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Adrien Agreste is exactly fourteen years old the first time he receives a personal present from his father.
It’s a blue cashmere scarf, and despite the fact it’s the end of summer and 32 degrees Celsius outside, he wears it religiously for days (until Nathalie politely but bluntly tells him his sweat is going to discolor the fabric). He reluctantly allows her to hand it off to one of his father’s employees for a careful, proper cleaning, and when he gets it back, he (subtly) inspects it for any damage.
To his slight disappointment, the cinnamon and sugar smell it had when he first opened the box it was wrapped in has disappeared.
He’s fifteen and a half when he realizes the scarf isn’t a present from his father at all, not that he’s surprised or even all that upset by this point. His father’s coldness and neglect have only increased exponentially of late. If anything, Adrien is a bit relieved to find that the scarf’s sentimental value has only grown when he finds out it’s a gift from his dear friend, Marinette. (And if he’s a little embarrassed when he asks her to hold onto it at her house for a few days so it can get that cinnamon-sugar smell back, she doesn’t let on that she can tell.)
He’s fifteen and three-quarters when he stops considering Nathalie his surrogate mother. Even if he’s always comforted himself that she “tries her best,” he can’t deny any longer that, in reality, the person she cares about first and foremost isn’t him, and if she shows any sign of emotional attachment, he’s pretty sure it has at least something to do with whose son he is, rather than who he is as a person.
By this point, he’s stop expecting anything on his birthday other than expensive pens with his gold-engraved name on them from either her or his father. He thanks whatever force of luck is out there (perhaps embodied in his favorite spotted bug) that he has friends who care about him enough to gift him thoughtful, inexpensive, and sometimes ridiculous presents. (Like that time when Nino nearly split his sides laughing as he watched Adrien open a gift bag to find a specialized snuggie for men’s... nether regions. Good one, bro.)
And he finds himself slowly growing closer to another person he would never have expected. It turns out, when the giant, silent, but slightly scary man in charge of your safety carts you around all day (and looks the other way when you want to sneak off with your friends, buys your pastries from your favorite bakery and sneaks them to you when your father’s assistant isn’t looking, and hugs you protectively (if awkwardly) on the rare occasion the stress of your life sends you into a panic attack), you begin to appreciate him as a human being. In Adrien’s case, he started to appreciate the man as more than just a human being--he became almost like a surrogate father. Even if he never really spoke or showed much facial expression, he was still leagues ahead of the man who actually helped make him.
So it is that, on his sixteenth birthday, Adrien can’t help but shed a few years when he climbs into the back of his chauffered vehicle to head to school and finds a carefully wrapped package on the seat.
It’s not an expensive fountain pen, or a scarf, or even a snuggie for his Johnson. It’s a small box, stuffed with tissue paper, and inside is something even tinier, triangular shaped.
It’s a guitar pick.
Adrien looks up, slightly awed and slightly confused, and meets his bodyguard’s eyes in the mirror. The man is as silent and stoic as ever, but there’s a distinct twinkle in his eyes before he glances suggestively down.
Excited, Adrien pulls out the rest of the onion skin-thin paper at the bottom of the box and finds a slip of paper with some writing.
“The rest is in the trunk.”
His bright green eyes flash with something childlike as he looks again at the rearview mirror. The aging man meets his gaze, but doesn’t say anything. Quickly and clumsily, Adrien climbs out of the car and walks round to the back. The trunk door obediently pops open, revealing a guitar within, big red bow tied around the neck.
He reaches down and softly, carefully, and brushes his fingers over the metal strings.
He’s played all kinds of instruments in the past, but his father has always forbid him from pursuing any other them. The piano is classical, elegant. The guitar is the vehicle of rock and roll, and chaos. There is nothing respectable about it, apparently. Adrien vaguely recalls his father sneering and citing Jagged Stone as an example of the guitar’s lack of finesse. He also recalls biting his tongue about how much he loved Jagged Stone’s music.
The guitar doesn’t look incredibly pricey, but then again, he is only a beginner, anyway, and he probably would feel uncomfortable accepting something expensive from someone who is sort of his employee. Behind the guitar and tucked away further toward the back of the trunk is a small amp and some cables, enough to get started.
Aware that he is going to be late to school if he doesn’t hurry, Adrien resists the desire to pick up the instrument and test it out, and reluctantly shuts the lid to the trunk. He crawls again into the back of the car, but instead of sitting down, he kneels on the leather and presses up against the driver’s side chair. His arms extend forward and around high up near the headrest, not quite closing over the surprised man’s chest as Adrien hugs him. Once again, their eyes meet in the mirror.
The young blond can’t keep the smile from his face.
“Thanks, Gorilla.”
The older man doesn’t smile, but there’s a softening in his blank expression. He grunts, then turns to the steering wheel and shifts the car into first gear. Adrien sits back and stares out the window as the car pulls out of the drive, the small, thin pick smooth and cool in his hand.
When he steps out of the car to walk into school, he distinctly hears a gravelly, “Happy birthday, Adrien,” before the door shuts.
There’s an event one day close to the end of the school year in which students are supposed to create a presentation over what career they hope to enter. Adrien is perturbed to realize he has no idea what he wants to do with his life. He doesn’t particularly enjoy being a model, and even if he did, his career will likely be over within the next ten to fifteen years. Middle-aged models aren’t exactly in high demand. Even the former teen heartthrobs whose daddies are fashion moguls.
He’s halfway to another anxiety attack when Arnaud (for so he eventually learned was the Gorilla’s name, though he still fondly calls him by his affectionate moniker) picks him up princess-style and carries him to smallest space in his bedroom-- a niche in the walk-in closet.
(It was discovered somewhere along the way that small spaces are comforting when he’s close to a panic.)
The fact that he’s supposed to be in the middle of a piano lesson, and that he still hasn’t finished his physics homework, or even begun to start thinking about the work his Chinese tutor left behind, doesn’t matter. The tall, burly man deposits his comparatively small charge into the niche, then promptly walks out of the closet and returns quickly with several items in hand.
There’s a heavy blanket, which he draws tightly around the boy for added comfort, a pair of stress balls that look likes breasts (they’re another gag gift from Nino, but they’re surprisingly pleasing to knead when he’s feeling anxious), and a package of some particularly tough chewing gum. Adrien’s known for gnashing his teeth in moments of intense stress, and not only does the gum help protect his teeth, the sensation of crushing it between his jaws is relieving. The last item in Arnaud’s hands is a simple breathing mask. It looks like something Bane would wear, but if he progresses to a full-on attack, the apparatus helps calm his breathing.
Adrien shoves a stick of the gum in his mouth, holding the blanket close as he hugs his knees close to his chest, gripping aggressively at the fake breasts in his hands. His slightly ragged breathing begins to stabilize, and his whole body seems to slump in relief, sagging sideways against the wall. He doesn’t quit kneading just yet, though.
Arnaud watches him intently, and Adrien does his best to smile, but it’s a tired, wan little thing.
“Thanks, Gorilla,” he tells him. Even though he sounds slightly out of breath, he laughs a little. “Anyone ever tell you you’re really good at taking care of people?”
Arnaud doesn’t say anything, but Adrien’s pretty sure that’s a shrug. He slumps a little further into his makeshift cocoon.
“You know, if I could be anything when I grow up, I would want to take care of people, too.”
For a moment, the large man’s face looks alarmed, and his lips part, though no sound comes out.
“Oh, not quite like you!” the seated blond boy rushes to reassure his companion. Another airy chuckle escapes from his lungs. “I could never be a bodyguard. I’m too small, and too loud, and there’s no way my father would ever allow it.”
Arnaud’s face relaxes, but now it looks a little sad. Adrien smiles weakly, a little sad, too.
“You know,” he keeps talking, even if it is quiet and breathy, and even if no one’s saying anything in return, “I think if I could, I would enjoy doing something to help people. You think I could be a doctor? Or a nurse?”
It’s hard to tell under those bushy, stern eyebrows of his, but Arnaud’s eyes are strikingly blue. At the question, they seem to take on something soft and warm, and Adrien’s positive he sees the man’s head tilt slightly to the side. Then an idea strikes.
“Oh! What about a paramedic?”
The excitement at the idea is almost too much to take, and without even realizing it, Adrien has stopped squeezing the tiny boobs in his fists. The Gorilla grunts in his way, and Adrien has never been more grateful to have him around.
Turns out that people can be caring even when they don’t talk to you.
It takes him a couple of weeks, but Adrien is so ready for the presentation by the time it comes, he can barely contain his own energy. He finds himself fidgeting nervously in his own desk chair the night before, twiddling absent-mindedly at the guitar resting in his hands. A subtle, comforting tune quietly emerges from his fingertips, and its melody feels a little like something his mother used to hum for him when she tucked him into bed.
He’s made a lot of progress with the guitar, and he’s infinitely glad Nathalie was able to convince his father to let him keep it. He had to promise not to let it interfere with his other lessons, of course, or his grades, but he still managed to squeeze it in between modelling sessions, all his extracurriculars, and saving Paris from a deranged butterfly multiple times per week.
When he finally crawls between the sheets, it takes hours for him to drift off. For the first time, he feels like he can’t wait for tomorrow to come.
On the drive to school the next morning, he’s practically vibrating out of his seat. The scenery passes by all too slowly, and when the Gorilla pulls over at a curb, Adrien resists the urge to protest in irritation.
It only takes him a few moments to recognize where they are, and when he does, he’s overcome with relief and gratitude for his unlikely friend. Within a few minutes, Arnaud ducks back into the car and hands a small paper bag toward the back. Adrien accepts the proffered item delicately and decides not to suppress the tiny tears that prick at the corners of his eyes once he opens the bag.
It’s two large pieces of pain au chocolat, and a note that says “Good luck.”
His presentation goes off without a hitch, and Adrien can’t believe how proud he is.
He’s about to be seventeen when he experiences something completely unexpected.
Hawkmoth is revealed to be Paris’s own fashion magnate Gabriel Agreste, and he, along with his assistant and accomplice Nathalie Sancoeur, are arrested for their crimes.
He hasn’t felt close to his father in years, but it’s a blow to his heart and his sanity nonetheless. He can barely muster up the self-control (a direct by-product of years of his father’s conditioning) to defeat him as Chat Noir. The moment his own father, crazed and de-masked, nearly skewers him through the chest with a sword, is indelibly imprinted on his mind forever.
It’s hours later, after speaking to police as both himself and as Chat Noir, that Adrien finally collapses just inside the mansion’s front doors. Two great, strong arms are there to catch him, the first he’s allowed to cradle him in ages, and he falls apart.
A heavy hand gently caresses the back of his head, and he finds himself lifted up once again. He doesn’t even resist, but throws his arms around the giant’s neck as best he can and turns his face against a solid shoulder. Sobs wrack his body until eventually he finds himself being carefully tucked into something soft. His shoes are removed, and a thin sheet is pulled over his body, followed by something thicker and heavier.
There’s a bit of rustling and jostling off to the side, though he doesn’t bother to open his eyes and check what it is, and then an enormous body stretches out beside him. It’s almost comical how much the bed dips under his weight, and if he weren’t falling apart, he might have laughed about it. Once again, a hand comes up to softly pet his head. Adrien’s hands are covering his face, the cold of his silver ring stark against the heat of his flushed face. Thick fingers reach up and pulled his right hand back, exposing his face to the open air. He slowly opens his eyes.
Those striking blue eyes are peering back at him, drowning in inexpressible sorrow. Adrien feels Arnaud fiddling with the ring on his finger, but it doesn’t make him feel nervous.
The older man’s eyes fall to the ring as he continues to finagle with it purposefully. Adrien’s gaze follows his, then flickers back up to find blue directed at himself once again.
They’re horizontal, with fluffy white obstructing part of both their vision, and the walls are sideways, but neither of them really notice.
Arnaud clutches Adrien’s knuckles and uses them to lift the boy’s hand higher, not unlike what Chat Noir used to be so fond of doing to Ladybug, but he doesn’t kiss them. He just looks at the ring, then back at Adrien.
“I’m sorry,” he says.
Adrien’s eyes fill with fresh tears, and he finds himself pulled in close, held tightly by a pair of burly arms.
The trial doesn’t come nearly as quickly as he would wish.
It’s difficult to build a case on evidence which is mostly magical, but with the help of Ladybug and Chat Noir, it’s slow but steady progress.
Adrien isn’t an adult yet, unfortunately, so he finds himself in the difficult position of having his money frozen, his house seized as the scene of crime (not that he would want to stay there, anyway), and with no close relatives, he’s about to find himself placed into government protective care. He can only stay with friends for so long, it seems, and emancipation can take months.
So it’s a surprise when one day he walks out of the school’s front doors and finds, instead of the silver sedan he had been used to, an older Renaut with slightly fading red paint, and outside the small car is his bodyguard.
It’s a wonder already that the man has stuck around. After his father’s arrest and the subsequent freezing of his finances, Adrien had no money to pay his bodyguard. The man keeps showing up, anyway, at first to protect Adrien from the media circus and the inevitable blame that would be cast his way, but he continues to arrive, even after the car is confiscated by police, too. Eventually it’s determined that it has never been used in any criminal action, but by that point, neither Adrien nor Arnaud ever want to use it again. It has never been a vehicle of particularly sentimental value, but its connection to the past and to Gabriel have tainted it. If he were ever to sit in it again, Adrien is sure it would make him feel immediately dirty somehow. Fortunately, he is able to sell it for a bit of money, but even that he has to save for food and other expenses.
The sight of Arnaud next to the tiny red car is quite comical. For the first time in months, Adrien feels a laugh bubble out of him. He says a few parting words to his understanding and supportive friends and jogs down the building’s steps. At the bottom, the Gorilla holds the passenger door open for him.
Adrien steps closer, smiling still, and nods to the man before him, but resists the urge to hug him. He’s about to climb in when he catches sight of a suitcase in the back seat. He pauses, then turns, still halfway bent over in his path to descend on the car. Arnaud continues to give him that blank look of his and waits until Adrien is fully seated in the vehicle, then walks around to the driver side and squeezes in. It’s a much tighter fit than the silver sedan, but he doesn’t seem to mind.
The car pulls away from the curb and merges into traffic. The windows are down, and the weather isn’t unpleasant for Spring. It’s not quite summer, yet, and it won’t be hot for a few more months. Wind breezes past his ears as Adrien looks out at the buildings passing by, rustling his hair and tossing it about recklessly. Something drops into his lap, startling him into looking down.
Resting on his hands is a thick stack of bound papers. At the top of the first page, the words “Adoption Agreement” immediately catch his eye. He can’t help the way his face whips upward as fast as the wind blowing through the car. Arnaud is still watching the road. His gray hair waves gently from the flowing air. Adrien looks down again, then begins shuffling through the stack.
There are lots of words he doesn’t understand, words he assumes were chosen by legal professionals as if they were somehow better than plain ones. Arnaud’s signature is all over many of the papers, and that says more to Adrien than any of the other words on the lengthy document. In many of those places, there are sticky tabs with arrows pointing at empty lines. He frowns slightly, looking up at the man in the driver’s seat.
As if sensing Adrien’s question, the Gorilla grunts.
“Consent.”
It’s a single word, and a simple one. The blond understands immediately.
“You want my consent to adopt me?”
There’s a definite shrug that time, and it sends something warm shooting through Adrien’s chest. He feels tears prick at his eyes, and reactively, he tucks his chin to his chest.
No one has ever asked before for his consent in matters dictating his life.
The dam breaks, and a flood of tears rolls steadily down Adrien’s cheeks. He shoves the papers to the side so they don’t receive any damage from the deluge. He can’t bring himself to meet Arnaud’s eyes, so he looks out the window instead.
“Legally, you don’t need my consent, you know,” he says to the glass. His voice is thick and congested.
There’s no response once more, so he chances a glance. Again, he sees a clear shrug of two broad, crowded shoulders.
“It’s your life.”
Adrien is still crying, and his vision is quickly becoming obstructed by the salty presence of his tears. He’s speechless, partly because he can’t talk over the lump in his throat, and partly because he has no words for this feeling. The Gorilla turns briefly in his direction.
“Be happy,” he says.
Adrien laughs. It’s wet and thick, and he’s pretty sure some of the liquid now running out of his nose has sprayed onto the dash, but he doesn’t care.
“Thank you, Gorilla.”
The rest of the ride is relatively silent, but comfortable. Once they arrive at Arnaud’s apartment, Adrien is surprised to realize that not only has he never seen it, but it’s much smaller than he expected it would be.
It has only two bedrooms, and from the looks of things, one of them was being used as storage up until recently. There are a few boxes in the corner of a small, empty closet, the floor is dusty, and there’s only a mismatched twin bed and dresser for furniture. A small crate next to the bed serves as a nightstand, but the room is warm and comfortable. Adrien rolls his suitcase up beside him and sits down on the bed, taking in the room.
The walls are largely bare, but he could imagine filling them with pictures of his friends, with posters of Jagged Stone and his favorite artists. A computer desk would fit in the far corner pretty well, and the window is surprisingly wide for the size of the room. He hasn’t looked outside yet, but he is pretty sure he could use it for his comings and goings as Chat Noir. Adrien looks all around until he returns to the entry. Arnaud stands in the doorway, blocking it almost entirely.
“Anything?”
The boy startles a bit, realizing he has fallen into a trance. His eyes travel over the giant man’s form, remembering the days when he viewed him as a nuisance, and awed by how Arnaud has suddenly become his only family.
The twists and turns of fate.
“No,” Adrien answers with a grateful smile. “I’ve got everything I need.”