feel right to wear my friend’s dress while denying her the chance to be credited for her work.”
“You know,” said Lila, her complexion flickering from red to purple to ghostly white, “I’m actually not feeling very well, Adrien. I hate to impose, but could you escort me to the exit? Maybe you and Ladybug could catch up another time.”
Adrien opened his mouth to argue, but it was Ladybug who responded first—brows lowered, forehead furrowed, voice smooth as oiled silk.
“Oh, Lila, I’m so sorry. Adrien, you should definitely take your friend outside.” She produced her yo-yo from an invisible pocket and flicked open the cover, revealing the digital screen inside. “Don’t worry about the statement. I’ll record it while I’m here and send it to Alya before I leave for the night.”
Lila’s mouth opened and closed soundlessly, then pinched shut like an unstitched seam.
“We’ll go straight away, Ladybug. Thanks for taking the time to talk to us.” Adrien raised his hand in a limp little wave, distantly astonished that he was still standing upright. “I hope you have a good rest of the night.” My lady.
As though she could hear him, her smile widened, and she cocked her head with a mischievous wink.
“I’m sure I will, now that I’ve seen you.”
Barely suppressing a giddy grin—this one little to do with Lila at all—Adrien bid his partner adieu before escorting his company into the night.