Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You never expected to be a main character of anything, let alone experience what a main character would in stories.

But here you are: the main character of this reincarnation story.

As you may expect, you are reincarnated. 

In what world, you ask?

You don’t know either.

One moment you are in the hospital, wailing uncontrollably as your consciousness of your previous life comes to you. You remember your mother shushing you in her arms while your father talks to the doctor about your condition. 

Then you are taken to a random house—your home, probably—and you grow up there nice and quietly.

Yes.

Nice.

And quietly.

That’s your story.

Your mother and father look a bit worried when they see you grumbling incoherent words to yourself at the age of one. But how can you not grumble? 

You are expected to repeat living in this terribly cruel world! Sure you have a loving stay-at-home mom and a hard working artist dad in an average family, but you’ll have puberty once more, and you’re not ready for the years of suffering again. Acne? Awkward growth spurts? Cringe-worthy teenage phases with new people who you’ll probably never get to connect with unlike your previous friends whom you’ve forgotten already? 

No, thank you.

But you can’t exactly protest when all you can do is babble and drool. 

You cry when you’re hungry, sleep when you’re tired, and you watch in horror as you slowly, inevitably, become an actual baby. You get excited over jingling keys. Your parents cheer when you take your first steps. You gurgle and clap like an idiot.

And worst of all?

You start enjoying it.

By the time you’re two, you’ve accepted your fate. Maybe you don’t need to be a main character in some grand, fate-defying story. Maybe being an extra with a happy and disgustingly wholesome family is just fine.

Then, at the age of three, you meet something that reminds you of your past.

"You're... you're finally here!"

Your gaze lands on a teary-eyed creature as dark as obsidian.

Its body is small, but its head is the same size as your three-year-old palms. It has long pointy ears that are smeared with golden stripes, almost looking like piercings. It stares at you with eyes that are deep golden in pupils, and blue on the sclera. It even has golden eyeliner that has a sleek curl at the ends of it!

You don’t have the time to observe more, because the creature soon darts to your face and sends you stumbling out of your balance.

"You're here! You're here, you're finally here!" Tiny hands cradle your cheek. It snuggles even more at your warmth, laughing with that ragged but enthused voice. "I have been waiting so long for a master, I don't even remember how many centuries have passed already!"

Reincarnation is kinda weird, but you sometimes forget it when you deal with new things in this life such as being pampered by your overly loving parents. Acting like a babbling kid is a bit strange, but you can also get used to it. 

Meeting a creature, a pixie of some sort, that hugs you and says it has been waiting for a long time?

That... is very weird, especially when you remember how you’re supposed to be living in the realistic Earth with climate change and horrible people who would have probably experimented on this mystical creature if they realized it existed.

You pat the creature a few times to get off of you. Thankfully, it understood, pulling away immediately. 

It gawks, looking at you with sparkling golden eyes. "I can't believe you're actually here… The- the harbinger— I thought it was giving me false hope again by letting others touch my box, but when you held me, I truly couldn't believe it! I can materialize myself now! Woohaa!"

The creature laughs when it flies into the air, twirling around like a blowing wind chime. 

But it stops when it sees the sight of your curious eyes. It deflated. "Wait a second. Do- do you not remember? Your past life?"

Your eyes widen. "You know about it?"

The creature perks up and nods vigorously. "Yes! Yes, I know about you, yes I know what happened to you!"

"What happened to me?" you ask, eyes darting everywhere as the creature examines you with a toothy grin. Only when it flies around your head did you see the golden sash around its neck. It’s what you remembered important people in Egypt wore around their necks: an Usekh.

"You've reincarnated!" it says simply, making you pause in your spot. "You don't have to hide it from me, don't worry. I know this because I am a kwami!"

"You're a... kwami?" 

What a weird name for a species. But it sounds familiar. Where have you heard of that before…?

"I'm a kwami, and we kwamis are divine beings that are created from the fragments of ideas and emotions. What you are holding right now—” it points “—is called a Miraculous. The Jackal Miraculous, specifically!"

You look down at the golden amulet in your hand and furrow your brows. 

Here’s the backstory to make you feel even more confused: you, being a supportive child of your family, followed your father to the mansion where he’s been commissioned to be an artist of. Since he trusted your extremely mature personality, he let you walk around a bit, as long as you didn’t touch anything expensive or fragile.

Being the responsible three-year-old you are, you of course immediately stumbled upon an old jewelry box sitting half-open on a dusty shelf somewhere in the library. And because curiosity is an insidious thing, you reached inside and pulled out the strange golden amulet that—get this—started glowing the moment your chubby little fingers wrapped around it.

So now?

Now you have a tiny, overly enthusiastic spirit creature claiming you’ve found a ‘miraculous’.

"Uh," you say eloquently.

The kwami beams, floating excitedly around your head. "This is so wonderful! My name is Anpu, by the way! And you—" 

It stops midair, only to approach you slowly and carefully. You feel tiny hands tackling your cheek again as Anpu stares with watering eyes. 

“I almost thought you wouldn't be real,” it sniffs. “I've been alone for millions of years, waiting for someone to know I exist. Even when others touched my amulet, I still couldn't be seen. I’ve been passed around through generations, I even lost the miraculous box that was supposed to keep me safe—!” 

It gulps down the rest of its tears, trying to push through the explanation.

“Then you came. You held my Miraculous in your hand and- and I was visible again. I can talk. I can fly around, I can phase through things, and I- I—."

The kwami stops. 

Then it releases a broken sob. "I was so lonely!"

Oh no.

You stare at the tiny floating creature as it dramatically bursts into tears, its droplets splattering across your own cheeks. 

"There, there?" you attempt to pat it, gently poking Anpu’s extremely tiny body with your stubby three-year-old fingers. It's not very effective. If anything, it makes the kwami cry harder, wailing like an abandoned puppy.

Oh boy.

"Okay, okay, don't cry," you say, trying to shush it. "I see you now, right? That means you're not alone anymore."

Anpu sniffles, rubbing its tiny face with even tinier hands. It pulls away from you, but it doesn’t cease sniffing. 

You offer a small smile when it meets your eyes with big, teary ones. "I’m still three, and I have a loving but also strict parents so I don't know how much I can do, but I can at least hang out with you if you’d like?"

Anpu blinks at you. Then, in a flash, it's clinging to your face again, nuzzling into your cheek. "Best holder ever!"

Okay. So this is happening now.

You glance down at the glowing golden amulet still clutched in your hand. 

It's a small beetle with long wings, forming to create a circle. In the middle of the circle is the head of a jackal, facing left. Anyone can guess what it is just by one look.

Anubis. You become sure of it when you see the ankh symbol dangling above, the key of the Nile. 

Then you look at the kwami who is rambling in front of you. Anpu. Creatures made from emotions and ideas. Miraculous. 

This is all starting to sound suspiciously like a certain show you’ve seen before.

Don’t tell me… 

Were you… actually reincarnated in the world of Miraculous Ladybug?

Is that why you kept seeing familiar names on the city's billboard, which you brushed off as just a figment of your imagination? You’ve seen the Agrestes posters on the billboard, Jagged Stone himself, and even the damned mayor of Paris who has been re-elected for like the second time already.

And is this the reason why you just had to be born in France, of all places?! 

You cover your horrified, agape mouth.

If you are actually inside the world of the Miraculous Ladybug, then that means you’ll have a chance to see the iconic duo in action. The superheroes themselves: Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Not only that, but you’ll see the realistic depiction of their schoolmates, and come face-to-face with the super villains in the future. You might even get to talk to them, and maybe get a chance to be involved—as a live audience, not in front of a screen anymore—of the convoluted love square that happens between the main duo of the show!

Isn’t that amazing?!

Nope. 

-Wait, it’s not?

Absolutely not.

Miraculous Ladybug is an entertaining show. For some reason, it toes the line of absurdity and stupidity that somehow makes you want to watch more of it, but if you put it into a realistic perspective, their world is a terrifying world to be in. 

Weekly akumatized villains, middle schoolers as your saviors, and the amount of life, love, friendship, and puberty problems that will sometimes distract them in the stupidest way ever until they make dubious choices that lead to more problems for the world to deal with—

That sounds great as a story material, but real life? You would never want to go inside that fray.

“Wooaah. This world looks so different now. I can’t wait to explore more of it with you, master!”

And yet…

You sigh, reaching out to pat Anpu on the head. It smiles happily, unaware of the turmoil inside of you.

At least this time, puberty isn’t the worst thing you’ll have to deal with.

Chapter Text

Anpu is the kwami of Reincarnation, as you expect.

He inhabits the Jackal Miraculous, and he is a small creature of pure black skin, the same color as a certain Cat Miraculous kwami you remember. But instead of cat ears, he had pointed ones that went longer than a cat’s. 

His eyes are often pulled up like crescent moons. It had blue sclera and golden pupils. If you didn't know how clingy and innocent the kwami is, you would think he is mischievous just from the way he grins. But no—he just has an annoying but cute resting face that makes him look like the Cheshire cat.

Anpu is more like a curious newborn than a kwami who's supposed to tell you about this world.

He's the reason why you wear scarves now, even if it's summer and too hot for you to be in layers. That's because of the time he almost got caught by your parents when he explores the house, pointing at all kinds of things and asking you what this new creation is—until your parents came back home early without you knowing about it.

You don't remember how you averted that crisis, but now you made sure Anpu has a special place where he can be curious while also be hidden from the world around him. 

"Do kwamis exist in your old world?" Anpu asks, breaking a croque monsieur and offering one to you.

You take the food Anpu offers. "They don't exist in my world," you say, biting the sandwich while your kwami releases a content sigh after chewing his food. "Well, they don't fully exist. They're..." 

Fictional. They came from a kid show that is far too addicting yet also exasperating because of the love whatever-shape-it-is and the painfully annoying villain fights solved with dumbest solutions from the stupid main characters of the series. 

"...they're just myths. Stories told to us in passing."

Anpu wipes his lips. He doesn't notice the way you are deadpanning as you spoke. "It means we still must exist in some way. Kwamis are a manifestation of abstract ideas and emotions. As long as humans are still humans who create new concepts with their minds and hearts, then we'll always be there. One way or another!"

You nod, biting your tongue from disagreeing with him. You can't exactly say that his entire race is just a made-up creature in a kid's show, right?

"It's a good thing you know a lot though. I don't need to explain too much for you to understand me, which saves me a lot of energy too!" Anpu purrs in bliss, ignorant of your thoughts.

He gravitates to your neck, sitting by your shoulder and dipping his head low. 

“I’m glad you are my owner,” he says sincerely. “The Jackal Miraculous is one of the most important and dangerous miraculous. It's the only one that can traverse through the death and life cycle. With just the Jackal Miraculous alone, you can obtain permanent absolute power. That's why it needs to be hidden away from everything. We can't just let it go into the wrong hands or else the world will be ruined. So the solution? A spell is casted upon me!" 

He floats in front of you, lifting the amulet on your neck. " 'The owner of the Jackal Miraculous shall be of those with wisdom of the world. Once a soul has experienced life and death, the harbinger shall deliver the amulet of samsara into their hands.' Or something like that."

You chuckle at Anpu trying to sound ominous. He's not scary, even if he tries to be. But there's no way you're going to say that and break off his confidence. "What if the reincarnated soul is a bad guy?"

Anpu pauses. "What?"

"What if I'm a bad guy?" you ask, holding onto the golden amulet that plops on your palms. "Not everyone who lives through life is filled with wisdom, you know. Some people never get the chance to change for the better even if they're given long years of life to change."

Anpu frowns. "That's true... but a-all of the reincarnated people I met are good people! I- I guess some of them are," he falters. 

There is a stunned silence between you and him, but Anpu shakes his head and pouts at you. 

"But you are nice! You are not greedy! You didn't even ask me what my power was when I told you that what you have is a Miraculous!"

You raise a brow. "What if I was tricking you by acting nice?"

Anpu gasps. "You wouldn't!" His ears droop low. "You wouldn't..." 

That brings you to laugh. But you mask it as a cough when Anpu tilts his head confusingly. "No, no I wouldn't. You and I against the world, not you and I against each other."

His ears perk up, and you can't help but snicker. Your kwami is far too easy to read. Right now, you know he is preparing to brag about something as he raises his chin in pride.

"There's also two miraculouses that can grant absolute power, but what you have is far more special than them so do not worry!" He pauses. "I won't tell what it is though. Not yet, at least..."

You know already he was talking about the Ladybug and Cat Miraculous. But of course, you wouldn’t say that outloud. He is trying his hardest to keep a secret, might as well entertain him too.

"I guess you are special, Anpu," you say.

"We are special!" he gloats with a tut in his movements. "Those two Miraculouses need to be together to achieve absolute power, but you and I don't need that. You can just have me! I can grant anything you want, just tell me what it is! Oh, but we have to be careful. Last time I granted a wish, I caused millions of years of ice into the world."

You stare at him with a deadpan. "You caused the Ice Age?"

"What?" Anpu says, defensive. "My previous master lived in a hot place!"

You shake your head. You forget that the history in this world is rewritten—with Plagg doing most of the damage. "Then can I ask for a wish? Not from your powers, but from you."

Anpu perks up. "If it's from me, then I can try anything!"

You lean forward, with the kwami copying your actions in eagerness. "You'll stay by my side until the end, right?"

"Of course!" Anpu nods vigorously. "Now, what's your wish?”

When he receives silence, Anpu tilts his head. But you only smile at him. "You already answered my wish," you say, eating the last sandwich to yourself.

Anpu blinks. He watches you in confusion when you walk to the bathroom without any other word. "What- what's the wish again? I think I have not heard it." He gravitates to you as you wash your hands.

Instead of answering, you just bop his forehead and chuckle.

It takes a long while before the kwami understands your words.

Anpu's golden eyes water. "You- you idiot!" You yelp when something heavy pushes on your cheek. Your kwami hugs you with his tiny hands and bawls. "Of course I'm always going to be with you! Until the end! Waahh!"

You laugh. "You're getting your snot all over me, Anpu." But you didn't stop the kwami from cuddling and crying on your skin.

It’s six months later when your father receives the biggest commission ever.

Your father is an incredibly skilled artisan. You don’t consider yourself as the master of art, but you’ve seen enough of his work to know how great he is even in his small brushstrokes. He always took pride in his craft, but this? 

This was the kind of commission that made your dad freeze in place, reread the email three times, and then immediately call your mom into the room while you sat in the background, sipping on your juice box with vague curiosity.

Apparently, some ultra-rich, ridiculously luxurious person from somewhere wanted to hire him for an exclusive and a once-in-a-lifetime project. And not just that. They were also offering to pay for your entire family’s trip and accommodations to that place.

Cue your father whispering something excitedly to your mother.

Cue your mother rushing you to start packing up cause you're apparently leaving today.

And cue you going back to your room and doing as told by your parents.

Anpu asks where you'll be going, to which you answer him by shrugging. You are honestly confused too, but you aren't going to question your parents about it. In this new life, you learned that the best way to enjoy the present is to be surprised by whatever happens next.

But you probably should have questioned things more.

When you step out of the car after a five hour drive, towing away your luggage as your dad speaks to the doorbell to a huge gate, you find yourself standing in front of a familiar mansion of opulence and white.

It's a typical mansion. At least, you thought it is typical because you felt like you've seen this mansion before. You don't remember if you've ever been into one as big as this, but maybe you've seen it on an internet post in your previous life or something.

It isn't until you are standing in front of an absolutely familiar family that reality starts to sink in.

"Thank you so much for considering me, Monsieur Agreste." Your father shakes the hand of his 'commissioner' almost too vigorously. "My family and I are honored to be here at your service. And at your generous care too!"

You blink once. 

A tall blond man with sharp blue eyes shakes your father's hand. "It is my pleasure, the (L/n) family." He had an air of effortless elegance even when he pushes his glasses up. "I’ve heard great things about your work and saw your portfolio before. It’s an honor to have someone as talented as you within our premises." 

Your father practically beams. You can tell he’s trying to keep his professional composure, but he's failing. He's not as good as acting as you are whenever you act like you were asleep on bed curfew. "The honor is mine! Oh, you don't know how truly grateful I am to get the opportunity of painting the greatest family of all of Paris." 

Then a poised, beautiful light blonde woman chuckles warmly. "Even your compliments paint such a beautiful picture, monsieur." She glances at your mother and exchanges smiles with her. "I heard from our assistant that the traffic this morning was terrible. Oh dear, you must all be exhausted from the long trip. Come inside, come, come.”

“Oh, only a little, but it was well worth it now that we have come to meet sweet people like you," your mother chirps as she follows inside the huge mansion.

You are still buffering on your spot.

Monsieur Agreste... The greatest family in all of Paris... A familiar mansion.

You resist the urge of groaning and falling to your knees. 

Of course. Just when you thought it'll take a few years before you even get to the plot, you just had to meet the most important family ever in the entirety of the show. It almost feels like life wants to play a terrible joke against you for being a reincarnator to a kid's show.

You glance at the small blond boy peeking out from behind his parents legs, his wide green eyes blinking curiously at you.

He is not yet a famous teen model at this moment in time. Right now, he is just a normal little kid, staring at you with sparkling yet also terrified eyes like he’s not sure whether to say hello or not.

You turn to your father. He sure is taking his time talking about business with a soon-to-be supervillain of Paris in the future. Then you glance at your mother who is also exchanging pleasantries and talking about tea with someone who's supposed to be gone a few years from now, leading to a chain of events that would eventually spiral into chaos.

You feel a headache forming.

Well. Now that you're here, you might as well just say 'fuck it' and go along with the flow.

You sigh and begrudgingly offer a hand to the small boy in front of you.

He tenses up, eyes widening even more when you meet his gaze head-on.

"My name is (Y/n)," you say, not bothering to smile. "What's yours?"

He stares at your outstretched hand for a moment. His green eyes flits up to his parents, who are still lost in polite chatter with yours, before turning back to you with an unsure furrow of the brows.

You try again. “It’s nice to meet you...?"

The poor kid still doesn’t move.

You start wondering if you made a mistake—maybe you came off too strong? Too cold? But you also don't want to be intertwined with a huge main character like him, so whether he accepts or not, it'll be pretty fine with you either way.

After a few moments of hesitation, he reaches out his own tiny hand and places it in yours. 

“…Adrien,” he says, voice quiet. But there is an unsteady smile that paints his face pink. "My name is Adrien."

Oh.

You keep your face stoic and nonchalant. "Adrien, then."

He's adorable.

Right now, Adrien Agreste is just a kid who looks to be your age. He's shaking your hand and only dropping it when you pull away from his palms. You had a feeling if you kept holding on, he'll also keep his hand in yours. 

Few years from now on, this little boy will lose almost all of his family; one to death, and the other to pure sorrow. He'll live a life of loneliness, but it's all according to the plot. After that pain, he'll gain confidence to do things and even have a crush on a certain comrade of his.

You want nothing to do with him when that happens. 

But you are not going to let this child feel lonely either when you're around.

You can do both of that at the same time, right? You'll be a good childhood friend, until Adrien meets his destined community. You can keep things simple and stay far, far away from the ridiculous mess of Miraculous Ladybug. Which is pretty achievable, since you will only live temporarily in the mansion before a heartbroken and grieving Gabriel Agreste throws your family out in the future. 

Then your family can go back far away from Paris, and then you can say goodbye to being in this world's plot.

Yeah. That's a great plan. Congrats for thinking about it, genius self. 

“Oh, aren’t they just precious?” Emilie Agreste coos, hands clasped together as she leans toward your mother. “Look at them! They’re already getting along so well. Why don't you two play together while the adults talk business? Things might be a little too boring for you kids if you stay here."

Your mother lights up immediately. "What a wonderful idea! (Y/n) is always so quiet at home—" Oh, so now she's just lying, "But I know they’d love to make a new friend now that we're far away from the countryside.”

Wait, does she think making friends is supposed to be this fast?

You glance at Adrien, who immediately darts his head to the side, trying to hide the fact that he had been looking at you non-stop since the moment you came here. 

“Now come on, there is so much fun for you two to be had." Emilie insists, already ushering you and Adrien toward the hallway. "Adrien, you know what to do now, don't you?”

"B-but mom—" Adrien tries to say. 

Your mother joins in. “Yes! Go on, sweetheart, take Adrien’s hand and have fun!”

“Wait," you try to say. "Adrien has something to say—”

But like Adrien, you were happily ignored by an adoring mother of the Agreste family. “Have fun, sweeties!"

"Oh." Your mother sniffs, walking with a chuckling Emilie. "They're growing so fast. Already having best friends other than mama and papa. Did you know that when they were a child, they actually had to be calmed down when they wet the bed..."

And just like that, you find yourself standing in silence next to a blond haired boy. The sounds of your parents fades into the distance as they continue their conversations somewhere more private.

You glance at Adrien.

Adrien doesn't glance at you. He’s staring at the ceiling as he tries to keep his posture straight, but he just looks stiff instead.

"Well," you say, "I think it'll be fun if you tour me around the place or something."

Adrien snaps his head at you then, his eyes wide. 

Oh, you blink. "Nevermind," you clear your throat. "You don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to."

You sounded a bit too demanding, right? Adrien isn't obligated to show you around; that's probably the assistant's job, the bespectacled woman who is watching from the corner of the room. You forgot her name but you recall her face enough to know she's Gabriel Agreste's assistant. 

"I’m not in a hurry. We can just sit or walk around or... do nothing, which is fine by me. Or if you don't want company, we can explore separately. Our moms don't have to know we didn't follow their suggestions. It's just a suggestion anyway. No big deal."

Adrien blinks like he's trying to process what you just said. 

Then he looks to the side, failing to hide a growing smile. 

"...We can probably walk around," he says. There is a tiny shift in his posture, and he takes a small step forward, glancing over at you to make sure you’re following.

And just like that, you’re walking down the grand hallway side by side.

Adrien is still a little stiff, but the tension starts to dissolve just a bit. If you're not reading it wrong, you could almost see him getting a little less cautious the more you two walk in peaceful silence.

"My dad’s doing something for your family. Most likely painting, since he's good at it," you say, ignoring the jump your voice brings to Adrien. "We'll probably stay for a few months here now, depending on your parents. But a few months in this huge mansion is still good for me. It's my first time being somewhere as big as this. It almost feels like a castle, to be honest. Which I really like."

You pause, glancing sideways at him. “What about you? Do you like your castl—I mean, mansion?”

Adrien blinks. "I guess..." He looks around. "I- I like it, since it's my home. My mother and I sometimes play tag in the hallways when she and father aren't busy."

"Oh, that's nice." You don't like playing tag; you hate running nor chasing after people either, but you aren't gonna sour the mood by telling him that. "Have you tried hide and seek with your mother here?"

"I think we have," he says. "But hide and seek here... it's a little... odd." He laughs nervously. "I always end up hiding behind the curtains, or under one of the big tables in library. My mom would come and find me right away, even when I try my best to hide." He gives you a hesitant glance, the corners of his mouth twitching upward into a shy smile.

Your eyes sparkle in mischief. "Maybe your mom has eyes like a hawk. Or better yet: a peacock."

Get it? Cause she— oh, wait. That might be a spoiler...

You clear your throat when Adrien looks at you in confusion and curiosity. "My point is: if you play lots of hide and seek games here, you must know more rooms that are cool and amazing to hide into.” You grin. “Maybe like secret hideouts or something.”

He perks up slightly. “Do you think there'd be one here?”

Yep. It seems like saying the words 'secret' and 'hideout' together can still make children perky as always. 

“No doubt about it,” you hum. “Secret rooms, hidden passages... You never know what you might find if you look hard enough. I know that some of the coolest things in this world are in places no one’s ever thought to look.” 

Like the library where you stole—no, not steal. Found Anpu's miraculous.

"Oh, I see," he offers.

And that's the end of the conversation.

“I guess,” you repeat.

Sike. You aren't going to let it end that way.

“We can make our own treasure hunt right here if you want. Just the two of us? If we find something cool, we’ll call it our treasure. But if we don't find anything, we can make our own treasure that we can bury instead. Like a time capsule or something."

Adrien slows down until he stops walking entirely. You followed after, brows furrowing in slight panic. Were you too forward again? Crap—

He snaps his head your way with excited green eyes. "A time capsule? I've seen that in books that mother read to me before!"

You fight back a sigh of relief.

"Then you know how it works, yeah?"

He nods vigorously, and he doesn't even falter anymore in shyness. Which is a huge improvement from his earlier timid self.

A playful smile tugs at the corners of your lips. See? All he needs is a little push. Maybe you can start planting a seed for the future too, just in case he feels lonely when you do leave.

"If you want, it could be a thing we bury and dig up someday in the future," you suggest. "How about it? You in or not?"

His hesitation seems to have disappeared entirely as he straightens up and nods quickly. “Yes! I want to make a time capsule!”

You walk forwards, your steps becoming more perky when Adrien jogs up to follow you with an excited smile on his face.

Anpu peeks out of your scarf. "Can I look for treasure too?"

You huff, a quiet answer that Anpu translates as 'yes, you can.'

"Yay," Anpu whispers to himself, before ducking when Adrien looks your way.

The blond haired boy starts talking about all the places you could hide the time capsule in the mansion, and you enjoy the day just exchanging conversations with him while looking for nonexistent treasures in this mansion.

Chapter Text

It’s official: you and your family are staying within the guests’ room of the Agreste’s mansion.

The rooms don't even feel like a guest room. Anpu cheers and flies around in extreme happiness when you are finally alone—which didn’t take that long. Adrien apparently has some lessons with his English tutor so he had to leave your side as soon as you entered the dining room. Not that you mind, though. It’s not like you were planning on sticking around with him all day. Being alone after hearing that you’ll live in this place is sort of a relief for you.

“This place is huge!” Anpu zooms around the room, taking in the new surroundings with wild excitement “It’s bigger than our own house! Or any of the houses I’ve been with my old holders for that matter, but this one feels like I could have my own little kingdom here!” 

“Right,” you say, plopping down on the bed that is as soft as a VIP Suite room in a hotel and looking at the excited Anpu. “You say you’ve had three masters throughout the entirety of your life, right?”

“Uh-uh!”

"Since the moment you were conceived during the Big Bang?" Woah, hold on a second. That phrasing is a bit—

"Uh-uh—oh, but someone else was created first before me! Though I shouldn't say more about it 'cause it's not time yet." Anpu covers his mouth and shakes his head vigorously.

You hesitate, before sitting up. “Did they do something major?”

Anpu stops. "Hm?"

"Your previous masters," you repeat.

His form hovers mid-air as Anpu gives you a sidelong, almost nervous, glance. 

"My previous holders did... lots of things," he answers, his voice a little more subdued than usual. "But it’s not the kind of things you might think! They didn’t fight in big wars or save the world over and over again like how heroes are. They were just…”

He pauses, meeting your eyes.

Then he smiles. “They were just regular people. They lived their lives, just like you do now."

You blink. “What? That’s unexpected.” You were expecting to hear that your miraculous were held by literal Socrates or something, cause isn’t that how this world works?

"Nooooot exactly,” Anpu says. “The Miraculouses are intended to help protect the balance of things and assist those in need, but, the Jackal Miraculous..." He trails off for a second, "...The holder of the Jackal doesn’t really need to worry about grand things like that! You've already done everything in a past life. You don’t need to repeat it to prove yourself to the world again!”

He flies to your side, plopping down multiple times on the soft bed before sighing. 

You can’t help but smile, watching him roll around the bed before shooting up to peek your way with a smile. 

“We don’t need to do anything but relax for the rest of our lives!” Anpu pauses, panicked. “Unless you have something you wish for, of course! I hope it’s not something terrible for the world—I don’t want to see many people hurt again...”

You stare for a while then you reach out, patting Anpu’s head. His jackal ears twitch in obvious happiness as he closes his eyes in bliss. 

“You’re lucky your new owner is too lazy to do anything but enjoy life with their family,” you chuckle. 

Anpu brightens up. You smile back.

It’s true that you don’t want a part in the future plot of this show, but you aren’t also going to sabotage yourself by escaping it. You might have a lot of criticisms about everything here—such as the creepy actions of the main character, the lack of development the others have (ehem a certain bully ehem) and even the unrealistic solutions every villain attacks were given—

But if it doesn’t need you to meddle personally, you won’t.

After all, nobody is tying you down to fix anything in this world. Not even your sweet and innocent kwami who is now talking about how ready he is for dinner later.

But of course, Adrien Agreste is an exception to that.

Reason one: he’s the son of your dad’s commissioner. You are bound to talk to him even if you don’t want to. 

Two, he’s literally living in the same mansion as you because your family is temporarily taking lounge in their guest rooms. You don’t need to come out entirely of the door before you even get a glimpse of that soft, strawberry blond hair walking out of his room and waving shyly everytime morning arrives. 

Three—the last, and the truly important point—you have decided to become Adrien’s childhood friend.

What? you ask, defensive in your own head.

Just because you dislike the plot doesn’t mean you’ll go ahead and avoid it entirely. 

You aren’t stupid enough to not know that situations like this are usually inevitable, but you are grateful it happens when you are four instead. Childhood friend tropes also have that inevitable falling apart in the future, and knowing how you can’t stop Emilie’s death, it's only a matter of time before you disappear from Adrien’s life .

Wow, you feel like a jackass. Offering friendship and then thinking of running away.

But it’s just like you said back when you first met him: until Adrien is of age to meet his true friends, you aren't going to dive too deep into his life. Giving him friendship and possibly teaching him how to be less lonely by himself? 

That’s something you can easily handle. 

After exploring the main lounge of the mansion the next few days, you walk past the huge window and stop when you see the sky turn dark. 

“It’s raining,” you say, watching Anpu pop out of your scarf. 

Anpu blinks at the sight of the darkening sky. "Oh? Huh, didn't think it’d rain today." He tilts his head. "The clouds didn't look too bad this morning."

You hum in agreement, watching the heavy drops begin to patter against the grand windows of the mansion. 

The soft rumbling of thunder echoes in the distance, not too loud yet, but enough to signal that a storm is rolling in. You turn away from the window and continue down the hallway.

A few minutes pass, possibly half an hour, and the thunder becomes louder. You don’t think much of it until you round a corner and nearly bump into your mother.

“There you are,” mother says, looking a little relieved but mostly preoccupied. She doesn’t stop moving, gesturing for you to walk with her. “Have you seen Adrien anywhere? His tutor said he ran off before his lesson even started, and now no one can find him.”

You blink. “He ran off?” That doesn’t sound like something Adrien would do. From what you remember with your limited knowledge, he’s supposed to be a tad too obedient to all responsibilities. “No, I haven’t seen him anywhere. Did he go outside?”

Your mother sighs. “No. I thought for sure he was with you. The two of you have been getting along so well too…” 

She looks around for a bit before whispering. “Just between you and me, Adrien’s mother says that apparently, he’s terrified of thunders. It must be why the poor boy ran out by himself, since his mother is preoccupied with something to comfort him." 

You deadpan. “Mama. Are you supposed to say that to someone else?” Poor Emilie—everything she tells to your mother has always been delivered to you whenever nobody is around. At least your father doesn’t have a loose mouth when it comes to business or friendship gossip.

Your mother holds her chest in faux offense. “Is there something wrong with me telling my little child something their mother has heard?”

“Yes mama, there is. That’s a secret told to you by other people. Keep it to yourself,” you say simply, but before she could retort, you adjust your scarf and look around. “I’ll keep an eye out. If I ever see him first, can I get some more pudding later for dessert?”

Your mother gives you a knowing look but sighs in defeat. "Fine, fine. Just make sure to tell one of us if you find him first, alright? And don't wander off too far."

You nod, already turning on your heel. You don’t need to search blindly—Anpu has much sharper senses than you, and he’s already sniffing the air, ears twitching as he floats beside you.

“Do you think you can find him?” you ask under your breath.

Anpu puffs up, smug. “Of course I can! A kwami like me is super good at finding people hiding, even if it's in the wilds!”

"The floor is yours then, partner."

"Yes, master!" 

You follow Anpu’s lead as he zips ahead, his small form darting through corridors. The storm rumbles louder outside, and with each roll of thunder, you start piecing together where Adrien might be hiding. It should be somewhere cliche—somewhere small, enclosed; somewhere that muffles the sound.

A closet? A tucked-away nook in the library?

Anpu slows down near the west wing of the mansion, hovering close to a doorway. He tilts his head, listening. “Here,” he whispers.

You wait for your kwami to dart back to your scarf before stopping in front of the door. You look at the knob, then at the window, waiting for lightning to strike. When it did, you open it at the same time as the thunder booms.

From the corner of the dimly lit room, knees drawn to his chest, a blond haired boy jerks up at the sound of the door opening. His green eyes snaps your way, wide and startled.

But the moment he sees it's you, though, his shoulders relax. Just a little. Not enough to erase the tension in his posture, but enough that you know he’s relieved it’s you.

You walk inside. Adrien keeps his head down, hugging his knees tighter. He doesn't say much when you sit down near him, leaving enough space between the two of you.

You straighten your leg and lean on the wall, observing the environment. The room isn't as empty as you expect it to be. It's probably a sitting room, with a couple of expensive modern paintings tucked to the side, unused. The curtains are drawn shut to keep out the flashes of lightning, but it isn't as effective since you can still see the light flashing whenever a thunder approaches. 

But you're glad the curtain is like that. It makes it easier to predict the booming thunder after all.

You have enough knowledge to know that light travels faster than sound, so when lightning strikes, a thunder follows soon after. Which makes it easier to brace yourself for it.

But someone as young as Adrien must not have noticed the pattern just yet. And it’s a terrifying thing to think something is unpredictable and dangerous. 

When the curtains flash bright, Adrien’s body subconsciously flinches. 

Then, along with the thunder, he hears a hum.

It’s soft at first, almost drowned out by the rumbling storm outside.

His green eyes flicker toward you, uncertain if it's you he's hearing or if it's something his mind created as comfort.

You don’t meet his gaze. Instead, you rest your head back against the wall, keeping your posture relaxed as you continue to hum. 

From the corner of your eyes, you see another thunder approaching, so you make your voice louder. “Hush now, mo stóirín. Close your eyes and sleep. Waltzing the waves. Diving the deep.”

Your voice isn’t the best, not when it’s wavering and sounds like a high pitched babbling of a child, but it is enough to cut through the storm. 

“Stars are shining bright, the wind is on the rise. Whispering words of long-lost lullabies.”

In your scarf, you hear Anpu breathing softly. It almost breaks you into laughter. How he could sleep so easily in this situation is unknown to you, but there is another boy whose breathing slows down. So you keep singing.

“Oh, won't you come with me, where the moon is made of gold. And in the morning sun, we'll be sailing.” 

Another flash behind the curtains. Another growl of thunder rolling overhead. But this time, the moment it crashes, your voice is there, filling the silence in its wake.

“Oh, won't you come with me, where the ocean meets the sky. And as the clouds roll by…” You breathe, “We'll sing the song of the sea.”

You let the last note linger before gradually lowering your voice into a soft hum again. 

There’s no need for words. The moment can speak for itself.

A deep breath. Then another.

Adrien’s fingers finally unclench, his hands sliding to his kneecaps. He swallows hard, then he looks your way.

“…What song is that?” 

You meet his green gaze. The corner of his eyes are red, almost puffy from the tears, but you don’t point it out. “It’s a lullaby from somewhere.”

It's from a different world where you’re just a cartoon character, but of course, you don’t say that out loud.

Adrien keeps his eyes on you before looking down at the floor. He hugs his knees tighter. “I don’t think I’ve heard it before…”

A smile curves on your lips. “You probably never will. It’s a really really old song.”

Whenever lightning strikes, you continue singing the same verse. You forgot the rest of the lyrics to be honest, but it doesn’t matter. All you need is a moment that distracts him from the thunder, and so, you keep humming.

When he sounds like he’s finally at ease, you shift slightly, letting your head rest more comfortably against the wall.

You gradually stop singing, and when it's silent for a few seconds, you whisper. “Storms don’t last forever, you know.”

No response.

You glance to make sure he hasn’t fallen asleep yet, which he hasn’t. His lidded and puffy eyes are just staring down at the ground, but his quiet shifting is enough of a telltale that he’s still listening.

“It’s scary sometimes, but it’s also predictable. Once you know when the thunder comes, it won’t be as bad.” You tilt your head slightly, watching the dim light against the heavy curtains. “The trick is to make it predictable is counting the time between the flash and the sound. The longer it takes, the farther the storm is moving away.”

Adrien doesn’t answer at first, but you can see the slight scrunch of his brow, the way his fingers twitch like he’s testing out the idea in his head. You wonder if he’s counting now, waiting for the next flicker of lightning.

Another flash illuminates the room for a second, casting long shadows against the walls. You count softly under your breath.

One… two… three… four—

The thunder rumbles, a little quieter this time.

Adrien blinks. His lips press together in thought. “Four seconds,” he murmurs.

“See? It’s moving away.” You don’t mention how storms can shift unpredictably, how you’re just pulling things out of your mind without remembering the true scientific explanation for it. But that’s not the point right now. 

Right now, Adrien just needs a proper way to deal with his emotions. Something to ground him when he’s feeling scared.

Adrien shifts his legs, uncoiling slightly from his curled-up position. “Father says I’ll get over it soon,” he says quietly.

“You will,” you answer. “But soon doesn’t mean now. Just let yourself feel scared. If you know how to get scared, you’ll know how to get brave too.”

A beat of silence passes between you both. 

Outside, the storm is still rolling, but the gaps between the thunderclaps are growing longer. From four seconds to five. Six. Seven. 

Until both of Adrien’s palms are open and he’s staring at each of his fingers. “Ten…”

His lips part slightly, but instead of speaking, he watches the faint slivers of light slipping through the heavy curtains.

The minutes pass in silence. The storm continues its slow retreat, and with it, Adrien’s fear seems to ebb away. 

“Can.... can you teach me the song?”

You blink, looking Adrien's way. 

He swipes at his eyes quickly, almost like he doesn’t want to be caught with lingering tears. “It’s okay if you can’t,” he adds hurriedly, his voice still a little hoarse from crying. “I just think it’s beautiful. I have piano lessons later a-and I want to try playing it. On the piano.”

Piano lessons at the age of four? At this point, he might become Arima Kousei too—

“I don’t remember all of it,” you admit. You also don’t have the perfect pitch to tell him what musical notes you are using when you sing the song, “But I can try teaching you. It goes like this...”

You scoot a bit closer to him, and Adrien doesn’t move away. Your knees bump with each other, but you focus on the melody again. Slower this time, letting the boy next to you take in each note. His head tilts slightly, lips moving as if testing the tune silently.

“Hush now, my story?" he repeats.

"Mo stóirín," you correct. 

"What does it mean?"

The next flash of lightning comes, but this time, Adrien is only focused on your small smile.

"It means 'precious darling' in Irish." 

His eyes widen. "You know how to speak Irish?"

You let out a small laugh, shaking your head. “Not really. Just a few words here and there.”

“Oh.” Adrien’s expression shifts—something between fascination and admiration. “It sounds… nice.”

“It does.” You hum the next few lines softly, letting the melody wrap around you both. Adrien listens intently, head tilted slightly. When you stop and wait for him to sing along, his lips part, and he hesitantly sings, testing the tune.

“You’re catching on fast,” you say, impressed.

He ducks his head slightly, hiding his bashful but pleased smile. 

The storm is passing. And Adrien, slowly but surely, is learning how to weather it. You hope he'll be the same in the future, when multiple storms awaits him too.

Chapter Text

Something about the Agrestes bother you.

Emilie is extremely kind and warm to everyone, including your family. She even encourages you to spend more time with Adrien. And Gabriel, too, is merciful enough to not snap at you when you suggested Adrien should take a break from his lessons. 

But that’s exactly the problem.

Why is Gabriel so controlling to Adrien right now? 

You heard about it from Adrien himself: he’s not allowed to go outside unless it’s for important events. He’ll be homeschooled, unlike you who will soon start your school a week from now. The reason why you’ll go to school too? Because the Agrestes sponsored you. 

A child of their artist has more opportunities than their own son, and that rubs you in the wrong way possible.

‘Oh, that’s because they’re rich. You know how strict rich parents are and how much they want a perfect child’—

But Emilie Agreste is alive!

She was supposed to be the opposite of Gabriel, wasn’t she? The heiress of the Graham de Vanily who forsaken her name because she hates the limitations imposed on her and because she loves someone her family disapproved of. 

But here she is, watching her own son turn into the most fragile, well-behaved little bird in a gilded cage. You never even see her argue against Gabriel’s orders of making Adrien ignorant of the outside world– and that pisses you off.

“Anpu.”

“Yes, master?”

“Let’s go out today.”

“Oh. Sure!” Anpu abandons the cookie on your plate and darts to your scarf. He peeks out and stares at your face. “Where are we going? And why do you look so serious?”

You fight back the urge to glare at the terribly boring wall of this place. “This mansion is making me so annoyed. I need to breathe some fresh air.” 

“...Are you mad because Adrien doesn’t have time to play with you?” 

“No, Anpu. I’m mad ‘cause whoever wrote this show brushed off one important plotline that should have been consistent.”

If Adrien really grew up with a mother who wants him to be free and have control over his life, why did she let him stay isolated throughout his entire childhood?

Everything is so contradictory, and God, it makes you want to laugh.

“I don’t understand what you mean but now I’m mad too!” Anpu huffs, and you smile. 

Aside from your parents and Anpu, Adrien is someone precious to you too. With the way his family is moving, you have no choice but to step in.

You rush down the stairs and dart towards the front door. But just as you approach the gate, Anpu peeks out of your scarf. “Wait! Aren’t we going to tell your mom and dad about where we are going?”

“Oh! Right...”

Now that you got your fresh air (with your mother who walked you through the city because four year olds can’t go anywhere all by themselves) it’s time for you to think of a way to convince an adult.

Emilie is your best bet. As suspicious you may be of her contradictory personality, she must still have some ounce of that rebellious spirit left. If you play your cards right, you can even steer her into realizing her own mistakes… without her ever knowing you were the one who set everything into motion.

Because that’s the tricky part, isn’t it? You can’t just talk to her outright. No adult is going to take a four-year-old’s lecture on parenting seriously. Even if you were the same age as her, the worst that can happen is the other party feeling shameful by being called out so loudly by someone else. 

And as satisfying it might be to shove the truth on someone’s face (as gratifying it would be to be the one in the right) shaming people doesn’t always lead to change.

So you need her to make the conclusion herself- if she truly loves Adrien.

The next day, you are idly flipping through a book in the dining room. 

Your father has been busy painting lately, and your mother will soon come to the dining room with your target. 

“Anytime now…” Anpu informs you. He’s floating right near the doorway, peeking from time to time. 

“Good,” you nod slightly. “Let’s see if this works.”

A moment later, footsteps echo down the hall. 

“They’re here!”

Anpu darts to your scarf, while you school your expression into something innocent, kicking your feet idly against the chair leg while acting like you are flipping through the page without the intent of reading it.

At the sound of approaching laughter, you raise your head and brighten up. “Mama!” Your gaze sweeps to the pale blond woman beside her and you smile politely. “Mrs. Emilie, hello. Thank you for giving papa this opportunity again. I know he shows it a lot but he’s really happy lately because of it.”

Emilie smiles at your words. “Aren’t you such an eloquent child?” Oops. “It’s nothing to us at all. In fact, your father is a wonderful artist so we think his work deserves to be seen.” 

You are about to respond to her but your mother clicks her tongue playfully. “Have you been reading again? I just bought this for you yesterday and you’re already halfway done.” 

You rush to close the book you purposely left on the table and hug it to your chest protectively. Both women chuckle at your actions. 

Then your mother leans to whisper loudly to Emilie:

“Our little sunshine has always been so smart. Did you know that on their first birthday, my husband and I let them pick anything they want in a store and they picked up the French dictionary as their birthday gift?”

Emilie gasps. “A dictionary for a birthday gift?”

You resist the urge to grimace. What is your mom doing?! The last thing you need is Emilie knowing about how much you couldn’t adjust properly to being a kid back then.

So in typical childlike fashion, you groan and cover your face with the book. "Mamaaa, don’t tease me."

“If you don’t want to get teased, then get along, kiddo.” Your mother ushers you. “Mrs. Emilie and I are going to have some tea together. You go on and play with Adrien, alright?”

What? 

Anpu subtly peeks out of the scarf. “Is this how it’s supposed to go?”

No. This is not how you expected things would turn out to be!

“Can I stay here?” you blurt out, hugging the book to your chest. “I promise I won’t be loud. I just wanna read and I don’t wanna bother Adrien too cause he might be doing something else today.”

One thing you learned about this world is that everyone is a terrible liar. Even your mom and dad. 

It might be cartoon logic but compared to them, your sudden improvisation is basically Oscars worthy.

"(Y/n)," your mother says, a slight warning yet also sounding a bit panicked. She laughs nervously as she exchanges confused glances with Emilie. “I don’t know why you’re suddenly acting shy. You love playing with Adrien.”

Not the time right now, mom.

“Pleaaase?” You pout. “I just wanna read my book… I swear I’ll be quiet. Please, please, please?”

Your mother looks ready to protest again, but Emilie steps in.

“It’s alright,” she places a reassuring hand on your mother’s shoulders. “There’s no harm in letting them stay here. I’ll ask someone to cut some apple slices too so they can read while snacking on something.”

You mentally cheer to yourself.

Perfect!

Settling yourself into one of the plush chairs, you open your new book and let your fingers run over the pages thoughtfully. The weight of the two mothers gazes on you is expected. Adults always pay attention when a child is intruding a space just for the older ones.

This better work. You had to search through entire children's stories' shelves just to find the perfect book. Your mother was almost ready to drag you out of the store too- before you found this one.

“That book must be something great if you look so absorbed in it.”

Hook, line, and sinker.

You perk up immediately at Emilie’s interest. “It is. It’s called The Happy Prince! Mama let me pick it out yesterday when we went to the bookstore in the city.”

Your mother gives you an affectionate gaze but says nothing, merely pouring tea for Emilie as the staff brings you your plate of bunny shaped apple slices.

Emilie blinks. “Oscar Wilde?” She looks at your mother.  “That’s… quite the choice for a child.”

"Tell me about it. I tried nudging them towards something simpler, but they insisted. I don’t know where they got it from but when they put their mind to something, they will never budge."

You tilt your head innocently. “It’s a children’s story, isn’t it?”

She chuckles, your mother deadpans. “I suppose when you say it like that, it’s fine. What do you think of it?”

“It’s kinda sad,” you admit, "It’s a story about a prince who was really happy when he was alive in his castle, but it was ‘cause he didn’t know about the bad stuff happening outside. Then when he died, he became a golden statue.”

“And because he’s up so high as a statue, he can finally see the sadness in the kingdom. It hurts him a lot how he was happy back then while everyone is sad. That’s why he asks a little bird to help him give away all his jewels to the people,” you continue. “But without his jewels, he wasn’t special anymore. The townspeople didn’t think he was pretty or useful, so they took him down and melted him.”

Emilie and your mother exchange glances. They look half-impressed and half-bemused by your ability to summarize it.

The pale blonde woman places her cup down the saucer with a clink. “It’s a sad story, yes, but it teaches us about kindness. The prince finds someone he loves, the little bird, and in the end, they live in paradise together. It’s a happy ending they both deserve for being kind.”

So what? Just because it’ll all be happy with someone doesn’t mean they weren’t hurt first? That the pain they endured before reaching paradise didn’t leave scars?

As much as you want to, you can’t say that out loud. That’d be too telling. Instead, you purse your lips in thought.

“But don’t you think the prince was… a little bit too nice?”

“Too nice?”

“Like… he wanted to help so badly that he gave away even his body, until there was nothing left of him. That’s not really fair. He didn’t even know anything about suffering before, and then suddenly he just—” You pause, frowning deeply. “He just let himself get taken apart. If he had known about the world earlier, maybe he could’ve helped in a different way. One that didn’t make him disappear.”

Your mother chuckles, shaking her head. “I swear, this child says the strangest things sometimes.”

“But it makes sense,” you press on. “If someone didn’t know anything bad before, then it must hurt so much when he finally learns about it.”

“My dear,” your mother tries to interrupt, but no. 

You aren’t going to let this go.

“I know the story wants to say that kindness is always rewarded,” your chair scrapes backward, “I know that everyone needs to suffer first before getting their happiness. But if you don’t know how to deal with pain properly. If you’re never allowed to see and experience it. Then you won’t know how to handle it when it comes, and it always comes, doesn’t it?"

Silence.

You tense up. That doesn’t sound like something a child would say. But you couldn’t help it.

You remember the promise of the show, the amount of teasing it did to the audience about how perfect the main characters were for each other. Ypu remember the frustrating misunderstandings that lead to the other person feeling betrayed, pained, unworthy- and it’s just a kid’s show, you know, but you-

You’ll see it in reality soon.

The adults won't be there to show their children how to handle the pain they'll experience in life. And some of them won't even get the chance to deal with it, because they'll be stuck in their homes throughout their entire life. How can you not be worked up when you think about it realistically?

Your mother clears her throat lightly. “Don’t mind them too much, Emilie. Our little sunshine might have the brightest nickname but sometimes, they tend to overthink things a lot. It’s a..” she blanks out. “Unique trait they have." She sighs and rubs her temples. "You know, there are times my husband and I are the ones being scolded instead, when we do something that's unhealthy and bad. I don't know where they get this kind of wisdom from, but it certainly is interesting.” 

Oh, thank you so much mom. Even if she doesn't know your goal, she's helping you out by extinguishing the strong flames you accidentally fanned out in your speech.

Emilie laughs at the exasperation of your mom. “That just means you’ve taught them to grow up this brilliant, huh?”

“My mama and papa taught me a lot,” you sit back down, calming yourself. “But Mrs. Emilie, what if someone never gets taught?” 

You almost messed it up, but you still have a chance. 

Emilie’s smile stays, but she blinks in confusion. “What?”

“What if someone only ever gets to see the nice things? Won’t it be too late by the time they see the bad stuff?”

“Well, I suppose it’s important to prepare children for the real world,” she entertains you.

Your eyes glint in victory. 

She took the bait.

“Yeah! And that’s why I’m excited to go to school next week. Papa says it’s good to learn with other kids and see the world properly. But Adrien isn’t going to school,” you turn to Emilie with a perfectly innocent pout. “I don’t get it. I thought going to school was important?”

“Sunshine,” your mother says. You have a feeling she’s resisting the urge to slap a hand on her face throughout the entire conversation. Maybe you can give her something later as a silent apology. “I told you about this before. Adrien’s circumstances are a little different than ours. He’s…”

“But if he stays inside all the time, he'll be like the prince,” you blink up at them.

Your mother’s mouth falls open, surprised.

Emilie looks away too. She brings her cup up to her lips, and you watch them both like a hawk.

That’s right. 

You resist the urge to smile triumphantly. 

Think about it. Let it fester your mind. And then, when you process everything that you have been doing lately, when you remember how you want to raise your little boy with love, you will—

“Mother…?”

You turn your head to see Adrien peeking inside the dining room. His green eyes flicker to your direction.

You have never been more grateful for his impeccable timing.

“Adrien!” Emilie stands up, clapping her hands in bliss. “Have you finished your homework that fast? Or- wait, is there something else you need?”

Adrien hesitates, glancing at you briefly before shifting his gaze back to his mother. “Yes, I finished my homework early so I wanted to see if I could join you…” 

Emilie’s lips slightly part, ready to answer, but you don’t let her. 

“Adrien, I got a new book!” you say immediately, hopping off your chair before anyone can say otherwise. “It’s my new favorite, so let’s go and read it together!”

“H-huh—? But- woah!”

Grabbing Adrien’s wrist, you drag him out of the suffocating room before anyone can stop you.

Adrien lets you pull him along. He glances behind where you two came from before looking at you again. “You’re really excited to play today," he notes.

I just finished dropping multiple bombs inside that room so I'm grateful for your interference-

“Cause I missed you a lot,” you chirp instead. 

He slaps a hand to his mouth, muffling a yelp of surprise and fluster. 

You don’t pay attention to how he steams in red behind you. You just hum to yourself, satisfied and happy.

Whether your plan works or not, it feels therapeutic to let all of that out.

Now, you just have to let Emilie’s love for Adrien take the mantle, and maybe he will be your new classmate next week too.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, your efforts didn’t work:

Adrien is still not allowed to go to school even after your persuasive conversation with Emilie.

Which is… fine! Fine, that’s fine. It might not have worked out the way you hoped it would, but at least you know the seed has been planted. 

Maybe someday the Agrestes will have a change of heart. Maybe Emilie would actually try to argue about it with Gabriel, and when that happens, Adrien will have a better childhood than what he’s supposed to have- 

For now though, you have to prepare for your first day in kindergarten.

Ever since you met Adrien’s family, you have a slight inkling that you’ll meet more characters whether you like it or not. And with your first day at school approaching, you had to get ready for that chance.

But who do you think it would be?

Is it Marinette? Can you be her childhood friend too, and maybe give her some confidence to make her future… strong attachments a little bit mellower on her own side?

Or maybe you’ll see Chloe. She might be annoying (as annoying as the others too) but you could never really hate her. Irritated, perhaps, but hate?

And… who else? There’s only so much your mind can remember as you age. You know you’ll be able to recall them when certain episodes happen but that doesn’t mean you aren’t feeling anxious about it. 

What if you don’t remember the names of the other characters in the future? Or what if you truly forget the episodes, rendering you useless when it finally happens? 

Well. That can be your worries in the future, once Marinette and Adrien finally get their miraculouses. Right now, you have something more pressing to worry about:

“Alright everyone! It’s another year of learning and making new friends!” The teacher ushers the other kids who aren’t yet on their seats. They groan, but follow anyway. “I know every single faces of you troublemaker but we have a new student joining our class this year, and I'd like you all to be on your best behavior!”

…damnit.

You almost forgot you are a transferee of this school.

You shrink in your seat as the teacher gestures toward you with an encouraging smile. This was inevitable, of course, but that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it. Being the new kid always comes with a certain level of attention, and attention is the last thing you want right now.

“Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

And what, teacher? Get figured out by a bunch of kids that you are probably the weirdest of them all because you clearly don’t know how to fit in without looking like a strange alien–

You stand up reluctantly, feeling dozens of tiny eyes staring at you. 

It’s okay. You have the best acting, remember? Oscars worthy. Keep it simple, short, and sweet.

“Hi. My name is (Y/n) (L/n).” 

That’s extremely short and not sweet at all.

As expected, the teacher doesn’t seem satisfied. “Come on, don’t be shy! Tell us something about yourself. What do you like to do in your free time? Your best skill? Where you came from?”

You don’t think teachers are supposed to be this prying, but oh well. “I like reading.” You hear a chorus of ‘ooh’s and ‘aaah’s in the crowd, but you continue as calmly as your nervous self could possibly be. “I’m good at anything, and I came from the countryside.” 

You sit down quickly before the teacher can prod you any further. Hopefully, that’s enough to satisfy their curiosity.

“Well, we’re happy to have you here, (Y/n)!” The teacher claps their hands together. “Now, let’s all be nice and make sure our new classmate feels welcome.”

A few kids nod, but you could hear some of them snicker ‘nerd’ loud enough for you to catch, which you ignore. Seems like you were anxious for nothing after all; you aren’t really affected by children calling you names. If anything, it’s just a reminder that no matter what universe you’re in, kids will always be kids.

As the teacher starts explaining the day’s schedule, you take a moment to glance at your seatmate. 

Class hasn’t even started and he’s already doodling in the corner of his notebook, seemingly uninterested in the morning introductions. His hair is a soft chestnut brown, long bangs falling on one side of his eyes. 

You don’t remember anyone in the cast having this kind of brown hair, so he must be another extra.

But extra or not, you’re supposed to be making friends. At least, that's how kindergarten works in France of this world. You know how much of a snitch some of the adults in this world are: if your parents find out you aren’t even trying anything, you’ll be doomed to a long ass lecture on your way home.

You can't risk that. After a long tiring day filled with screaming children, you need a moment's peace, and you can't have that if it's replaced by your mother nagging you about socialization.

You scan the surroundings. Every kid looks uninteresting, and extremely background-character worthy. Out of all of them, your seatmate is the only one who is quiet and calm enough to not overwhelm you. 

Maybe you can start with him?

Leaning slightly toward your seatmate, you peek at his notebook. His pencil moves in soft, practiced strokes, sketching something with remarkable precision for a child. It takes you a second to register what it is.

You look at him, horror in your eyes, then back at the drawing. 

Is that a fucking rough but undeniably impressive drawing of a medieval castle, complete with high towers and tiny, detailed windows? Drawn by a child?

Even with you being reincarnated, you can’t draw something impressive like that; not when your hand isn’t proficient with your motor skills just yet.

You must have stared too long cause the boy notices you almost immediately. His hand stills, fingers tightening around his pencil, and with a quick movement, he shuts his notebook. You flinch when his body shifts to the side, angling himself away from you and using his arm to cover whatever he is drawing now.

You blink.

Oh. So that’s how it is.

He’s the secretive type. The kind of kid who gets embarrassed when someone catches him doing something he’s actually passionate about.

That, or he thinks you’re going to make fun of him.

Which… would make sense, actually. Kids can be brutal especially at this age. You may not have spent long in this classroom yet, but you’ve already heard the snickers and the teasing from the other students. Maybe he’s had to deal with it before. Maybe showing his drawings to the wrong person has gotten him laughed at.

The thought bothers you more than you expect it to.

You lean on the desk, resting your chin against your palm as you glance at him. “That was a really cool drawing.”

His shoulders stiffen. 

"Sorry for peeking. I was just curious but I ended up staring too much because it looks cool."

He looks at you, eyes a deep, thoughtful shade of turquoise. It takes him a moment of hesitation before he breathes, “You think so?”

You nod. “Yeah. It looked super detailed. You’re really good.”

He stares at you, probably waiting for a punchline. But you simply smile at him, and his brows furrow, snapping his head to look away from you. 

You fight the urge to breathe out a sigh. Of course making friends isn't easy, so guess you gotta try harder. “Do you draw a lot in your free time?”

For a moment, you thought you'd be ignored. “...yeah.”

That’s alright; you can make do with that.

“Cool.” You offer another smile even if he won’t see it. "You’re probably gonna be an amazing artist when you grow up.”

“…Thanks,” he mumbles, turning away from the conversation faster than you could ever blink.

Oh- well.

You aren’t the best at socializing with kids you have no knowledge of. With Adrien, you can do it since you know a lot about him, but with extras who you don’t recognize, it’s a bit harder to navigate.

Deciding not to push him further, you let him be, turning your attention back to the teacher’s lesson. You’ve done what you could. If he doesn’t talk to you anymore, then that’s how life makes it out to be.

Barely a few minutes later, your seatmate glances at you from the corner of his eye. “Sorry,” he shifts in his seat. “I’m not good at talking with others…”

You turn your head slightly, meeting his nervous gaze. He’s fidgeting with the corner of his notebook, fingers pressing against the edges as if debating whether to say more, and grimacing when you stay silent.

“That’s okay,” you whisper. “I’m not really good at talking to people either, so you're not alone on that.”

I can talk to adults and have debates with them, but with kids that are supposed to be my age? Spooky scary-

Your seatmate’s eyes widen slightly, surprised. “Really?” 

“Really.” You glance down at his notebook, tilting your head. “I’d probably just keep quiet and watch people all day if I could. Or maybe draw them, if I’m half as hardworking as my papa when it comes to drawing.” You pause when you see his confusion. “My papa is an artist.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah...” 

Now what? 

Gods, you want to slam your head on a brick. You talked too much again and now he’s as speechless as you are.

It’s easy to adapt to your family after reincarnation, it’s not difficult to get used to Anpu’s sudden appearance, and it isn’t even that jarring to meet the Agrestes randomly without any preparation-

But talking to another kid is making you stumble now?

Wanting to save a little bit of dignity in your mind, you show him one last smile before looking away. 

Playtime will begin anyway. Your teacher is just teaching you all to count and write numbers, so if you just brace yourself to not die of the awkwardness you brought upon yourself-

“What’s- what’s your papa’s name?”

You blink, a little caught off guard by the sudden question. 

“You said he’s an artist.” He looks down at the table, not looking at your eyes. “I like art… so there's a chance I might know him...”

Oh. You suppose that makes sense. If he likes drawing, then maybe he’s interested in artists in general. You tell him your father’s name, watching as he processes the information. He doesn’t seem to recognize it, but he nods as if filing the name away for later.

“That’s cool,” he murmurs.

A brief moment of quiet passes between you before he straightens up a little, clearing his throat. “I’m Nathaniel, by the way. Nathaniel Kurtzberg.”

The name hits you like a lightning bolt.

Your chin slips from resting on your palm.

What. The. Fuck.

It takes everything in you not to physically react.

Nathaniel! Of course! That’s why his drawing was so good!

You didn’t even realize it was him because of his brown hair. Wasn’t he a redhead? Or were you actually mixing facts with your hazy memories now?!

Nathaniel misreads your reaction, his face shifting into one of mild panic. “Um—”

“Your name sounds so cool,” you interrupt his panic with a lie. Well- maybe it's a half truth. His name does sound cool, but you also need to recover from the fact that you now know who he truly is- and that he is not an extra as you thought he would be, not at all.

Nathaniel swallows, caught off guard by the compliment. His face flushes a soft shade of pink, barely noticeable, but you catch it. “It does?”

“Yeah.” You nod, trying to appear as normal as possible while internally processing everything at once. “Nathaniel Kurtzberg. Nathaniel, Nathaniel… It sounds like a name from one of the characters in a popular TV show. It sounds amazing.”

Nathaniel ducks his head slightly, staring at his notebook like it suddenly became the most interesting thing in the world. He doesn’t say anything else, but you notice the way his lips press together as if holding back a small smile.

Well. That’s… interesting.

You didn’t mean for your words to have such an impact, but you suppose for a kid like Nathaniel—shy, hesitant, probably more used to being ignored or dismissed—having someone compliment him so genuinely must be something world breaking for him.

You clear your throat, recovering finally. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Nathaniel. I hope we get along this year.”

There’s a pause, a brief moment where he hesitates... then, finally, a small, shy smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“...Yeah,” he whispers. “Me too.”

This is Nathaniel—future holder of the Miraculous of the Goat, future lovestruck boy hopelessly crushing on Marinette, and future boyfriend of another character whom you seemed to have forgotten the name of but you know is also a great guy.

And here he is, sitting next to you, still just a quiet kid who loves to draw.

You return your attention to the front of the class, waiting for playtime to come. That’s the best time for you to talk to Nathaniel without getting in trouble. 

You don’t realize it just yet, but for Nathaniel, this moment lingers.

Long after class ends, after years pass, after childhood memories blur into something softer—he will remember this.

He will remember the first person who saw his drawings and called them cool. He will remember the flutter in his stomach and the warmth in his chest when someone, for the first time, made him feel like he was worth noticing.

Chapter Text

For an entire year, you interact with Nathaniel in and outside of the school.

He's the only one you are willing to play with in that classroom, the one you also wait for your parents with, which works out well since everyone is busy trying to outdo each other with their tantrums that you tend to ignore.

And he does pay attention. You can even see how the boy peeks at you if you haven't taken a seat next to him during playtime, or if you haven't started the conversation between you two like the social butterfly you are. Which you aren't by the way, but as long as he doesn't think you were singling him out, then you'll take it.

When you're at home, however, you play with Adrien and tell him stories about the things he can experience in school. At first you were hesitant in talking his ears off; what if he feels even lonelier now that he knows there's so much he can do outside, and that he's missing out on it?

But you have to remember your own words to Emilie. If the prince learns early about how wide and varied the world is, he won't feel like a fish taken out of water when he does experience it for the first time.

So you tell Adrien everything.

Cause hey, as much as you hate being surrounded by children who don't know how to wipe their drool and snots properly, at least you get to live through the messiness of it all. Adrien doesn't.

Thus, everything became a routine: you talk to Adrien every time you're within their mansion, you play with Nathaniel while also paying attention to how wacky the French alphabet and numericals are, and you bond with your parents sometimes because they're cool just like that.

Until finally, you turn six years old.

It's the start of your primary school, école élémentaire, and it's the time when you meet your next character of the series.

Nathaniel is still in your class. As always, you sit next to him.

Two years isn't that revolutionary for a children's lifespan, but it's also the age when kids start knowing more about themselves. Apparently, it's also the age when children start realizing that some people are 'cooler' than the others.

It doesn't happen on your first day, but in the middle of the school year, however?

It starts during recess. You and Nathaniel are sitting on the benches of the courtyard, the midday sun casting dappled light over the grass. He's doodling something in his notebook—a superhero this time. He's starting his superhero fixation now—while you quietly read another book that you borrowed in the library. It's a familiar routine, peaceful in its own way.

Then, a group of boys starts arguing near the monkey bars. You're not paying much attention until their voices rise into a full-blown shouting match, and the rest of the students crowd them.

"This is the most simple game but you can't even do it! That makes you a sissy! Sissy, sissy!"

Then you hear the familiar chanting: 'sissy, sissy, sissy!' like it's a playground hymn.

Nathaniel looks up from his sketchbook, his brows furrowing. "They're at it again," he mutters.

You glance up from your book. Sure enough, a small boy stands at the center of the chaos, fists clenched and face red with frustration. He's one of the smaller kids, which already places him at a disadvantage.

The so-called leader of the group—an older, taller boy—is puffing up his chest like a rooster in a show of dominance. "You're just scared 'cause you can't do it! Bleeggghh!"

"I'm not–"

"Blegh, blegh!"

"I said I'm not—!"

"BLEGHHH!"

Wow.

For such a childish taunt, you are actually getting annoyed. Just imagining getting cut off and not being listened to by this irritating kid makes your blood boil.

Deep breaths, self. You are more mature than these kids. You know better than to fall for their obvious taunting—

"Blegh blegh blegh!"

You shut your book and stand up.

Nathaniel looks at you in surprise. "(Y/n)? Where are you—"

"Hey," you raise your voice, walking towards the crowd.

Literally all of the kids turned their heads towards you. Maybe it's cliche cartoon knowledge but listening to the way this kid keeps repeating himself, not letting the smaller boy get a word in, is actually grating on your nerves. You can practically feel yourself wanting to scream for once.

The older boy turns, eyes narrowing. "What do you want?"

But calm. You have to stay calm. Be the virtue of patience, (Y/n). Be the bigger person—

You cross your arms. "I want you to learn some new words. 'Blegh' is getting old."

A ripple of laughter spreads through the crowd. Even Nathaniel, who had followed but stayed right behind the crowd, snorts under his breath.

The older boy scowls. "Who even asked you, nerd?"

"Me. How about you? Who asked you to be annoying; Spongebob?"

The surrounding kids erupt into "Oooohs" like this is the most intense showdown they've ever witnessed. You have to stop yourself from sighing. You didn't come here to start a verbal war with an elementary schooler; you just wanted to get them to leave the smaller kid alone.

Before the older boy can retaliate, a new voice cuts through the noise.

"How about you fight me in the monkey bars instead, huh!?"

All of you turn to the new boy who leaps into the fray with a grin. He's taller than most, semi-buzzed black hair, and grin pulling up on his slightly tanned skin.

He looks just as mischievous as the others, but you aren't one for judging so you ask: "And who are you?"

The boy puffs out his chest, pointing at himself with his thumb. "The name's Lê Chiến Kim! I just transferred here from Vietnam." His grin widens as he turns to the older boy. "You like picking on people who can't do the monkey bars, huh? Then how about you try beating me instead?"

There's an immediate shift in the atmosphere. The kids around you murmur in excitement—new kids are already interesting, but a new kid who jumps straight into a challenge? Now that's something.

Even the self-proclaimed leader looks momentarily thrown off, but he quickly recovers, scoffing. "Tch. Why would I? You just got here."

"Exactly!" Kim beams, rocking on the balls of his feet. "Which means you don't even know if I suck at it or not! But if you're scared, you can just say so. I don't mind."

That gets him.

The older boy bristles. "I'm not scared!"

"Then prove it!" Kim hops onto the first rung of the monkey bars with ease. "Come on, let's race to the other end. Unless you're the real sissy here, then that's fine too!"

"Ooooh!!!!!"

The chanting starts up again, but this time, it's different. Instead of mocking, it's energized—half of the kids are hyping up Kim, the other half urging the older boy not to back down. The playground is alive with excitement, and even Nathaniel, who usually sticks to the sidelines with you, watches with rapt attention.

You?

You are trying not to pace in pure panic. Oh my god that's Kim. That's the Kim in the series, isn't it?

Wasn't he a bully or something? The one that makes his own classmate get akumatized because of his teasing?

No, wait. You remember him not being as much of a bully as he is a lover of competitions. And he looks so different too without that dyed hair and mohawk-like hair. Considering you're six years old then it's understandable, but that doesn't make it less surprising being jumpscared by another character!

Lê Chiến Kim...

You sigh, looking at the monkey bars match that has begun.

As expected, Kim makes it look effortless. He swings across the bars with practiced ease, barely straining as he reaches the end and back again, while the older boy struggles after his third return trip. The crowd watches with bated breath, whispering amongst themselves.

When the older boy's arms finally give out, he lands on the ground with an unceremonious thud.

Kim drops down a second later, dusting his hands off. He looks down at the boy and huffs. "Guess you're the sissy between us now."

The surrounding kids explode in cheers and laughter.

"Whoa, that was so cool!"

"He's really fast!"

"He beat Lucas who's always so annoying to everyone!"

Kim soaks it all in, standing with his hands on his hips like some kind of champion. He grins, clearly reveling in the attention, but instead of basking in it for too long, he turns to the other kids. "Who's next?! You all were so loud a minute ago—anyone wanna go against me now?"

The kids who had been chanting earlier suddenly hesitate, realizing that challenging him means actually having to go up against him. A few glance at each other, nervous. Others shuffle back.

The boy however, is still bouncing on his feet, eager. He scans the crowd, his gaze sharp and searching

"You!" He points, eyes lighting up. "You should go next!"

...Huh?

You blink, not expecting him to point to you. "Why?"

"Because you were the only one who actually stood up to that guy!" Kim declares. "If you can beat him with words, maybe you can beat me in a race too!"

There's an immediate reaction from the crowd. "That's right– (Y/n) can beat him!"

What.

"Yeah (Y/n) thinks you're a sissy too, Kim! They can beat you without you expecting it!"

Who the hell are these kids and why are they dragging your name as if they know you?

Anpu wiggles on your scarf and marvels. "Oh, oh, oh! They're looking at us like we're great heroes! We have to beat him and show everyone what we're worth. Come on, master! Let's do this!"

You resist the urge to groan. Anpu, no. You did not sign up for this.

The kid who challenged you simply grins, bouncing on his heels like a boxer warming up for a fight. "C'mon, c'mon! This is simple monkey bars. Don't tell me you're going to back down now."

"I am," you deadpan.

"Boo!" Everyone in the crowd heckles you, aside from Nathaniel whom you see was in the middle of raising his thumbs up, but he shrinks at the loud disagreement around him.

All kinds of words are being thrown your way. Killjoy, weak, sissy, coward. But you simply tune them out. Kids get excited, kids get riled up, and kids forget. You don't particularly care about being called a coward when the attention will shift to Kim in a matter of seconds.

Still, Kim doesn't back down. He crosses his arms. "So that's it? You're just gonna let me win without even trying?"

"Yes," you say without hesitation.

The crowd erupts again, voices rising in disbelief. "No way! You have to fight him, (Y/n)!"

"Don't let him talk to you like that!"

"Come on, at least try!"

These kids are so cliche. They really sound like the NPCs you remember them to be.

Nathaniel tugs at your sleeve. "You don't have to," he says, as if reading your mind.

But the other kids seem to dislike his interference. "Be quiet, creepy nerd!"

Okay, that's it.

You glare at the one who spoke, and they actually tense up. "Hey." You growl, facing their way. "Call me all the names you want, I don't care, but dragging others into this fight just because you don't get the entertainment you desire? That's pathetic. Now, unless you want to let the teachers hear about this, I suggest everyone to scram and go back to your own business."

There's a beat of silence. A few students at each other, unsure. Even Kim who had been all grins and competitive energy, tilts his head in surprise.

Then someone starts wailing in the background.

"Uwaahh! (Y/n) is so scary!"

Again, your eyebrows twitch, who the hell are you people and why are you using my name so easily????

Someone points an accusatory finger at you. "You talk like a grown-up! You're so weird!"

You try not to tense up. The others thankfully don't notice, since they all parted ways and went back to talking about you fearfully and hatefully among themselves instead.

There is somebody else who stays though.

Other than Nathaniel who stands by your side, unsure whether or not to comfort you or say something to distract you, you can feel someone else's eyes even after the crowd has dissolved.

You turn to Kim, trying to mask your exasperation. "What is it?"

Kim blinks, snapping out of his thoughts. "Nothing. Just—" he pauses, then he grins wide and wolfish. "You're kinda cool."

You blink.

What?

"You talk like a grown-up," that brings another flinch from you again, "but you don't act like a snob about it. And you don't let people push you around either." He tilts his head, studying you with a curious gleam in his dark eyes. "That's cool."

You have no idea how to respond to that.

Maybe this should be the part where you excuse yourself and go back to the corner with your book. Cause aside from Nathaniel who is similar to you, or Adrien who clearly needs someone in his life, Kim isn't someone whom you feel like won't work out- if you ever became friends with him.

For starters: he's loud and into competition. You are quiet and aren't afraid of backing down when others challenge you.

In short, you are somebody that Kim would originally make fun of. That's why, as much as you are surprised of meeting another character, you thought you won't try being in his life like the way you decided to be in Nathaniel's and Adrien's.

"Hey," Kim says suddenly, pointing a finger at you. "Since you don't wanna race me, let's make a deal instead."

You blink. "A deal?"

"Yeah! You seem smart—too smart—so I bet you don't like sports."

It's not that you don't like them. You just haven't cared enough to participate. Laziness runs in the blood of a reincarnated person, it seems.

Kim smirks, clearly taking your silence as confirmation. "Then I'll make you like them." He slaps a hand over his chest with the kind of confidence only a six-year-old could have. "I'm the best at races and games, so I know I'll be able to do that! But if I can't make you like playing them, then I'll... uh..."

You stare at him. He stares right back in thought.

Then he perks up. "I'll do whatever you say for an entire week!"

The boy has confidence for suggesting that deal, you'll give him that.

Nathaniel tugs at your sleeve again, looking mildly horrified. "(Y/n), don't agree to anything. That's how people end up cursed in fairy tales."

You snort. You'd love to believe that Kim is a trickster spirit sent to torment you, but no—he's just him. Loud, competitive, and annoyingly persistent.

"You really don't have to..."

Kim interrupts Nathaniel, "Don't answer for them. They have their own mouth to use. And what's there to be scared of: it's just a fun bet anyway. What," he turns your way with a raised brow. "Are you scared you'll actually start liking sports?"

"I'm not scared of that."

"Then prove it! Shake on it." He sticks out his hand, expectant.

You meet his gaze. Kim grins back at you, all teeth and mischief.

Here’s the thing—you do remember Kim. You remember his childish bravado, his love for challenges, and that dark side of his pranks that end up hurting others without him realizing it. You had a thought that maybe if you can keep him close, you can steer him into being that empathetic version that hides within himself. One where his bluntness and ignorance doesn’t accidentally hurt people and traumatize them, the way a certain blue-haired girl would be when it comes to her first ever crush on the said-boy (which you still don’t understand how it happened, but oh well. You aren’t one to question how trauma works if it’s now a part of your reality)

But then again… things like that get solved in due time.

People like Kim need to grow up all on their own too, so why would you willingly get involved?

“What if I refuse?” 

Kim puffs out his chest. “’Then I’ll ask again tomorrow.”

Now, that gets a snort out of you.

You expected that. 

And, well…

He’ll lose interest anyway. At least he’d focus on you for a while before redirecting his attention somewhere else.

“Fine,” you entertain him. “But don’t force me into anything dangerous. And don’t pick fights with anyone either. I’ll try to make it worth your time, so you should do the same too.”

The way his face lights up is almost alarming.

“Great!” He holds his pinky out to you. “Pinky promise!”

You indulge him, hooking your pinky around his.

Just like that, Lê Chiến Kim becomes a fixture in your life.

You know about it already but Kim is really persistent. Whether it’s during recess, gym class, or even just random breaks in between lessons, he keeps trying to rope you into competitions. A sprint across the courtyard, a balance test on the sidewalk edges, even a stupid rock-paper-scissors tournament because, according to him, “it’s about reflexes!”

It’s not something you’d usually partake into. But somehow, you really do enjoy it.

Nathaniel is still your primary companion, but Kim? He is loud, bright, and bursting with an energy that makes it hard to ignore him. Even Nathaniel seems to be affected by his presence; as much as he pouts and abhors being nearby Kim, you could see the two trying to interact with each other amicably.

Which is something huge. You don’t really remember if they were close friends in the show or not, but now you can see how you made them connect with each other fast. Kim is amazed by Nathaniel’s drawings, and Nathaniel is also begrudgingly impressed by Kim’s outstanding physical abilities. 

Overall, it's a cute friendship that you become the middleman to. 

And the other kids notice as well. They already thought Kim was cool, but now they start to see your group as cool by association. Well- you aren't as cool as Kim who still competes with others, emphasis on the 'competes' because he promised he won't pick fights with anyone (not that you are worried). But this does make the others pay no heed to you or Nathaniel, and if that isn't the best thing you could ever get, you don't know what is.

So, your primary school days pass by in an enthusiastic blur.

Chapter Text

Class ends quite early today.

You hurriedly say goodbye to Kim and Nathaniel, who both looked a bit disappointed because they probably want to ask you to hangout some more–but you can’t stay. Not even when the prospect of beating Kim at his own impossible deal of making you enjoy physical activity would tempt you.

Because today, you have a mission. 

Anpu pops out of your knitted scarf. “This isn’t the direction of the Agrestes mansion… Where are we going, master?” 

He sounds worried. Well- he has every right to be. You aren’t under the supervision of your parents after all; 

But a secretive smile fleets along your lips. “We’re going to an alleyway, Anpu. So hide very well.”

Anpu blinks, but he obeys your words despite his confusion.

Unfortunately, the Paris you are in right now is severely different from the Paris of the show.

That's because this place is bustling with people instead of being empty as hell like in the show itself!

You remember snorting at the idea of Paris having at least fifteen in total citizens because of how empty the world is. Yeah yeah, animating too many moving characters is difficult—but isn’t it funny that one of the most popular tourist destinations is not actually busy with people, citizens and tourists alike?

After walking around unsupervised for like five minutes or so, you duck into a quiet and dark alleyway and motion for Anpu to come next to you.

“I don’t know about this place…” Anpu flies out of your scarf and looks around the place in a worried expression. “This seems like the perfect spot for something dangerous, master. What if something happens to us while we’re here?”

“That’s the point.”

“Huh?” 

You lean on the wall behind you, reaching into your pocket and pulling out the golden amulet that you turned into a necklace. Anpu floats closer, his eyes shining with realization when he sees your grin. “What do I say again when I want to use your miraculous?”

That question makes him beam brighter than the sun.

“We’re going to do it?!” Anpu swirls in the air and laughs. “We’re going to actually do it! Oh, oh, it’s so easy; you just have to call my name and say ‘Lead on!’ with all your might, and then wazaah! You’re going to transform and have the superpower of Eclipse in your hands!” 

You watch him with an amused smirk, waiting for his excitement to die down a little before asking, "And what exactly does Eclipse do?"

Anpu stops mid-spin, his ears twitching. "Oh, right. You probably need to know that." He clears his throat, trying to regain some of his lost composure. "If you shout ‘Eclipse’ while using the miraculous, the superpower of invisibility will activate instantly. Which allows you to vanish from all senses: sight, sound, touch, even smell. No one will hear your footsteps, no one will feel your presence. To the world, you will look like you disappeared; but you are still there and it’ll be so cool if you fight big bad villains when they’re cornering you and you’ll be able to sneak up behind them and–”

"Got it." You cut him off before he could start listing every possible scenario. "So, I can be invisible for like a limited amount of time of…?" 

"One minute! Only because you’re still young and you can’t use the powers well just yet!”

Oh, for fu–

“It sounds powerful but be careful, master! Like I said, you’re still too young so… at most, once you use the superpower, you’ll probably have only… uh, five minutes before you transform back into your real form again!"

You already know about that, but Anpu looks so excited explaining it to you so you’ll act like it’s the first time you heard of the information.

“Well,” you chirp, looking around the place, “Shall we test it here?"

Anpu gasps. “Wait, wait, waaaaiiiit!”

You snap your head his way, confused. “What?” 

Is there something else you forgot? Maybe Anpu’s miraculous has another kind of limitation you weren’t aware of? Or maybe the transformation would be difficult because you were still–you don’t know—physically six years old?

Anpu stares at you with the most serious face possible. “Before things start: you need to have a cool pose, master. It’s only right to honor a transformation by giving yourself the best pose ever.”

… that's it?

Despite your exasperation, your heart pounds a little faster than before. You've always wanted to do this since the moment you got your hands on this miraculous.

And as embarrassing as it may be to act like a transforming magical girl, you can’t deny that it’s also an exciting idea to do so.

Having the magic to transform… having the power to look cool to some people… and the best of all: having the chance to be the center of attention without being known as your real self?

"Alright," you breathe, rolling the amulet on your fingers, a grin appearing on your face.  "Anpu, lead on!"

In just one shout, the dark kwami turns into a ball of pure black energy as he is pulled in the amulet. The amulet trembles before sticking itself to a spot in the middle of your chest, bursting with gold and black glitters that spread on your collarbones, then down to your shoulders and arms.

When the glitters flow from your wrist to your fingers, black gloves with golden clawed tips appear, reminiscent of sharp talons. You raise them and swipe it over your eyes, flicking your hands off of your face to reveal a masquerade mask with golden eyeliner on the edge of the eyes and a slight down-turned snout: the shape of a jackal’s face. 

You brush your gloves up to your head, where long and pointed ears of jackals arise at the end of your fingertips. Your new ears twitch. 

You spin some more until a skintight black tailcoat flutters behind you like a makeshift tail. The waistcoat underneath is a pale shade of yellow, while the rest of your leggings are pure black. 

All the influx of energy gathers around your gloved hands, and when you clench into the air—two pairs of golden scythe appear on your enclosed fists. 

You twirl the scythes on your wrist, as if handling it has always been something you've done before. And with a huff, you flip it and hold it with the precision of a hunter. 

Only when the flashing light disappears do you snap out of the reverie, blinking in surprise.

Wow. 

You look at the scythes in your hand. It’s cold, heavy yet also comfortable to hold in your hands. Then you gaze at the golden claws of your gloves, the black skin tight sleeves of your outfit, and finally your dark combat boots with golden shoestrings on it. 

“This…” you don’t know whether to laugh or be stunned. “This is insane…” 

Unlike earlier where a kwami would definitely be jumping in joy right now, it is only you who is in this alleyway. But you feel Anpu’s excitement anyway, situating right between your chest where the amulet is.

You look out of the crevice in the alley and smile. “I guess it’s time to make some headlines, huh?”

Finally, you jump to the roof.

At least, you expect to jump near the roof.

But when you coiled your knees and leapt into the air, you find yourself high up into the sky with no way of landing properly.

“Oh shit—WHAT IS WITH THIS OVERPOWERED JUMPING ABILITIES?!”

You are falling fast—way too fast for your liking. Your arms flail, scythes trembling wildly in your grip. The rooftops are coming up quicker than you’d like, and panic flares in your chest.

Think!

You twist midair, aiming your scythe at the nearest building. Instinct kicks in, and you throw it—hard. The golden blade hooks onto the edge of a rooftop with a satisfying clang, and before you can question how you knew to do that, the weapon tugs you forward.

Your body swings, momentum shifting, and suddenly, you’re landing—hard—on the roof. You roll instinctively, absorbing the impact before skidding to a stop, your feet lay perfectly flat on the surface.

For a moment, all you do is stand there, blinking at the wall that you are so close to stumbling into. Your chest heaves, your heart pounds, and then—

“Oh my God,” you gasp, flopping down your butt. “I almost just died.”

Now you know what Marinette felt when she first used her magical yo-yo.

You groan, pressing a gloved hand to your face. “These things should really come with a manual. I mean, I expected to have superpowers but having the ability to jump and touch the clouds? Nobody told me I'd be able to do that!”

You sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. Your eyes widen at the sight in front of you.

The city.

It sprawls before you—Paris, glittering beneath the sunset, alive with lights and movement. The Eiffel Tower is still towering everything, but from up here, the world  looks so… small. Like you are able to grasp everything with just a simple flex of your fingers.

Your fingers tighten around your scythes. "Alright," you murmur. "Let's see what else I can do."

With a running start, you leap again—this time, more prepared.

The moment your feet push off the rooftop, you surge forward with an insane speed. The wind howls past your ears, but it doesn’t hinder you. If anything, it thrills you.

You land on another building with a smooth roll, barely making a sound. It’s instinctive, natural.

And when your sharp eyes catch a glimpse of a man’s sneaky fingers grasping somebody else’s purse—you don’t hesitate.

A burst of speed carries you down the side of the building, your scythe hooking onto a lamppost to redirect your momentum. When your feet hit the pavement, you dash to the thief’s direction. 

Your scythe hooks onto the purse strap with precision, yanking it away from his grasp just as he turns.

The man stumbles, gasping as his hands clutch at nothing but air. “Huh? What the—?!”

He barely gets the words out before a sharp whoosh passes by his ear. 

The purse is no longer in his grasp, and neither is the presence that took it.

From your new perch atop a nearby awning, you grin, tossing the purse into the air and catching it effortlessly. Perfect.

Now, to return it to its rightful owner.

It doesn’t take you long to find a woman panicking and shouting at the police about a thief on the loose. 

You crouch on the rooftop edge above her, tapping your scythe against your palm as you listen in. The woman’s voice is frantic, but the officers look more exasperated than alarmed—probably thinking this is just another petty theft case in a city too big to keep track of them all.

Well. You’re about to give them something to really talk about.

You twirl the purse once on your finger before tossing it back toward its owner, who catches it in confusion.

“There. Safe and sound.” Both her and the police snap their heads up your way, eyes widening as they take in your silhouette perched high above. 

With a playful salute, you fall back to the roof and start running again.

"Did you see that?!"

“A vigilante?”

“No- a superhero! Paris finally has one after so long!”

Amused laughter bubbles in your chest at the hushed whispers nearby. You aren’t planning to be like Ladybug nor Chat Noir; you don’t want to stay and chat, especially not when you are literally as small as a child on their way to elementary school.

Your only goal right now is to build up a future persona, and when the time comes—when you can finally come out—well, you’ll be able to savor more of your heroic escapades. 

Your lips curl into a grin.

For now, Paris has seen just enough of you.

“Why are you drawing an ugly worm?” Kim asks, poking the paper before Nathaniel yanks it away from him with a disapproving frown.

“It’s not a worm; It’s a design of Phantom.” Nathaniel defends. He looks down at the drawing and smiles, tucking his long bangs to his ear. “Nobody knows what they look like aside from a couple of description floating online, so I’m trying to draw what I think they might be."

“Woah, woah.” You cut between the two, making them look at you in confusion. “Phantom? Phantom?” 

Kim raises an eyebrow at your disbelief. “Uh, yeah? The shadow guy hero who helps during the day and nighttime. I think that’s what people have been calling them for a week now, at least.”

Nathaniel nods enthusiastically, flipping through his sketchbook to show you more concept drawings. “It’s all over the news and social media—people have been spotting glimpses of a hero moving through the city, super fast, super sneaky. Like a ghost!” His eyes shine with excitement. “Hence, Phantom.”

You slap a hand over your face, groaning. “Seriously? That’s the best they could come up with?”

Kim shrugs. “I mean, it kinda fits how nobody knows anything about them.” He grins. “Besides, Phantom sounds kinda cool, doesn’t it?”

“No.” You deadpan. “No, it does not.”

It sounds like an edgy knockoff name for a ghost-themed magician. Or worse—a budget horror movie villain.

Nathaniel gasps. “How dare you?" he hugs his notebook and glares. "Phantom is mysterious, and the name is as cool as them too!”

The other boy nods in agreement. “Even though I know I’m better at being fast, I also think their name's cool.” Kim raises a brow. “But you sound personally offended. What’s your deal, huh?”

My deal is that this will be my hero name even in the future! You think I wouldn't be offended if it sucks?!

You wish you could be less mysterious. Maybe then you’ll be able to tell everyone outright to change your own hero name into something better, but you need to keep up the pretense; that way, nobody would be able to pinpoint that a six year old kid is a literal superhero both daytime and nighttime. 

“I just think we could think of a better name for the hero,” you say after a few seconds of silence. “Maybe base it off of their appearance or something?”

“Well… nobody really knows what they look like...” Nathaniel taps his pencil against his chin thoughtfully. “All anyone’s seen is a blur of black and gold, moving way too fast to get a picture. Some people think they have a mask too—”

“Course they do,” Kim snorts. “Heroes always gotta have a mask!”

“—Others say they have claws. Big, pointed golden claws that can slash through anything. Or is it a scythe? Anyway, the way they just disappear without a trace is so mysterious too; it's like they’re not even human.”

You barely hold back a grimace at Nathaniel's excited rambling. Okay, maybe I overdid it with the disappearing act…

“Claws and scythes? That’s kinda badass.” Kim taps his chin, then snaps his fingers. “What if they’re like… some kind of shadow beast?”

“Yeah, but what kind of shadow beast would they be?” Nathaniel pursues, lips pouting in thought. 

Kim also copies him but it’s obvious by his furrowed brows that he doesn’t have anything in his head.

“Maybe a jackal?”

The two snap their heads your way, blinking in confusion. “A jackal?” they ask at the same time.

You force a normal smile. “Yeah. Like, some kind of canine that tends to move alone, silent and fast. They're like the more dangerous version of dogs; they're clever and dangerous, too. They can slip away before anyone realizes they were even there.”

Nathaniel's eyes widen, and he starts scribbling furiously in his sketchbook. “Maybe their mask can be shaped like a jackal’s face, similar to—”

“Anubis,” you supply.

“Anubis!” Nathaniel smiles widely. “Oh! And their silhouette could have tall ears, too, like a real jackal would be!”

“I dunno who Anubis is.” Kim tilts his head. “But jackals are kinda small, though. Aren’t they more like scavengers?”

You roll your eyes. “Small doesn’t mean they aren’t deadly. And it’s a superhero, Kim. It's already unrealistic for it to be able to disappear without anyone getting glimpses of its appearance—”

Nathaniel gasps dramatically, slamming his sketchbook down. “Phantom Jackal!”

“What?” Oh no. No, no, no—

Kim stands up and grins. “Hey, that sounds sick! Phantom Jackal. That’s way cooler than just Phantom!”

You let out a silent scream internally. You were trying to change the name, not make it worse!

“I dunno,” you say, trying to sound casual. “Maybe let’s stick to something… simpler?”

Nathaniel doesn’t notice you anymore. He’s too busy sketching more of his new favorite hero—the only hero, mind you, as of this current time—while Kim waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, this is it. Phantom Jackal. Boom, it’s decided!”

“No. Actually- Let’s stick to Phantom instead. Phantom sounds cool. Yeah! Everyone's cooking with that name. Please Nathan don't write down Phantom Jackal I am begging you-” 

In the end, you listen to your two friends ramble more about this new superhero, fighting back the urge to smile and just admit that it was you.

Anpu peeks his head out of your scarf and whispers, “I think Phantom sounds cool too.”

“What was that?” But he ducks down when Kim turns your way. 

“I said Phantom sounds really cool,” you tell Kim, who blinks for a moment before shrugging and pointing out more things for Nathaniel to add. You might have heard him ask Nathaniel to draw bigger ‘guns’ and ‘abs’ to which the other boy heatedly tried to discourage him from those horrible thoughts.

“Phantom, huh?” 

You try not to wince when you hear Gabriel speak in the middle of eating lunch with his family and yours.

He hums thoughtfully, taking a slow sip of wine. “A new masked vigilante appearing in Paris is an intriguing event. And a little concerning.” 

“Why would it be concerning?” Surprisingly, it’s Adrien who blurts the question out with pure confusion. But when everyone's attention flick his way, he tenses up. “I-I mean. Phantom is a superhero, Father. I don’t think they're dangerous or anything… I think they enjoy helping people. Just the other day, they stopped a robbery near the Champs-Élysée, and nobody was hurt in the process!”

His sparkling green eyes slowly loses its sparks when silence comes over the table.

“Sorry…” Adrien sits back down, hunching to himself.

“I also think Phantom is a hero,” you glance at Adrien, offering him a small reassuring smile. He brightens up again, but you continue nonetheless. “They haven’t hurt anyone as far as I heard from people. If anything, they just seem to be a little camera shy.”

“It’s not a matter of whether they are helping or not,” Gabriel says at last, folding his hands together. “It’s a matter of control. If someone with unknown abilities is acting outside of the camera, they might not always have the best intentions. Even if they seem to be on the side of justice now, how can we be sure that won’t change?”

Yeah, like how you will  deal with your unknown abilities in the future, Mr. Hawk ‘I wanna get my wife back so I’ll torment everyone, from literal kids to teenagers, just to get it’ Moth?

Adrien also frowns across you but he doesn’t argue. You can tell he wants to—his fingers tighten slightly around his fork—but his father’s presence is always stifling to him.

Thankfully, your mother smiles. “Perhaps Phantom is simply young and unsure of how to present themselves to the world. Not every hero arrives with a press conference and a spotlight.”

Your father chuckles, setting down his glass. “Or maybe they just don’t like attention. Not everyone wants to be famous.”

Your family is so amazing. They don’t know that it’s their child who’s actually Phantom, but they’re still defending you anyway. If that isn’t the best family ever, you don’t know what is.

Gabriel acknowledges their words with a slight nod. “Regardless, a hero without accountability is unpredictable. That can be dangerous by itself.”

“Don’t be so harsh, dear,” Emilie finally speaks, smiling. “If Phantom wanted to cause harm, they would have by now. From what I’ve seen, they only wish to help. We should be grateful Paris has a powerful force now.”

Adrien beams at his mother. “Exactly! They’re awesome, aren’t they?” His enthusiasm grows, his earlier nervousness disappearing. “I wish I could meet them in person. The videos online don’t show everything perfectly after all, since they move too fast even in everyone's eyes…”

Now you understand why the main characters are always so awkward when people they know are referencing their superhero version. The amount of sarcastic quips you want to say outloud is astonishingly abundant; like 'oh, you're staring at them already. Oh you already know who it is, don't worry.'

Maybe having a secret identity isn’t right for someone like you.

Gabriel points his cutthroat eyes on his son. “Have you been watching on your phone instead of focusing on your studies?”

Adrien freezes, the excitement in his eyes quickly fading into panic. “Uh—no? I mean—only sometimes... Like, after I finish my homework! I promise I don’t let it affect my study, Father. I still use the phone to watch documentaries and access education sites too...”

Emilie chuckles, reaching over to gently pat her son’s hand. “Gabe, let the boy have his fun. It’s good for him to be interested in something outside of studying, don’t you think?”

Gabriel exhales sharply through his nose. “As long as it doesn’t become a distraction.”

The boy of blond hair brightens up at his words.

“And as long as you don’t get to meet Phantom too,” Emilie adds. 

Adrien’s happiness shrinks again. 

“What?” Emilie boops his nose. “If you get a chance to meet Phantom, it means you’re in danger. And you know how much we'd rather you stay safe.”

That tone is radiating red flags, motherrrrrr. Wee woo wee woo—

Adrien sighs, slumping slightly on his seat. “I guess that’s true… But still, it’d be cool to at least see them from a distance…” 

The wistful tone of the boy does nothing to lift the atmosphere at the table. Thankfully, your father clears his throat, setting his silverware down. “I’d imagine someone in your position would be more interested in their design rather than their actions, Mr. Gabriel.”

Gabriel’s lips curve into a faint smile. “True. The aesthetics of this ‘Phantom’ do intrigue me. Black and gold—a bold combination. It makes one wonder what kind of person they are underneath the mask.”

Woah, hold on. You aren’t trying to appear like a model for Gabriel Agreste to actually analyze you!

Your mother huffs. “Oh, you two. Don’t turn this into a fashion study over dinner. This Phantom is still a mystery, after all. Perhaps they prefer it that way.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Your father turns Gabriel’s way and smiles. “Remember the painting you asked for me to do in your office? Well, I actually wanted to discuss the latest adjustments to the project-”

“Darling,” your mother warns.

“Oops. Sorry. Die habits old hard.”

“You mean old habits die hard, right, papa?”

“Right! My sweetheart is so smart,” your father coos. You mask your cringe with a happy smile. 

The conversation slips past the topics of superheroes and projects, but even when they’re talking about the weather in such a boring manner, you already gained enough information for today.

The project your father and Gabriel are working on is something you’ve been waiting for a long time now.

It’s the reason why you debuted as Phantom at this age too, instead of waiting in the future.

Duusu… you look at the door leading to the security system of the entire mansion; the location where the spellbook of miraculous is located.

The location where the Peacock Miraculous is stored.

I’m going to fix you soon, Duusu. Don’t you worry. 

Your plan is just beginning.

Chapter Text

Wayzz is tossing and turning on his small bed, trying to figure out the best position to sleep…

That is until he feels a strange vibration in the air. 

“Master…” he says hoarsely. It is a tickling feeling that strums in his mind. For a moment, Wayzz is just staring at the ceiling, wide-eyed and confused. Once he processes it, however, he shoots out of his bed and shouts. “Master!”

When Wayzz darts towards Master Fu, he had just finished ushering the last customer of the day. He turns to the turtle kwami, worried. “Did something happen, Wayzz?” 

“Master, I felt the aura of a miraculous being used somewhere in Paris!”

Master Fu’s eyes widen. “Do you know what miraculous it is?” 

The kwami tries his best to feel it. To grasp the identity of this aura. But his body droops as he meets Master Fu’s eyes.  “No, master. I’m sorry, but I can’t seem to identify who it is...” 

Master Fu has spent almost a century keeping the Miracle Box safe, ensuring that no Miraculous falls into the wrong hands. But now, something has slipped past his watchful eye.

When he opens his eyes, he puts his attention on Wayzz with a heavy gaze. “Can you determine whether the aura is evil or not?” 

Wayzz nods, closing his eyes and letting himself sink into the sensation.

“Um. It feels warm. Almost like a beacon shining in the dark,” he describes. Unsure at first, but slowly becoming excited. “I think it’s a positive aura, master! It’s filled with intention and purpose, and it doesn’t seek to harm…”

But then Wayzz flinches. Beneath the warmth and positive glow he was sensing—there is something else.

A fracture. A sharp edge lurking beneath the surface.

Wayzz shoots his eyes open. “Oh no! It’s both, master! It doesn’t feel like the miraculous is held by a corrupted owner, but it isn’t entirely good either!”

Master Fu rubs a hand to his face. “This can’t be…” 

“Could it be a lost Miraculous?” Wayzz asks. “One that was never recorded?”

“Impossible. Every Miraculous that has ever existed was created with a purpose, bound to a Kwami whose nature aligns with it. But if even you cannot recognize it, then this must be something beyond our understanding.”

Wayzz flutters in the air anxiously. “Master, what if—what if it’s new?”

Master Fu stills. He hadn’t considered that. A Miraculous forming on its own, outside of the Order’s knowledge, was unthinkable. The creation of a Miraculous required immense cosmic energy, a deep intertwining of fate and magic. For one to appear without warning?

It could mean that something—or someone—had become a force powerful enough to create change on a level beyond human or Kwami comprehension.

And that was a dangerous thought.

“Are you absolutely certain, Wayzz? That this isn’t a Miraculous you’ve ever felt before?” 

Wayzz nods frantically. “Yes, and that’s what frightens me. It feels… powerful. Almost too powerful. More than Tikki, more than Plagg. But if the both of them joined forces, they could easily overwhelm it.” The kwami follows Master Fu as he walks towards the shelf where the Miraculous Box is hidden. “Should we… Is it time to get a new Ladybug and Cat Miraculous holder now, master?”

Master Fu doesn’t answer immediately as he holds the Miracle Box in his hands. “The decision to awaken the Ladybug and Cat Miraculouses is not one to be taken lightly, Wayzz. The moment we choose their wielders, they will be thrust into a battle they may not be ready for.” 

But if Wayzz is right… if this unknown Miraculous is powerful enough to rival Tikki or Plagg… then waiting could be a grave mistake…

Master Fu shakes his head. “No, not yet.” He puts the Miracle Box to where it should be; hidden and away from prying eyes. “I will not make another mistake by jumping to conclusions. Until we understand what we are dealing with, making a move right now is foolish and dangerous. If this new power does not mean harm, then we risk provoking an unnecessary conflict. If it is a threat, however... we must prepare.”

The kwami looks worried, but he knows how thorough his master is, so he leaves it all to him.  “How will we find out if it’s a threat or not?”

Master Fu turns to the window, looking out over the streets of Paris. “That depends on the choices they make, Wayzz.”

Deep down, he thinks:

Whoever held that Miraculous wasn’t just going to make choices that will influence the battle between good and evil.

They will be the battle itself.

“You watch shows like this, Adrien?”

Adrien nods vigorously, his smile everlasting as he keeps his eyes on the flat screen TV. You and him are sitting down on the floor of his room instead of the couch, with the coffee table pushed to the side to give more space for the both of you.

And although Adrien looks excited, your expression is stuck between feeling intrigued and also horrified by what you were watching.

“Oh! This is the part where the characters k–k…” Adrien looks at where the door is, his hand hovering over the remote control before turning back to you with a hushed whisper. “This is the part where the characters kiss and hold hands together.”

By how Adrien was acting, you almost thought you two were watching something weird together. Well- since you were still young, watching romance shows with kiss scenes (that are just the actors pressing their lips together in shock) is already considered as something embarrassing to watch. 

Of course you aren’t a kid anymore. These things are something you already know about, something you’re even open about—but with the young Adrien beside you, who is acting so secretive and flustered, it makes it feel like you two are sneaking around with something scandalous.

The scene plays out on screen: the male lead suddenly grabs the girl’s wrist as she turns to leave, pulling her back with a forceful tug. She gasps, struggling slightly, but then he cups her face and kisses her without another word. The music swells dramatically.

Your jaw slacks open. "Huhhh?”

Adrien turns to you, grinning. “That’s my reaction too about this part! She’s frustrated about him upsetting her but he shows her his love by kissing her anyway. And then she realizes she loves him too, and they both end up knowing that they love each other.” He sighs, looking completely enamored by the scene. “It’s so romantic, don’t you think?”

You blink at him. Then back at the screen. Then at him again.

“Adrien…” you begin slowly, trying to gather your thoughts. “That’s… not romantic.”

His smile falters. “Huh? What do you mean?”

God, you can’t handle that dampening smile of his. He was just being a happy little guy and there you are, about to ruin it with your lecture—

You shook your head. No, don’t fall for it. This is another case of a romantic-genre-normal trope’s victim, and you aren’t going to let him stay that way.

“That’s not romantic. That’s just being forceful. He grabbed her when she was trying to leave, and didn’t even get to say anything before he kissed her. Now look,” your face scrunches, “He’s not even letting her go when he knows how she needs to go back to her home or else she’ll be in trouble.”

Adrien tilts his head at you. “But… doesn’t that show how much he loves her? He couldn’t let her go because he cares too much.”

You let out a short sigh, pointing at the screen as the scene continues. The female lead has gone from struggling to standing completely still, her eyes wide as if she’s just now processing what happened. Then, after a dramatic pause, she slowly melts into the kiss, gripping his shirt with trembling fingers.

Adrien nudges you with his elbow. “See? She likes it.”

You give him a deadpan look. “Adrien.”

“What?”

“That’s not how it works. If someone grabs you and kisses you without asking, it’s not romantic—it’s just weird and uncomfortable.” You pause, then add, “And also very rude.”

“But the guy who likes the girl always knows when to do it at the right timing and at the perfect atmosphere,” Adrien argues.

Oh boy.

And they said Gabriel is a helicopter parent. Where is this supposed-helicopter parent and why is he buying movies like this for his own child to watch all alone? 

"Okay, but think about it in real life," you say. "Imagine you’re talking to someone, and you suddenly grab their wrist and kiss them without asking. How do you think they'd feel?"

Adrien hesitates. "Uh… surprised?"

"More like uncomfortable," you correct. "Because what if they don’t want to be kissed? Or what if they’re not ready? What if they are upset and they just want to be comforted by silence or something else that isn’t about making things romantic? People need to communicate these things, and frankly, love isn’t just about physical intimacy. Movies like this just need to exaggerate it to keep up the audience retention."

Adrien frowns, looking back at the screen. You might have overdone it with your big words, but you have a feeling he understands where you’re coming from anyway.

"It’s sweet in romance movies, yes,” you say with a sigh, “But don’t follow it in real life. Just because someone likes you doesn’t mean they’re automatically okay with you touching them." You shift to sit cross-legged, turning fully toward him. "Consent matters. Even for small things like holding hands or hugs. You can’t assume—because if you get it wrong, you’re putting the other person in an uncomfortable situation."

Adrien is silent for a moment, his brows furrowed. “…So, in real life, I should ask first?”

"Yes. Always," you emphasize. "It doesn’t make it any less romantic. Actually, it makes it better, because then both people know they’re on the same page." 

Then you brighten up and crawl in front of Adrien, blocking his view of the TV. He looks at you, confused, but you simply hold your cheeks together and smile. “Imagine a scene where the male lead is reaching out to hold the love of his life’s cheeks. He stops, hesitating, checking to see if she’ll allow it. And then, to show her own love and eagerness, she nods shyly and he kisses her after that consent. Isn’t that more romantic? More butterfly-inducing? Not only does the male lead get to kiss her, but he also received a clear response that he likes her too.” 

Adrien leans back, staring at the ceiling as he takes this in. "That... does sound a bit better."

Of course it does.

Now that you think about it, Adrien in the show has always been a bit forceful, was he not? Sure it’s played off as funny flirting and lighthearted teasing, and he is sometimes charismatic as Chat Noir, but there were also times when he didn’t really consider how Ladybug felt—which you found icky as well, how he’s always ready to kiss her even if she repeatedly said no. 

More than that, didn’t Adrien grow up indifferent to people being weird and creepy to him too? Being a child model doesn’t justify that fact.

It’s oddly realistic, but the show could have at least given him a chance to have his own boundaries! Especially when he starts experiencing what a normal teenage life should be. 

"I guess I never thought about it like that before," he admits, breaking you out of your thoughts. "I mean… I don’t really know how I would interact with people other than you and my family. You’re all I have… and you’re also the only one who really talks to me about this kind of stuff…”

Yeah, that checks out. He was still young and you don’t want to be the one coaching him on the more serious side of the romantic spectrum—but if these romance dramas are his main reference, then he would continue growing up to think this kind of behavior is okay.

“You’re really knowledgeable about a lot of stuff, (Y/n),” Adrien says genuinely. “I think it’s because you read a lot more books than I do.” 

Nah, it’s cause this is my second life but whatever floats your boat.

“Now don’t compare yourself to me, mister,” you poke his cheek accusingly. Adrien swats it away, laughing a bit when you poke his waist instead. “We all have our limitations in doing our fun activities. Besides! I may read a lot but you can’t catch me going up and asking my parents to get me back to fencing classes after I felt exhausted on the first day.”

Adrien groans, his back hitting the couch as he melts. “I don’t want to talk about that…”

You snicker, watching him hide his face by looking up at the ceiling. “Alright, then. Let’s continue watching this terrible romance show.”

“It’s a good movie! If we ignore what happened in this scene,” Adrien argues, but you laugh in response, crawling back to sit beside him.

The two of you went back to watching the movie. And just like he said, aside from that one icky scene in the rain, you could even say the movie was good. 

If that was Mr. Darcy though, he would never have disrespected my Elizabeth’s personal space like that. He would have been ardently speaking out his love instead, letting her process it without once breaking her boundaries—

Oh. Your eyes widen. Right! You should definitely show Adrien some of the best romance movies with the best green flag male leads. Maybe they don’t exist at this current time frame, but if you find one that exists, then you have to consume it with him.

There is a murmuring beside you.

“Mm, what?” you ask, turning to look at the boy.

Adrien ducks his head, his arms are stiff right between his crossed legs. 

“Can I… hold your hand?”

The blond looks like he might combust from sheer embarrassment. His gaze is glued to the floor, his ears redder than you’ve ever seen them.

When you don’t respond for more than a few seconds, Adrien intertwines his fingers and holds it in front of his trembling lips. “I just…” He peeks at you from under his bangs. “If you don’t want to, then that’s fine too. I just wanted to try holding your hand— I mean, your hand looks soft to hold– I mean- I always wanted to hold your hand since that day in the rain— no, no no!... please don’t listen to me anymore.”

Adrien lurches with his intertwined hands still covering his lower face. You could even say he was melting into a puddle of mortification.

And... ugh, why did it seem so adorable?

You weren’t this adorable when you were a kid.

In the end, you manage to huff a small laugh. “See? That’s how you do it.”

Adrien’s eyes flicker when you offer your hand, disbelief written all over his expression. His mouth opens and closes, his entire body stiffens. But you keep your hand still, never once did you pull it away in impatience nor did you tease him for short-circuiting.

After a while, he slowly reaches out. His fingers brush against yours before he grasps your hand gently, a nervous exhale escaping his lips.

You can feel the warmth of his hand, and for a second, it feels like the world slows down. It’s just a simple gesture, but Adrien is acting like it’s the most monumental thing to ever happen.

You intertwine your fingers with him, just watching his reaction with a soft smile. “Now that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Adrien shakes his head rapidly, his hand tightening around yours. “N-No, it’s not bad, it’s just… I mean, it’s still a little embarrassing…”

“That’s what makes it better,” you tease. 

He smiles back, looking down at your intertwined hands before trying to pull you closer. His eyes flicker your way, checking to see if you’ll retract from him or not.

You let yourself inch closer, letting your shoulders brush against his. “Now,” you chirp, resting your head on the side of his head. “Let’s watch some more cheesy romance! I call dibs on picking the next movie.”

“You have to go up to the mezzanine and pick a DVD from the shelf!” Adrien protests. His grip on your hand tightens as if the suggestion of you leaving him alone for a second is too much for him to bear.

“Oh no, how tragic!” you chuckle. “Adrien, we can’t watch anything without picking a new movie. You’ll survive.” You let go of his hand for a moment, only to shoot him finger guns and grins. “I’ll be back in a purrfect amount of time, don’t worry.”

“Meee-yoow?” Adrien purrs, confused but utterly pleased.

You laugh, shaking your head and walking up his mezzanine. The boy has always loved his cat puns since he was a child. Maybe it was really meant to be; him getting Plagg's miraculous.

While you pick through his large collection of DVDs, you catch the blond glancing at you from below before he quickly looks away when he sees you turning to him. It’s almost endearing how flustered he still is, even after you held his hand so casually. The poor kid is probably overthinking it, and honestly, you can’t help but find it adorable.

Well. Maybe I'll become his first crush too. 

Thinking of it that way sounds a bit narcissistic, but you know how fickle childhood crushes are. There's no harm in letting it develop that way; it'll only be a matter of time before he finds the real girl he will fall in love with anyway—and you have a feeling it won't be you, any time in the future.

“Historical romance in Egypt!?” Anpu shrieks in excitement.

You flinch, looking at the blond boy below who was staring at his hands obliviously, then back at your floating kwami. “Tone it down a bit, Anpu. What if Adrien hears you?”

“Sorry—but my previous master was from Egypt so let’s watch this, pleaseee! He never had a lover in his previous life and in his new life too. I want to see what he did wrong! Maybe it’s because he doesn’t talk with poetic lines like the man earlier in that movie we just watched?” 

You don’t know whether to feel bad for Anpu’s previous master or laugh, cause the kwami is over there, looking so excited as if he isn’t unconsciously insulting his previous master’s ability to get a lovelife. 

"Well," you say, grabbing the DVD your kwami was holding and motioning to your scarf. He flies there, hiding once more.

"Some people don't want any romantic partners, Anpu. I don't find anything wrong with that."

Chapter Text

On the week of your seventh birthday, you overslept… which you aren’t surprised about.

It was only a matter of time before your body starts compensating for your lack of sleep. That sounds a bit ridiculous though; a soon-to-be seven year old kid is having trouble sleeping? Well, have you tried just being a normal kid and sleep?

Yeah, impossible. You are literally the mysterious superhero of Paris, and your parents know nothing about it, but that doesn’t mean they don’t pay attention to you. One time, you didn’t come home immediately after classes ended, so now your mother always fetches you herself, making it harder to find the right time to transform and be Phantom. 

The only solution you got was patrolling at night, which you enjoyed now that you’ve done it. There were only so many bed curfews a reincarnated kid like you can handle.

Anyway, that’s beside the point.

The point is that you overslept once more because of your nightly patrol, but this time, instead of your mom shaking you wide awake, the voice of someone else did.

“Seriously?” A familiar voice grumbles. “I have to wake up this…” Hesitation. “Thing…?” 

You feel your bed covers slipping underneath you, slow and steady. You try to grasp it back, patting everywhere, but whoever it is, they pull the covers away and throw it down the floor before you could do so.

Thud!

Your head suddenly spikes up in pain, along with your body that fell down in the process. A groggy groan leaves your lips as you push yourself up, rubbing the side of your throbbing head. 

What kind of wake-up call was that? Your mother never went this far before. The worst she did to her sweet child is make you smell her foot, but fully making you fall down the floor and taking away your comfortable blankets?

“Morning, sleepyhead.” 

Oh, wait. That voice again.

You squint up at the blurry figure standing over you. They had their arms crossed, a sharp smile tugging at their lips. Messy blond hair, bright green eyes, face sculpted like a porcelain angel of Michaelangelo—

“Ah. Adrien,” you say, yawning once more. “Why’d you wake me up so early in the day…?”

The scorching sun rays outside the window is enough of a telltale that it isn’t morning anymore. But right now, you are perfectly content with pretending.

For a long moment Adrien just stares at you, cocking his head. “Your mom asked me to,” he says softly. “She seemed rather concerned about your habit of sleeping in.”

Of course she is. You’d be concerned too if you know your child has been sleeping ‘on time’ but still wakes up tired anyway. 

“I’m getting worried as well…” Adrien frowns. “Did you know you look terrible when you sleep?”

You absent-mindedly rub your mouth for any unwiped drool, bringing Adrien to smile even more. 

“You must not know about it, huh?” He steps over your leg and sits on the edge of your bed. He seems to be hesitant touching the bedsheets, his face scrunching as he stares at his hand, before reluctantly letting himself lean back. “You drool a lot. Like, really a lot. I was kind of impressed, actually.”

You just woke up and he’s already teasing you. 

"Yeah… thanks for the insight or whatever...”

"Anytime.”

If you had no sort of affection for the blond, you would have released all sorts of foul language in different languages. You don’t speak every language there is in the world but you searched up enough curse words to maximize your hating game. 

Adrien might not survive that version of you though, so you just make an attempt to climb back into bed.

Unfortunately, your so-called 'friend' (and you’re starting to question the validity of that title) flicks your hands away, making you stumble back on the floor.

“You can’t seriously think you’re getting away with more sleep,” he huffs. You open your mouth to complain but he interrupts. “Not only is your family a leech to mine, but you are also a leech to my time. Don’t you think I have much better things to do than wake up a hibernating sloth?”

You make a noncommittal noise with your throat, though it sounds more like you were choking in confusion. Which you are.

“Get up,” Adrien demands.

Maybe it’s because you’re still half-asleep, but something about this whole interaction screams fever dream. Adrien has become more teasing, sure, but he’s never been this outright mean. Calling you a leech? A hibernating sloth? And demanding you to do something?

When you meet his eyes again, you don’t find anything wrong with him. There was still Adrien, the little boy, your friend, whose good genes are plastered all over Paris as a child celebrity. His eyes are as bright as the fresh grass outside, the same warmth that you always associated with him, but there is something cold in them too. Like he’s not looking at you the same way he always did. 

“Ooookay,” you start slowly, “No need to be so- ‘poetic’ with your words”

“Poetic?” A snort. “I guess I’m using words too difficult for someone of your descent…”

You hum, narrowing your eyes at him. “Sorry, I guess I’m a bit dumb for someone of ‘my descent’, huh?” 

You adjust your legs so you are kneeling, and with Adrien raising a brow at your reaction, you crawl his way. It doesn’t take you long to touch his knees, watching him stiffen as you push yourself to look closer at his face.

His breath hitches just slightly, and his shoulders stiffen. That only makes you stop and smile.

“Did you know?” you say, pushing your face closer and watching how he hurriedly falls back on the bed in panic. You wait for a few seconds, then you say: “You are terrible at impersonating Adrien.”

With a ruffle of his hair, you pull back and sit on your heels, arms crossing as you watch the blond freeze. 

For a moment, ‘Adrien’ just stares up at you, stunned into silence. Then, just as quickly, he schools a smile of confusion.

“What’s wrong with you?” he worries, propping himself up on his elbows. He makes the same mannerisms as your friend, with that slow blink and a tilt of his head. “Why do you say I’m not Adrien?”

"Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that Adrien doesn’t talk like some pretentious aristocrat with a superiority complex?" You lean your face just a bit more, and he presses himself further into your bed like they might swallow him whole. "Or maybe it’s the fact that he doesn’t call my family leeches right in front of my face?"

Felix—because he is definitely Felix, not Adrien—visibly twitches, lips parting in brief offense before he smooths his expression back into something composed. "That’s an awfully bold accusation to make. Maybe you’re just half-asleep and hallucinating."

"Or maybe I never fall for bad gaslighters like you."

“Gaslighter…?” he scrunches his face in confusion, the word unknown to him before he shakes his head. "Whatever. If you’re so confident, then go on. Prove I’m not Adrien."

"First of all, Adrien doesn’t call me nor my family a ‘leech’ in front of my face.” You don’t even hesitate. “He also wouldn’t be disgusted when it comes to sitting on my bed ‘cause he has done it a lot for years now. And he wouldn’t have tried so hard faking being comfortable when I was right up on his face, not when he knows he can be open with me if I ever made him uncomfortable. But as much as you try, it’s obvious by your face that you’re having a hard time keeping your discomfort to yourself.”

You grin at the way he abandons his mask to glare at you. 

“Maybe if you pushed my face away and acted as a jerk there, I would have fallen for your excuses.”

His lips press into a thin line. Then, in a manner far too refined to belong to Adrien, he crosses his legs at the ankles and rests his elbow on his knee, propping his cheek against his knuckles.

“You’re more perceptive than I gave you credit for,” he finally admits. The condescension dripping from his tone makes it clear he’s not exactly complimenting you.

One thing you learned from your kwami, though?

"Thank you!” 

Anything becomes a compliment if you act like it is.

Felix narrows his sharp green eyes. His lips part just slightly before he clicks his tongue and looks away.

"Annoying," he mutters under his breath.

Felix doesn’t bother picking up the blankets he had so unceremoniously thrown to the floor. Instead, he stands up and dusts himself off like he’d just spent an unfortunate amount of time in a dirty place.

You watch him amusedly. “Leaving already?”

“I fail to see the point of lingering.” His voice is now completely different, laced with dry irritation and none of the artificial warmth he’d forced before. “As far as I recall, I already did what I came here to do.”

“And what exactly was that?”

Instead of answering, Felix walks around your room with a critical eye. He must be trying to find something to criticize and dampen your mood on. But the only things he can tell you is the state of your messy room (which you can readily admit your own laziness without feeling shameful about it) or call you a nerd or a bookworm from having too many books on a shelf. 

If he dares to say the latter, you’ll just burst out laughing. You fail to see why being a nerd be an insult to anyone. If he accuses you of not reading anything here though, you won’t mind admitting the truth; nothing’s wrong with a bit of honesty. Reading random books that aren’t entirely your type isn’t something you can do everyday anyway. 

“This is what you’ve been spending my uncle's money on?” 

You snap out of your thoughts, seeing him take out a book and holding it up for you to see. 

“Architectural structures of 18th-century France? Really?”

“Got a problem with my interest, aristocrat?”

You don’t even know why you have that book, but you can’t back down now; not when you’re facing this smartass opponent of yours.

Felix scoffs, flipping through the pages. “Why would a child like you be interested in this when there are countless more entertaining books to read? Fairytales, for instance. Or are you too mature for that sort of thing?”

“Please. Fairytales are fine. Besides, you of all people shouldn’t lecture me on how to become a proper child, Mr. ‘I Talk Like A Victorian Ghost Who Never Moved On’.”

He snaps his head your way and snarls. “I don’t talk like a Victorian ghost.”

“What do I do to change my opinion, then? You look like one. All pale and broody right over—” you gesture to the entirety of his body “—there.”

Felix narrows his eyes at you, and for a split second, you wonder if you pushed him too far. But then he shuts the book with a decisive thud and turns away, putting it back on the shelf. “How unfortunate for you then, that you’re living under the same roof as this so-called ‘ghost.’”

You had to double-take. “What?”

He faces your way, looking absolutely smug at your confusion. “My name is Felix Fathom. Felix Fathom Graham de Vanily—Adrien’s cousin.” 

Yeah, tell me something I don’t know already. There was only one Adrien lookalike who acted posh and snobbish in your mind anyway.

“My family and I will temporarily be in France for the next few months. Which means, whether you like it or not, you'll be seeing much more of me: the so-called ‘ghost’."

For the record, he did tell you something you didn't know. Which was enough to stun you in place.

There's nothing wrong about Felix being here; you don’t dislike him that much, maybe you just find his character in the storyline a tiny bit annoying when he's being extremely mean, but the moment he uttered ‘family’, you realize there are other things more important for you to worry about.

The Graham de Vanily twins… the billionaire Colt Fathom… the wedding rings…

Those thoughts make your stomach twist. Out of all of them though, one thing sticks the most in your dreadful mind:

I'll be living with that horrid, child abuser Fathom?

You observe the boy in front of you. There weren't any sign of harm on Felix; nothing yet, at least. If your memory is correct, Colt will only start being physically abusive to him once he gets ill. You know that the bastard dies a year after Emilie Agreste went into a coma, but when exactly will he start falling ill? How long will their family stay in this mansion, and can you do something to stop the future mistreatment of the blond in front of you? 

Your silence must have been satisfying to Felix, who was unaware of what exactly you were thinking about, since a sardonic smile curls on his lips. 

“No snide remark? No witty comeback? Don’t tell me you’ve finally run out of that horrible wit of yours.”

You open your mouth to ask him why they’re here, but that’s glaringly obvious. He’s Adrien’s cousin; it’s normal he’ll be visiting from time to time. 

Maybe you could ask if his father is anywhere near instead. You want to know if you should start preparing to fight; realistically, there’s little you can do when you’re just a child, but nobody will be there to stop you from using your miraculous and kick him in the ass—

Instead of saying all of that outloud, you tilt your head innocently. “Why’d you try to impersonate Adrien anyway?” 

You’ll think about Colt Fathom next time. Right now, you’ll take your time to learn more about his son. 

“Why not?" Felix answers. "Your mother mistook me for him, and I saw no reason to correct her. I figured I might as well commit to the bit."

“Then why did you have to insult me while acting as him? That’s not committing to the bit, not when you know Adrien wouldn’t say those words to anyone.”

There was an odd sound of a huff, or perhaps an amused snort, but when you snap your head to his face, Felix looks away with an utterly bored expression. "We both know no one expects the golden boy of the Agreste family to behave poorly; not even his own family, so why not take advantage of it and give everyone around him a shock? That’s their fault for not noticing the difference anyway."

You narrowed your gaze on his side profile; he’s still so young, with those soft squishy cheeks similar to Adrien’s. But it’s unsettling how naturally he speaks about this topic without caring about the consequences of it. 

“Sounds lonely,” you muse.

Felix scrunches his face, flabbergasted. “What?”

You swing your legs over the edge of the bed. “Sounds like you do this because you want someone to notice, to call you out on it. Otherwise, why bother with acting differently? You could just act like Adrien and no one would ever know.”

“Adrien knows,” he rolls his eyes. “In fact, we do this quite often. But today, I haven’t even gotten the chance to meet my cousin before I got interrupted by your mother. It seemed like I didn’t need to act like Adrien to fool someone like her.”

“Don’t use that tone on my mother,” you say coldly, making him blink fast in surprise. “None of us know about you nor your family, so that's an easy mistake to do.”

He arches a brow. “An easy mistake that you can see right through?”

“I'm Adrien's friend,” you reply simply. Felix looks like his mind is drifting farther away at your answer, so you try again: “You said you two do this often. Does he also know that when you impersonate him, you insult everyone and hurt the people around him too?” 

“This is the first time I did this too,” he defends. 

You arch a brow. That’s surprising-

"And what’s wrong with that anyway?" he adds, voice flat. "Like I said, if people get hurt because they failed to see the truth from the lie, I don’t think that’s any of our problem. They don’t even know the difference between someone they claim to know a lot and a doppelganger of them. What’s there for me to feel guilty about?”

He must be expecting you to start getting angry. Such a careless, nonchalant answer will always receive an angered reaction from the other person.

But when he sees your lips curling, and your brows wiggling, Felix just blinks in surprise: 

“I never said anything about being guilty.”

Felix opens his mouth hastily, “I’m not-” then he stops. You continue to waggle your brows. He scowls and turns away. “I think I wasted enough time already being here.”

You laugh, not bothering to stop the blond from stomping out of your room in an angry fit. 

It seems like you've become such a menace in just seven years of being reincarnated. Teasing kids until they blow up right on your face? Not the second time you did something like that. 

When your door shuts close, a blur of black zooms out of your bed. “I live!” The flying blur of black heaves a huge amount of air, making exaggerated gestures of breathing too. “I live, and I can breathe, finally!”

“Anpu?” You reach out to your dramatic kwami who flops down on your palms and acts like a hacking fish back in the water. “Sorry. That must have surprised you. Where were you hiding again?”

“Under… the bed… mattress…”

You blink, before looking under you. “Oh.”

The moment he regained his breath, Anpu started ranting about how terrible Felix is and how he heard him badmouth you and use Adrien’s kind face to do so. And he dared to sit on your bed too, making him feel the weight of someone wanting to torture him from their heaviness!

Maybe you’re as manipulative as the blond earlier, because you don’t dare correct Anpu that it wasn’t Felix who sat on his hiding spot, but you instead.

It turns out there’s an event for all rich people to meet up this week. And considering you and your parents are humble (or them only, you have no shame in staying inside the Agrestes mansion until they kick you out) your family decided to go on a staycation throughout that week. 

Sponsored by Gabriel, of course. Even though you hate his actions in the show, you are enjoying his current care for your family... or maybe it’s for your father only. But it still counts! You don’t care!

Praise the rich people when they’re giving you charity. You’ll eat and ruin them later, once it’s more convenient to do so.

Unfortunately, you aren’t staying in that luxurious Le Grand Paris of the Bourgeois family. They’re already occupied by attending the party with the Agrestes. You even saw a glimpse of one familiar ponytailed blonde who ran up to Adrien with an excited hug, ignoring you completely. Not that you cared about her lack of attention or anything like that.

Okay, maybe you did care. That’s Chloe Bourgeois! You could have met her, talked to her, and gotten insulted by her due to her obvious bias towards people that are on her ‘level’, but at least it would’ve been an experience. 

But nooo. You just had to go away and drag your small bags that carried only a week’s worth of clothes and miss out on the true fun of this world.

Just great. 

The rental place your father picked isn’t as luxurious as the mansion, but it’s still high-end. The fact that you can even afford to get a reservation to this place in a rush shows how great of an influence Gabriel’s family has in all of Paris.

Like you said; you’ll eat the rich when it’s more convenient for you. For now, you must enjoy the vacation. 

You and your parents are picking your meals in the dinner buffet when you glance to the side and see someone familiar.

It's Nathaniel, standing near the dessert section

You hadn't expected to see him here—Then again, this was still in the same city; there’s only so much nearby hotel you could find without meeting the same people over and over.

You are about to call out to him when you notice he isn't alone.

A pink haired girl stands beside him, her hat rotated backwards as she gestures wildly while speaking. She has rollerblades, and Nathaniel looks half amused, half exasperated by her moving around as she tells a story. 

It’s obvious who she is; rollerblades, sharply cut pink hair, and that familiar black cap of hers.

Even from afar, you’d know it’s the one and only Alix Kubdel.

You look up at your parents. They’re talking about what you’d do tomorrow, if you’ll sightsee together, all that boring planning stuff.

“Mama,” you tug her sleeve lightly.

She hums in acknowledgment as she places a small serving of gratin on her plate. “What is it, dear?”

“I saw a friend of mine. Can I go say hi?”

Your mother follows your gaze and smiles warmly. “Of course. Just don’t take too long—we still have to eat.”

You are already stepping away before she can change her mind.

As you weave through the buffet tables, you keep your eyes on Nathaniel and Alix, trying to catch snippets of their conversation.

“…telling you, that’s the worst call I’ve ever seen in my life,” Alix is saying, rolling a few inches ahead and then back as she talks. “The guy had one job! How do you miss a play that obvious?”

Nathaniel looks at the other desserts, replying absent-mindedly. “You say that about every game you don’t like.”

“Because people keep messing up,” she huffs, throwing her hands up. “It’s like watching a train wreck happening in slow motion, except no one is trying to get out of the way even if time is already moving slow!”

Nathaniel chuckles, shaking his head. That's when his eyes flicker past Alix and land on you.

Recognition dawns in his gaze, and his brows lift in surprise. “(Y/n)?”

The girl snaps her head your way, and you wave, not missing the way the corner of Nathaniel’s lips curls wider at the sight of you. “Hi, Nathan. I’m not stalking you, if that’s what you’re worrying about right now,” you joke.

Nathaniel laughs, covering his lower face that was beginning to bloom in red. “I’m not accusing you of that, oh God, no.”

“Who’s this?” Alix says, eyes narrowing in curiosity. If it were any other kids, they would have felt intimidated by her aura alone; she looks like the typical cool girl whom anyone would consider out of their league at this age. But you’ve watched the show, and you are intimidated in a different way instead: 

Gosh, what do I say? How do I make friends with her? Can I be friends with her?!

She seems so cool-headed and fun to be around with. You need to make her your new friend.

Nathaniel clears his throat, gesturing between the two of you. “Alix, this is (Y/n), a friend from my class. (Y/n), this is Alix Kubdel.”

Alix nods in approval. “Cool, cool. Didn’t know Nathan was able to keep friendly with other people other than that annoying Kim,” she rolls her eyes as the name leaves her tongue. 

Then her eyes widen. She snaps her head again your way—you almost worried she’s hurting her neck doing that—and she points accusingly. “Wait- you’re (Y/n)?! The (Y/n)? The one that Nathan has a cru—”

Nathaniel almost drops his plate in his rush to clamp a hand over Alix’s mouth, his face now a vibrant shade of red. “W-We don’t need to finish that sentence!”

Alix lets out a muffled snicker against his palm before prying his hand off with ease. “Fine, fine. I won’t say it. But I could, if you won't.” She wiggles her eyebrows at him in a way that’s far from subtle.

Nathaniel looks like he’s ready to dig either Alix or himself a grave, but your laugh makes him look even more flustered.

“You two seem close,” you note. He looks at you hastily.

“We’re just friends!” Nathaniel suddenly blurts out. His voice cracks at the end, and Alix snorts.

“They weren’t accusing us of being a couple, you know,” Alix points out. Then she scrunches her face, “Plus, I wouldn't be caught dead dating you of all people. No offense, Nathan.”

“None taken,” he mutters, though the tips of his ears are still bright red.

You chuckle at their back-and-forth. It’s nice to know Nathaniel has someone else other than you and Kim at this age. Nothing’s wrong with Kim per se, but it’s obvious the two are different; if you weren’t there, you had a feeling they wouldn't give each other any glances at all.

Not that they aren’t getting along well now either—Kim is very blunt with anything he says, and with Nathaniel having that godlike strokes in his sketches, the former always ends up complimenting him. Sometimes you even hear absurd drawing requests from Kim, which Nathaniel surprisingly draws without any complaints; he said about enjoying those concepts that only Kim would think of.

“But yeah, we’re just friends. Our dads are tight, so we’ve been stuck with each other since forever,” Alix explains, bringing you back to reality.

“Are you here with family?” Nathaniel asks. He’s clearly eager to shift the conversation. Who are you to deny that from him?

You nod, motioning to where your parents are. “Yeah, but we’re only here for a short vacation. Our current home is a bit preoccupied by an event, you see…”

Nathaniel hums in understanding. “Same here—the vacation thing, not the home occupied thing, that is. My parents wanted to take a break, and Alix’s family happened to be staying here too.”

“More like my dad booked it and thought I would enjoy being in the same room as my brother for an entire week.” Alix rolls her eyes. “I was promised a good skating spot, though, so we’ll see.”

You glance at her rollerblades. “You’re bringing your skates everywhere?” 

“Duh,” Alix smirks. “You never know when you need to make a quick getaway.”

“That sounds suspicious,” Nathaniel deadpans.

“Good.” Alix winks before glancing between the two of you, her smirk widening. “Well, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to it. I gotta grab my food before my dad starts nagging me about wasting the fee or something.”

Nathaniel chokes. “We are not—”

But Alix is already skating away, laughing under her breath.

“It’s nice to meet you, Alix!” you try to call out. She waves back at you, almost stumbling on an annoyed waiter, before fully disappearing in the crowd.

Damnit. You wanted to talk to her more. Alix seems like a fun friend to be around… But at least you have Nathaniel beside you.

Speaking of the boy, he’s staring down with extreme focus at the slice of cake on his plate, the tips of his ears pink.

“Hey,” you say, smiling as Nathaniel meets your eyes shyly. “Can I take you to meet my parents?”

He almost chokes on air, eyes wide. "H-huh?"

“They already met Kim one time when they fetched me from school. He was trying to make a new challenge with me again but then he saw my parents and he’s actually respectful to them,” you laugh at the memory of Kim bowing and being stuttery in front of your parents. “So I told them I have one more friend, and now they want to meet you too.”

It’s obvious the boy was barely following your words. His head racing, eyes almost dizzy as his entire face turns brighter than red. 

Oops. You feel bad for that, so you add softly, “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I just thought it’d be nice. We can do something else if you’d like?”

Nathaniel exhales, shifting his plate to his other hand before shaking his head. “No, it’s fine. I just—uh, wasn’t expecting it.” His lips twitch into a small, shy smile. “But I’d like to… Uh, M-meet your parents, that is.”

“You’re sure?” you say, worried.

He nods, breathing out once more to calm himself. 

You beam. “Great! Come on, then.”

You lead the way, weaving through the buffet tables as Nathaniel follows closely behind. When you reach your parents, your mother is the first one to notice your company. She’s definitely the friendlier between all of you, asking Nathaniel about a lot of things, and that probing must have been nerve-wracking for the boy so you tell your mother to slow it down. Thankfully, she did.

But Nathaniel becomes even more nervous when your father tries talking to him. You don’t want to add more anxiety to the poor boy, so you whisper for permission to tell them that Nathaniel likes to draw too, since your father is an artist. Nathaniel seems to be shy but when he gives you permission, he slowly becomes fascinated by the artistic conversation that he and your father could only have. 

You are able to meet Nathaniel’s family too. Mostly his mother, who seems so amused by the vigorous shaking and warning glances that Nathaniel gives to her when she says he talked about you a lot.

Throughout the vacation, your family and Nathaniel's find ways to do things together. It almost became a joint vacation, not that you nor Nathaniel minded it.

You also find Alix from time to time in the hotel, but you are only able to catch small conversations with her before she gets distracted by the idea of skating or called on by her father to do something. It's sad—you definitely want to be her friend, but you understand her busy schedule, since you also have a busy schedule in that same week too.

Overall, you had a really fun vacation, no matter how abrupt it is.

Chapter Text

Today, you are watching your father paint the Fathoms a family picture. 

He’s currently sketching them with a willow charcoal, trying to measure the perfect proportions before he starts doing his Bob Ross-style miracle oil painting. 

Right beside him on your extra stool, you also have your own sketchpad and pencil; though you’re only absentmindedly scribbling a flower. It’s the only way for your hand to feel productive with your terrible skills of drawing.

Adrien stands right behind you. Unlike the Fathom family, the Agrestes are supposed to get their portrait later, but Adrien heard about you asking to learn more about portrait sketching, and that was all the excuse he needed to tag along. Now, he’s leaning slightly over your shoulder, watching the way your pencil moves across the paper.

“That’s really good,” Adrien murmurs, just close enough for his breath to tickle your ear.

You glance at him, raising a brow. “I’m not even drawing anything specific.”

His grin softens. “Still looks better than anything I could do.”

Felix makes a noise—something between a scoff and a breath. He must be getting tired of sitting down there prettily or something.

Your father doesn’t react. He simply continues sketching, the delicate curves of Amelie’s face beginning to take form. The room is filled with the sound of charcoal dragging against canvas, the occasional shift of clothing as Colt checks his watch for the third time in the last five minutes.

"Felix, can you straighten your tie just a little? The way it's sitting now makes the symmetry feel off."

The thing you noticed about Felix is that—as much of an asshole he was to you, and how easily he bad-mouthed your parents right in front of your face, he is quite respectful when he’s in another adult’s presence. He does as told by your father, adjusting his tie with a flick of his wrist.

Adrien leans closer to you. "You’ve met Felix, right?”

Oh, brother, you have no idea. “Kinda. I know he’s your cousin and that he looks too similar to you.”

In fact, now that they’re both in the same room, the similarity is almost unsettling. 

Nevermind being that special person who can tell the difference between twins: you suck at differentiating faces in general. The only reason you caught onto Felix’s act so quickly was because he was being too obvious about it. If he ever decided to trick you one day with a really great impression of Adrien…

Well. You hope Adrien would be able to forgive you for not knowing the difference.

Who decided to make them look alike anyway? Even identical twins have some kind of difference in their features, but with these two?

You blame the animators… if they still exist. You're living in their animated show now, so are they even still alive? And if they were, they wouldn’t be able to account for your sudden reincarnation into their show, so maybe you shouldn’t hate on them too much.

“Too similar?” Adrien crouches beside you, looking up at you with a smile that almost looked innocent. “I think I’m more handsome than him though. What do you think?”

You blink down at him. He continues to smile at you ‘innocently’, making you tap his forehead with the butt of your pencil playfully. “I think you specifically want to fish for my compliments.”

Adrien grins wider. That was a smile that says ‘you caught me’. He really did want a compliment or two. Then just as easily, he stands up, leaning his elbow on your shoulder. You don’t feel the need to ask him to sit down. Adrien isn’t making himself lean heavily anyway, and his elbow doesn’t dig in your shoulder painfully so you can still handle it.

He looks over Felix’s way. “You think Felix is about to combust?"

That makes you snort. "What a nice change of topic, Adrien.” He looks a bit abashed by that comment, but you reply with a smile, “I don’t know. I think that if he keeps clenching his jaw like that, he might crack a tooth or something."

Just as you observed, there is another tick of Felix’s stiff jaw, and then his eyes do the most obvious of all: one of them twitches.

Ah. So he is listening.

You fight back the urge to snicker. It’s supposed to be a whispering session between you and Adrien, but the silence of the atelier seems to amplify your voices without you realizing it. The fact that your father, and most impressively Colt himself, never once complained about your hushed whispers make this situation feel like a miracle, almost.

Amelie breaks the silence. "I heard a lot from my sister, about how great of an artist you are. I do hope you try to capture us at our best."

"I will try," your father says simply.

Colt lets out a low grunt, checking his watch for the sixth time already. "If we don’t waste time, maybe you will." He motions to your father. “I have an appointment with the mayor two hours from now, so make it quick. I’d rather not spend all my preparation time sitting still like a mannequin.”

Your father doesn’t even look up, “Art takes time, Mr. Fathom.”

Colt huffs sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t argue. You’re starting to suspect that if your father weren’t such a respected artist, Colt would’ve walked out by now.

You look down at your sketches in return. You aren’t entirely good at drawing, but you aren’t bad either. You remember bits and pieces of your past life, so if you were once an artist, your drawing skills must have been one of those you've forgotten about, hence your untrained hands.

But how annoying that must be. Forgetting the best skill ever but remembering the plotline of a kid’s show with a terrible creator instead.

Well—remember half of it, anyway. Some things only come to your mind when you do see them… like the live blond model in front of you. 

You glance at Felix again, studying the way he sits. His hands are curled on his lap, perfect posture and ironed button-down shirt and black vest, the very image of a billionaire’s son. Even the impatience of his face is carefully restrained, like he refuses to let himself appear anything but composed.

It’s a stark contrast to Adrien, who is completely at ease beside you with his favorite t-shirt and black and white flannel.

"How long do you think it’ll take?" Adrien asks, looking at your father’s sketch.

"Hard to say," your father answers. "But since I already took reference photos, this session shouldn’t be too long."

“Would it be alright if I put a flower in my hand?” Amelie says. “Or would that take too much time?”

“Of course not.” Your father adjusts the charcoal in his grip. “Any particular flower in mind?”

Amelie smiles. “A white camellia, if you don’t mind.”

The elbow resting on your shoulder disappears, which you don’t pay much attention to. Maybe Adrien got tired of leaning on you or something. Then a few seconds pass, and you feel Adrien nudging you. You look at him, about to ask ‘what?’ only to find him showing you his phone, which displays a white camellia. 

He mouths ‘isn’t it pretty?’ to you.

You smile in affirmation before taking it and holding it for your father to see. Your father barely glances up, but he gives a small nod of approval as he continues his work.

“It suits you, madam,” you muse aloud, breaking the quiet.

Amelie hums in approval. “Thank you! It’s a symbol of admiration and perfection. I do quite like it.”

Felix exhales sharply through his nose, muttering something under his breath that you don’t quite catch. Whatever it is, Amelie expresses her disapproval, but she keeps up her pose perfectly still. The skill it takes to not move an inch from this boring session was almost admirable. Almost, because seeing your father being close to finishing his sketches after thirty minutes had passed is a miracle that you’ll watch over and over again.

If Tiktok exists, I should probably ask my dad to draw something and we can capitalize on that… make it an ASMR painting session, time lapse it, or time it with an easy to summarize stories that makes everyone pay attention. Like a reddit storytime with Subway Surfers in the background.

Finally you have a way of making money in the future. You'd rely on your father's skill for the time being, cause as much as you want to be good at art like him, learning how to draw is terrible when you know you’re doing a bad job—

But you tell yourself that hard work pays off. You aren’t rich like Adrien and Felix, and as much as Marinette tries to say that she is just a ‘normal girl’ living a ‘normal life’, being in a school like Collège Françoise Dupont is something that your family can never afford.

Who said that that school is just a normal public school anyway? When you searched it, you saw that the tuition is higher than your cost of living, which made you feel like your wallet burned holes in it, and you aren’t even the one going to pay for it! Your parents will!

But you kinda expected it—the school seems to be personally handled by the Mayor, and there are tons of hotshots there too. Adrien and Chloe are the easiest example, while the others are either the daughter of a head chef in a luxurious hotel, or the daughter of The Louvre curator—one of the most popular, historical and cultural museum in the entire world.

So even if you want to give up because your current drawings are terrible, you need to have at least one thing you’re good at; one thing that will give you a full scholarship to that place. And what better skill is it if it’s something your father can teach you?

You hear a murmur beside you, “I should have brought a book or something…”

That snaps you out of your thoughts. You snicker at Adrien looking entirely bored by the boring painting session. You lean close to him and whisper, “Want me to tell you a story?”

Adrien beams as if you told him the greatest news ever. He grabs an extra stool, carrying it beside you as silent as possible. When he sits himself comfortably, you turn your sketchbook to a new page and start drawing a decent looking stickman.

“This is about a man who just wants to go back to his kingdom to see his wife and son again after a ten year war…”

Like the nerd you are, you tell him the watered down version of Homer’s Odyssey. It’s almost amusing how sucked in Adrien looks upon your storytelling; you almost thought he wasn’t paying attention until his eyes lit up in realization at some parts, like the bag of wind, and the mention of Zeus; he knows about it because of his World History teacher who seems to enjoy making random references he can’t understand yet.

When you accidentally glance back to the Fathom family, you meet Felix’s gaze. 

It’s brief—so brief that if you hadn’t been paying attention, you would have missed it, cause just as quickly, Felix looks away, his usual frown looking a tad too stiff than earlier.

Before you can dwell on it, your father leans back, exhaling as he brushes some charcoal dust off his fingers. “Alright,” he says, addressing the Fathoms. “Would you like to see the initial sketch I have?”

Unlike in the past, the models of the painting don’t need to stay for literal hours; your father already took a picture of their previous pose. He only had to do his sketches live to capture the fine details. So, the session didn't stretch out too long, and soon, the Fathoms were out of the door. 

Amelie was polite enough to exchange pleasantries with your father before leaving. She also caught up with her sister who came in with Gabriel in tow. 

Adrien also had to leave your side, cutting your storytelling session short as well. Which sucked; you were just explaining to him about Odysseus’ experience on the island with Circe. But it’s his family’s turn to be drawn, and since you’ve had your hands warmed up with the stickmen imagery, you decided to actually try and draw something great.

Maybe you can try making a bad version of the potted plant right near the doorway.

Anpu had fallen asleep under your scarf. Earlier, he was trying his best to not complain about the paint fumes that seemed stronger to his nose, but he must have felt sleepy when you were telling Adrien a story. At least he isn’t bored or suffering from smelling the paint fumes anymore. Maybe you'll sneak him some food before you go back to your room or something.

You give Adrien one last thumbs up, which he returns as well, then you walk towards the couch beside the doorway of the atelier and sit down, your sketchpad still in hand. 

The quiet of the room settles in, the soft scrape of your pencil against paper the only sound in the space now that the Fathoms have left. You’re still absorbed in the task of sketching the plant by the door, but then you notice a pair of polished shoes walking and stopping beside the couch you are in. 

You glance up. It’s Felix.

“You’re still here,” you say, confused yet curious.

He doesn’t look in your direction. He’s watching your father’s work as he starts sketching on another blank canvas, his gaze a bit faraway and his hands right behind his back. If you know he wasn’t in the middle of his task of ignoring you, you would have commented on how he looks like an old school principal with that prim and proper posture. But alas, you just shrug and go back to sketching on your paper.

Then a voice makes you jump. “I wanted to see how the artist works.”

You glance at Felix again; he isn’t ignoring you now. “You care about art?" Blinking, you look back at yohr father. "Huh. That’s... nice to know.” 

You're genuine when you really say that. Genuinely awkward.

“He’s good.” He pauses. “Your father, that is.”

That makes a smile bloom on your face. “Yeah, he is.” 

It’s taking a huge amount of effort for you to not tease the blond about him making conversations with you; but thankfully you were able to reign it in. 

“He works fast too. You’d think someone with his skill would take forever to finish a portrait, but he's really efficient with it. Sometimes he takes only days instead of weeks on a huge commission. But that only happens when he finds a way to get past my mama’s eyes.” You chuckle. ”She tends to scold him for being a workaholic, you see. And as much as he complains, he loves it anyway. It gives him a reason to be whiny to her.”

He lets out a hum in his throat, his eyes dipping down the ground. "Must be nice.”

You have a feeling he didn’t mean to say it outloud.

Instead of pressing him for more, you lean back against the couch, tapping your pencil against the edge of your sketchpad. Your gaze flicks back to the potted plant you were working on, and you wonder; how in the world can you even start making your drawing look realistic? 

“I should probably start shading it a bit…” you murmur, more to yourself than anyone else.

There’s another bout of silence before you hear the shift of somebody leaning closer. To your surprise, Felix is peering at your sketchpad with a critical gaze. His hands remain neatly clasped behind his back, but he tilts his head slightly, scrutinizing your work like a judge at an art competition.

"You call that a potted plant?"

Now that’s offensive. "What, do you have a degree in botanical illustration or something?"

He scoffs, tilting his chin up. "I just think if you're going to attempt something, you might as well do it properly."

There it is—that haughty, clipped way of speaking that makes it sound like he's above all of this. 

And yet, he’s still standing here, still engaging.

"You sure talk big for someone who hasn’t even picked up a pencil," you remark, casually flipping your sketchpad shut before he can judge it further.

His lips press together, a faint wrinkle forming between his brows. "I could do better."

You snort. "Oh yeah? If you’re so confident, then go on. Prove you can do better."

Felix blinks slightly; he must not have expected you to use his own words to him when you first met him a week ago. 

‘Whatever. If you’re so confident, then go on. Prove I’m not Adrien.’

For a second, you think he’s going to decline. He doesn’t respond after all. His fingers are still clasped behind his back. Then, as if something in him refuses to back down from the challenge, he sighs through his nose and sits down beside you, keeping a respectable inch of distance between your legs. His posture remains perfect even as he takes the sketchpad from your outstretched hands.

You watch in amusement as Felix grips the pencil with a kind of deliberate precision—like he’s making sure nobody thinks he actually enjoys this.

But when the tip of the pencil touches the paper, something shifts. His expression smooths out into focus, the lines of his shoulders loosening just a fraction. His strokes are precise, confident, as if he already knows exactly how he wants the plant to take shape.

You lean in slightly. Then you blink. "Huh? You do know how to draw..."

"Obviously," he mutters, eyes not leaving the page.

"How did you do that?” You pause, trying to observe more of his strokes. “You’re just sketching, right? How did you make it realistic already?”

“It’s not difficult,” he says, which makes you feel almost annoyed.

He just saw your terrible drawing and called it terrible himself. Is this his subtle way of calling you talentless?

"Okay, but how?" you press, undeterred by his dismissive tone. “Is there a technique? A trick? Or did you just emerge from the womb with an innate ability to sketch potted plants?”

Felix’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of a smile. “If you don’t know how to draw properly, just say so.”

You scoff, leaning back against the couch. “I think it’s obvious I don’t know how to draw properly.” You glance at his hand as it continues sketching. “But you do. So, teach me.”

His hand pauses for a fraction of a second before resuming, and this time, his strokes are slower—like he’s buying himself time.

“I don’t teach,” he says eventually.

“Oh, come on. You can’t just insult my work and then refuse to help me get better.”

Felix rolls his eyes, clearly irritated, but you don’t miss the way his fingers tighten slightly around the pencil. He’s debating something.

With a reluctant sigh, he shifts the sketchpad slightly towards you. “You’re pressing too hard when you sketch. It makes the lines stiff and unnatural. Watch.” He adjusts his grip, demonstrating a lighter touch. The graphite glides smoothly across the page, effortlessly adding depth to the pot’s curved shape.

You try to copy him, but the moment you press your pencil down, your lines come out uneven, awkward.

You smile brightly. “Wow! This sucks!"

Felix doesn’t disagree, which is very rude of him. “Loosen your wrist. You’re drawing with your fingers. Use your whole arm.”

You give him a skeptical look but try again, mimicking the way he holds his pencil. Your second attempt isn’t as disastrous, but it feels weird. You never use your entire arm to draw before; you probably look ridiculous in his eyes.

But Felix just watches you in silence. His brows are knitted, his lips slightly parted as if he’s about to correct you at any moment. He’s hyper-focused, and for once, his usual haughty demeanor is softened by something else.

You look up, meeting his gaze and motioning. “Howzzat?”

That must have sobered him up since he scrunches his face in disdain at your words, then he leans back, staring at your sketchpad in thought. “Acceptable. Compared to earlier, that is.”

“You sound really posh and British right now.”

Felix rolls his eyes. He doesn’t reply to your words, even if you expected him to say ‘I am one’ or joke back. Oh well—you tried.

You continue sketching, with Felix watching over you and pointing out something you can improve from time to time. You aren’t sure when it happened, but at some point, the space between you both feels less like an invisible wall and more like a shared corner of the world—small, unspoken, and oddly peaceful.

“Did you take art classes for this too?" you ask suddenly. 

You brace yourself for another round of being ignored, but Felix murmurs. "My father thought it was a waste of time."

The words are stated so plainly, but you know it’s a heavy admission. You don’t rush to respond, giving him space to finish his thought.

He doesn’t finish it. 

Felix doesn’t know, but that one confession of his—that small murmur of a single sentence—is enough for you to solidify your purpose once again.

You give Felix the sketchpad and pencil, telling him you’ll go to the bathroom for a minute. He accepts it without any other complaints. 

When you are out of the atelier, you close the door and hold your scarf up to your mouth. “Anpu, are you awake?”

“H-huh?” Anpu stirs, peeking out with a yawn. “Good morning, master.”

You fight back a smile. “Morning. Think you can do something for me?”

He rubs his bleary eyes but nods. “Anything, yes. What do you wish for me to do?”

You look around once more, seeing if the coast is clear. 

“I want you to spy on Colt Fathom and tell me everything about his schedule for the day.” 

“Spy…?” That wakes Anpu up. He looks worried, almost suspicious as he asks, “Is there something you need to know in particular...?”

You look inside the windows of the atelier. Felix is still on the couch, his face softer than the stiffness he had earlier when he was in the middle of his mother and father during the painting session.

Then you look at Adrien, who has no jaded expression on his face as he stands in the middle of his mother and father. You know you will do everything for your friend to be happy, and you were actually in the middle of it, but you turn your attention to someone else. To another boy who is so similar to him, but will​ experience a more extreme case of what a parent's 'love' should be.

You don't want to compare the two, but you cannot stand to wait and let the story unfold for Felix as it is.

"His ring,” you say quietly to Anpu. “I need you to tell me when exactly Colt takes it off.”  

If this might be your only chance of giving these boys a better childhood than what they're supposed to have, you will take it, no matter how risky it might be.

Chapter Text

This wasn’t how you wanted to start your plan.

You had it all figured out from start to finish; you became Phantom for months. You balanced your friendships, your family, and your duties as the superhero, and you built a reputation far different from your seven year old self until it can’t ever be traced back to you. 

And it worked out. The only thing you needed to do now was slow down and play the waiting game until Emilie Agreste falls ill, because as much as you want her to live as the bright woman she is now, the deed is already done: she already used something that was meant to make her sick. 

Maybe there was an off-chance that the story already changed. There must be something that the world had to at least adjust to accommodate your existence. What if it’s the fact that she’ll never got sick this time around? What if she will be able to handle the consequences of hers and Gabriel’s love because of some divine intervention?

But divine intervention or not, entertaining what if’s now is too late. 

You see Emilie cough sometimes, you see her wave away all worries with a smile that doesn’t reach her face, and you realize with a heavy heart that the consequence is starting. She will fall ill soon.

That is the fate a person gets once they use a broken Miraculous.

You can’t blame her. She wanted a family with her lover, something that she can’t ever do through normal means. But with the Peacock Miraculous in her possession, it didn’t matter if it was a broken one—she was able to achieve this dream of theirs through the power of Amokization. 

Amokization is the ability to create sentimonsters by the emotions of a person. Similar to Akumazation, the way it’s created is by manifesting a magically-charged feather called amok and linking it to an item. Once an amok is created, the creator can control the sentimonster however they please.

And that’s the story of how the Agrestes created their lovely child, Adrien, whose existence is tied to the wedding rings that they wore.

Remembering it like that, you kinda understand why Gabriel and Emilie were protective of their boy. It must have been terrifying to know that your child’s existence is bound to something so easily lost or stolen, and it must have been pressuring to think that, as much as you want your child to grow up normally, they would always be different among the other kids. 

But a sentimonster created to be human is simply as it is: a human.

You can understand their fear, but you can never agree to their choice of keeping Adrien in a glass cage. They forced him to grow up without realizing that in all of his life, the reason he couldn’t disobey everything that was unfair about his situation was not because he loves his parents far too much; but because his life is literally under the control of their palms.

You don’t like how Adrien grows up not making decisions for himself, both in the show and now in your world, too.

Then suddenly, in a random twist of fate, it isn’t about Adrien anymore.

You’re worrying about Felix too. 

Felix… is the same as his cousin too; he’s a sentimonster created from the Peacock Miraculous. But unlike Adrien who was born from the emotions of Love by Emilie and Gabriel, Felix was made to be a shadow, a bitter attempt at mimicking something his father wanted when he saw what his brother-in-law had.

Through envy and spite, Felix was born.

Now, all you can think of is the day when Felix will leave the Agrestes mansion with his family to go back to his home far away from this place. You think of how he’ll live again in a place where if he cared too much for anyone, if he dared to feel anything that is abhorrent in his father’s eyes, he’ll be receiving more than a sting or two in return. You think of the boy, who isn’t your friend—who knows nothing about you—looking over his father’s angry gaze and wondering: why can’t he ever be loved? 

And you think of how sad that must be. To grow up thinking you are incapable of being loved.

Your original plan was to play the waiting game, to make everything better for Adrien at the right time… but not anymore.

Not when you want the best for his cousin, too.

For the record, you think your new plan is a terrible idea. 

Gabriel might be strict but he’s a lot more lenient to your family because of your father. So even if you fail at playing your cards right, you have a fool-proof plan of not making him mad once he catches you with your sneaky hands.

But stealing from Colt who has a massive temper and a materialistic personality? 

You won’t even be able to live to tell the tale. Not when you’re just an artist’s child and your opponent is a literal billionaire.

Still, you proceed with the first part of your plans anyway:

Finding Master Fu’s massage shop.

You know the guardian will never seek you out himself. That man doesn’t take risks, which, considering his circumstances and past, you kinda understand. He did show some trauma about being the only Guardian to survive out of the entire Order.

But if he can’t take risks, then you’ll be the one making it instead.

You just have to focus on your task and look for his massage shop. Easy peasy- at least, it should be. But when you don’t know where in the world this shop is, there’s nothing you can do but flail around and waste more time thinking about your weird theories. 

This is the time when it would be really convenient if the show added fictional addresses to their places.

But of course, you have no choice but to do it the old fashioned way… 

“It should be easy, Anpu. I’ve read so many reincarnated or transmigrated stories in my previous world, and the main characters always remember everything about the show they’ve been transmigrated in. They even remember the lines.”

Anpu listens as you whisper to the scarf. He opens his mouth to reply but when he hears someone approaching, he ducks down to his hiding spot.

You straighten when you see your mother stop by your side. “Shall we go?” she asks, amusedly wiping your cheek that still has leftover sandwich crumbs.

You nod vigorously, holding her hand and pulling her wherever you think Master Fu’s location is.

If you make a process of elimination based on the Episodes, the typical places the series happen is in the school, which you immediately eliminate; Sure, the school is where Master Fu met Adrien in the Origins, but there’s no way the Guardian of the Miraculous would set up a massage shop in the street across a middle school. That’s just setting himself up for questionable looks being shot his way.

Le Grand Paris hotel is also eliminated. That street is for the bougie, and Master Fu, as old as he may be, doesn't seem like the type to settle down in a place surrounded by luxury.

The Louvre? Not likely either. It’s too much of a cultural attraction for him to set up a massage shop and blend in normally. A secretive old man like Master Fu would never risk not blending in like that. The news station is even worse.

That leaves you the Seine or the Eiffel Tower.

This is where your mother comes into place in your plan.

“Oh. Mama!” you exclaim, tugging at her hand and pointing towards a bakery. “That’s the place my friend told me about. The one with the really good chouquettes here in Seine! Can we go and get some?”

If you can’t find Master Fu here, then you’ll continue the next day and look near the Eiffel Tower with your mother instead. But you have a good feeling today, and you aren’t planning on letting that go to waste.

“Oh, you and your sweet tooth, mon petit chou.” Thankfully, your mother indulges you… which you knew she would. She can never go against your cute face. 

The bakery you picked is small and cozy, filled with the warm scent of freshly baked bread. Your mother goes up to talk to the cashier, unconsciously letting go of your hand. Sneaking a glance at her once, you look to the glass door exit then tiptoe your way outside.

With your mother still unaware, and with you already stepping out of the bakery, you waste no time dashing out onto the street.

You don’t have much time. Your mother will realize you’re gone in less than a minute, maybe even less if she turns around quickly, but you only need a few seconds to get out of her sight. And maybe a few bribery and cute faces if you ever get in trouble in the end.

The Seine stretches out before you, the river shimmering under the daylight. Your heart pounds as you dart your eyes between each storefront. You don’t even know what exactly you’re looking for—maybe a small wooden sign? A familiar shape of a doorway? Anything that will ring a bell in your memory?

If I were an old man with secrets and a heavy burden, where would I hide in plain sight?

You continue looking around the place, then, at the edge of your vision, you spot it:

A multi-storey building, with a bookstore on the second floor and a Chinese shop on the first greets you from your peripheral. It’s tucked away near the other buildings, its entrance shadowed by a red and white awning and multiple plants outside. 

Your gut tells you this is it. But before you can take another step, you hear your mother’s panicked voice calling your name.

Oh sh—

Well. You guess it’s time to abandon all subtlety.

Your feet slap against the pavement as you dash toward the shop, dodging between pedestrians. 

It takes more than just a couple more steps, but soon you are near the entrance of the shop, and it’s exactly as you expect it to be: a normal building that blends in with the other shops that are either American or Asian services too. But you know what service shop you’ll go to, so without thinking, you slip inside the door and slam it shut behind you, pressing your back against it as you catch your breath.

You don’t even have a plan. What are you going to say now that you’re actually inside? Bonjour, Master Fu, I’m a seven-year-old who knows way too much about the magical jewelry called miraculous. Can you help me commit a heist?

Great. You’ll certainly leave a long lasting impression on him.

When you exhale a breath of exasperation, you look in front of you. And all your hair suddenly stands on edge.

There is a man lying on his stomach, his feet facing the wall, face towards the bright windows of the shop. Your gaze slides to an old man beside him, and it hits you that he’s looking at you with wide eyes too. He’s wearing a simple set of clothes, a Hawaiian shirt with white and red floral patterns, and simple brown shorts.

You blink.

The old man blinks back.

“Master–!” another voice comes. You see a glimpse of green somewhere in the background, but you focus more on the panic that appears in the old man’s eyes. 

“Huh?” The customer looks up in confusion. “Did you hear that—?” 

The old man suddenly clasps his hands and starts humming.

“Master, master,” he says, clapping once more and smiling as he meets the customer’s eyes. “Yes, you heard it correctly. It’s another type of Chinese technique that I rarely do. A surprise and perfect ending to our session, don’t you think?”

He abruptly hauls the man to his feet and ushers him toward the exit. You step away, watching him practically shove the customer out the door. 

“Oh, but I was enjoying the session—” the customer protests.

“No, no complaints!” the old man chimes cheerfully. “Come back in a week. Maybe two- Maybe never!”

The door slams shut behind him.

The old man exhales, shoulders slumping. You can almost feel the relief engulfing his entire body. But then he turns your way and everything that was gone suddenly comes back in his expression: caution, and suspicion. 

You swallow, stepping forward. “You are Master Fu… right?”

His eyes went wider than it did earlier. And now that you got a good look at him, you don’t have any doubts anymore. There’s only one person who will wear that stupid Hawaiian shirt and extremely short shorts like he’s on a vacation in France forever.

This takes place in what, seven years before the official timeline? Yet here he is, still wearing that shirt as if the world wanted you to know who exactly he is.

His warm brown eyes study you carefully. You stare back. Sure, he looks pretty normal for an old guy. He’s incredibly short, especially when you’re almost a few inches taller than him–and you’re supposed to be seven, too.

“Um–” 

“You!”

You flinch, leaning back as a small green creature jabs a tiny… finger hand in your face. It doesn’t take you long to realize it’s Wayzz, the kwami of Protection. His little eyes are wide, mouth dropping wide open as he examines you in pure shock.

“M-me?” you strain out.

“It’s you!” Wayzz exclaims, his antenna swishing. He looks back at Master Fu and hurriedly reveals: “It’s them, master. I swear they have the same energy as the mysterious miraculous user I sensed last time! I promise it’s really them!”

Huh. So Wayzz does sense whenever someone uses a miraculous.

If you aren’t totally freaking out from being in the presence of these two lore-important characters, you would have slapped yourself for not realizing it; he sensed Hawk Moth use Nooroo for evil in that Origins episode too- why did you only realize it now? 

“Wayzz,” Master Fu starts. “I told you before that you must never come out of hiding no matter what.

“But—”

You clear your throat, straightening up. “Listen,” you begin, and without the hesitation of someone subtle: “I need your help.”

Emotions flicker over Wayzz’s face; going from shock, to uncertainty, to fear. You are almost worried at how flabbergasted the kwami is, but you can’t blame him. You aren’t entirely making it easier for them to process anyway.

The Guardian is a lot calmer compared to his terrified kwami. But just because he’s calm doesn’t mean he’s perfectly unreadable.

“First,” he finally says. “May I ask who you are?”

You blink. Right. You should probably introduce yourself first. But how much should you say? If you tell him everything—about knowing the future, about being reborn into this world that was originally a show in your world—he might think you’re crazy-

…Or, there’s a chance he might believe you. This world is wacky enough with the lore of the kwamis and the time travelling shenanigans in the series. If someone with a miraculous claims they got reincarnated, why wouldn’t he believe it? And you have Anpu with you anyway to verify your words-

Your eyes widen in realization. 

Before you can think twice about it, you grasp your scarf with a finger and whisper. "Anpu, you can come out."

In both Master Fu and Wayzz' surprise, an unknown, black kwami peeks out of the scarf, looking up at you to ask for permission. When you give him a nod, he floats right beside your head, glancing at the shop with wide, sparkling golden eyes.

“Woahohoo! This place looks so cool and cozy!” Anpu is vibrating with so much excitement, but when he sees Master Fu, he brightens up even more. "Hi! Oh no- what do I do? I don’t know how to talk to anyone else other than my master. But if they let me come out to greet you that means you’re trustworthy, right? You have to be—I heard you’re the guardian of the miraculouses. Being a guardian must mean you are a nice person. And oh! Speaking of guardians—Is TIkki and Plagg here too? Can I go meet them? It’s been a while since I last talked to them so can I pretty please see them before we leave?"

Well. You already had this exact same conversation with Anpu to make him prepare for the interrogation, but seeing him still act so excited makes a smile curl on your lips anyway.

“I think we can work things out after I talk to Master Fu, yeah?”

Anpu nods vigorously. He knows that was a hint to let himself calm down and process his emotions properly. When he settles himself on your shoulder, his gaze flickers to Wayzz.

Then his mouth drops open comically. “ANOTHER KWAMI!?” 

You flinch. 

That was right beside my ear, Anpu.

But your kwami darts towards the disoriented Wayzz, and he starts holding out his arms. "You’re a kwami! You’re like me! You’re a–!”

Anpu stops. 

“Oh boy,” you deadpan. 

"Are you my cousin?! Oh!" Anpu starts to circle Wayzz, fighting back the tears. "I have never met another kwami for centuries. This is so nice! You look so kind! You’re so green and full of colors- I love green now, and wow you have a shell behind you–are you a turtle whatchimacallit? What’s your power? Do you have a master? Oh, is the guardian your master? How cool is that! I also have a cool master but wait, first of all, can I hug you before anything else?!"

“U-uh…”

Wayzz is absolutely gobsmacked. You almost thought his eyes were swirling a bit, dizzy from the way Anpu circles him in top speed.

You let out an awkward cough, rubbing the back of your head. “Sorry for barging in like this,” you say genuinely to Master Fu. “I assumed you guys are looking for me too, cause I have a miraculous that wasn’t given by the Guardian himself. And, well…”

You motion to Anpu, whose golden eyes are practically sparkling as he leans closer to Wayzz. The poor turtle kwami is shifting backwards, leaning away as he looks at the black kwami with an uncertain expression.

“Anpu, give Wayzz some space,” you warn.

Anpu stops mid-hover, blinking before sighing and floating back toward you. He doesn’t stop his staring though. His ears flicks excitedly when he glances back at the less (but still) overwhelmed Wayzz.

“That’s…” Master Fu strains out, his voice laced with something between awe and wariness. “How do you know about… No, that’s not what needs to be asked.” He schools his face into a solemn expression as he looks at the now-calm Anpu. “How did you get ahold of this miraculous? I believe this energy is something that was never recorded in the temple’s archives, for neither I nor Wayzz is able to figure out what exactly it is.”

At his words, Anpu looks at you. He gives you a slow blink, one that only you could understand.

“I think he wants to answer that himself,” you say, giving your kwami an encouraging smile.

Anpu brightens up before clearing his throat. 

"Hello,” he starts, similar to how you told him to start this conversation with.

He looks at everyone. Master Fu is stuck between wanting to smile at the innocent kwami and feeling troubled by the turn of events, while Wayzz is stuck not wanting to look at Anpu and also listening at the same time—he chose to do both.

“My name is Anpu. I am the kwami of reincarnation, the one inside the Jackal Miraculous.” 

Wayzz snaps his head, his eyes widening more than it did earlier. “Jackal—?”

Master Fu blinks. “Reincarnation?” 

"Yes, Jackal and reincarnation! If you don't know about me, I understand. I know there are more Miraculouses past my own, and that you’re the one who keeps them safe, but I don’t know anything about them and they don’t know anything about me in return,” Anpu admits, his ears drooping in disappointment. “This is because I was meant to be a lone concept. Only the Ladybug and Cat miraculous know me because they’re the oldest out of everything else in the world." 

He perks at the mention of the new topic. "Oh! For your information, guardian, I am the third one to be created after the two, so Tikki and Plagg are like my older siblings! The other kwamis… well, if they existed afterwards, they are definitely going to be my lovely cousins. They don't know me yet but if we meet then I know I will love them nonetheless. I’ve always wanted to have tea parties and eat more croque monsieur together, one with lots of cheese and wow. Cheese sounds soooo good right now even though we just had snacks earlier…”

“Anpu,” you smile exasperatedly. “You're derailing."

"Oh! So sorry. I apologize!"

You already had this conversation with the kwami the night before, and although you enjoyed his talkative nature back then, today can’t be the same. Anpu’s existence is already causing turmoil for the kwami and the old man in front of you. You can’t afford to make them even more confused than they are right now, which will definitely happen if Anpu keeps rambling.

“This… this is a lot to process,” Wayzz stammers. “A kwami that was never recorded in history shouldn’t be possible. All Miraculouses—”

“Were accounted for? Yes, yes, I figured as much,” Anpu nods. “But! Just because I wasn’t recorded doesn’t mean I don’t exist. The world doesn’t work like that, silly cousin… wait. What’s your name again?”

“I’m Wayzz,” he says, looking affronted. “You’re right, the world doesn’t work that way. I know that there are more kwamis than there are universes in the world, but being assigned a miraculous is a process bound by the rules of the humans who helped us contain our power on Earth. Yet you are never recorded. And each kwami should know each other—but I don’t even know what kwami you are, or if you really are one.”

“But I have always had a miraculous though, even without the help of humans,” Anpu interrupts, tilting his head. “And like I said: it’s understandable you don’t know me! I had to be hidden away because reincarnation—”

“—is a concept that is never meant to be passed down through normal means,” Master Fu says. His tone sends a trail of goosebumps on your skin.

Anpu beams. “Yes! Wow, my master is right; they said you’ll be able to understand us easily and you just did! But, uhm, where was I again? Oh. When my previous masters renounced me, I got stuck in a box for a very, very, very long time, but now I'm here, and my new master—” he proudly gestures to you, “—is the best! They’re so smart and funny! And they live in a super big house, and now we’re gonna steal a book there!"

Master Fu blinks. Wayzz looks absolutely scandalized.

You resist the urge to slap a hand on your face. “Anpu. I told you this was not how I wanted to phrase that.”

"W-well—It’s apparently called a spellbook!" Anpu tries to fix it, but the other two freeze even more at his words.

You let out a heavy sigh. It seems like you can’t back out now.

“Yes,” you confirm. "I know about the spellbook that was stolen from you, Master Fu. Along with the Peacock and Butterfly Miraculouses as well.” 

Time stops. You couldn’t even hear the rustling leaves outside the windows anymore. Not even the city and its people could break through the layer of shock that falls upon the shop.

“N-Nooroo and Duusu’s miraculous?” Wayzz croaks. He flitters to you, eyes wide and almost hopeful, if only he wasn’t so unsure of what to make out of you.

“Nooroo and Duusu,” you nod, smiling at him reassuringly and making him hiccup in surprise. “I think I can get them back… if you can listen to what I say.”

That is enough to snap the silent spell away. Master Fu narrows his eyes just slightly. You almost thought he would send you away, just for a few seconds until he and Wayzz could process everything you just said.

But Master Fu walks to the nearby door instead. He grabs a tray of teapot and cups, and motions for you to follow. 

“Come, young one,” he glances your way with a nod. “This might be a long conversation between the two of us.”

Chapter Text

Is Master Fu a great guardian?

Debatable.

Is he a great guy who will be the perfect person to understand you and Anpu’s absurd existence?

Yes. He definitely is. 

You hold onto a porcelain teacup filled with chocolat chaud, hot chocolate, as Master Fu sits down crossed legged in front of you. If you aren’t enjoying the sweet and thick texture of the drink in front of you, you would have been offended by his infantilizing offer.

Then you remember: ah. You still look like a child to him. Offering tea must be at the back of his mind when you look like you still pick your nose without feeling any shame in public.

You take one more sip of the sweet drink before wiping your lips of any residue, “I know where the Peacock and Butterfly Miraculous are located," you say as seriously as you can. Considering you just drank hot chocolate in front of him, you probably don’t look that serious.

But you appreciate Master Fu furrowing his brows anyway. At least he’s trying to look like he's taking this conversation seriously.

“I can’t tell you how I know about it and who has it in their possession, but you can think of this as… not being the right time yet.”

As much as you’d love to tell Master Fu who Hawk Moth would be in the future, you don’t want to speak in finality. You still have seven years left before the main timeline happens. Seven years. That’s a long time, perhaps enough time, to redirect Gabriel’s grief in the future until he won’t have a reason to use the Butterfly Miraculous for his wife.

It’s a naive idea, you admit. A Miraculous Tales of Ladybug and Chat Noir world without Hawk Moth? 

Maybe you really are regressing to being a child due to your idealistic thoughts.

Master Fu sets his cup down with a soft clink. “I won’t ask you to reveal more than you are ready to, but tell me… is the owner of the Peacock and Butterfly miraculous a trustworthy person?”

Wayzz looks at you uneasily. The two kwamis are right beside each other, sitting on the pure black table in front of you.

“The Butterfly and Peacock Miraculouses have two different wielders,” you lie, voice steady despite the twisting feeling in your gut.

It isn’t a lie technically. Gabriel and Emilie are two different people, and even after the latter is gone, Nathalie will someday use the Peacock Miraculous herself. But you have no choice except to say it like this, because if you couldn’t redirect Gabriel’s grief in the future, what will happen if he decides to use Nooroo’s ability and the main characters easily found out about him because of your loose tongue?

It’ll be a happy ending for the world, fast and easy.

But what about Adrien?

What will happen if Adrien, who is still in the middle of grieving his mother, loses his father too?

Maybe you’re a bit too attached now, but Adrien is a real boy, your first friend, and despite everything Gabriel will do in the future, you can’t bring yourself to rip away the last parent he will have. Not yet. Not when you think there’s still a chance to change things between him and his father, or when you can at least help him get his closure before the world gets its ‘happy’ ending. 

"Two different wielders…" Master Fu repeats slowly. "And do you believe they will use their powers for good?"

“It’s… complicated,” you settle on. “The Butterfly Miraculous is still an unknown factor. I don’t think the person who wields it right now has done anything yet.” Yet. “As for the Peacock Miraculous…” You hesitate. “It’s damaged.”

His face darkens.

“Oh, Duusu,” Wayzz laments.

“I hope that nobody decides to use it,” Master Fu states, not seeing the grimace on your face. “If anyone dares to use a broken miraculous, it could mean bad things to the user.”

“B-but I don’t sense anything yet, master,” Wayzz reassures. “If Duusu’s miraculous was used by someone, you know I would be able to sense when their owners claim them–”

“Not when a miraculous is broken, Wayzz.”

Wayzz tenses up, but the sadness in his eyes makes his body droop too. Anpu reluctantly pats his head, and the turtle kwami looks at him with a tired but grateful expression.

Master Fu turns your way. “You want my help,” he repeats. “You want me to…”

“Fix the broken miraculous,” you finish, but he sighs.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that’s an impossible request.” He hangs his head low. “I was only an apprentice when I became the guardian. Although I’ve been acting as one for almost two centuries, I have never been taught the knowledge of the grimoire—the spellbook, which includes the directions of fixing a broken miraculous.”

“Oh, that’s easy.” You shrug. “I can just retrieve the spellbook for you.”

Master Fu snaps his head up, eyes widening. “What? 

“I can retrieve it for you,” you repeat, not missing the way both master and kwami looked at you with wide mouthed surprise. “I’m in the middle of my plan of getting it anyway, but in return, I need you to make something specific. Something that a seven year old like me can’t create alone.”

He furrows his brows. “What is that ‘something’?”

Wayzz covers his opened mouth, his eyes bouncing back and forth between you and Master Fu in anticipation. Anpu follows him too, and it’s almost surprising how your kid wasn’t being hyperactive in this conversation. Wayzz’s compliance must be a good influence on him. 

“I need you to make me a duplicate of a ring. A simple, non-magical ring,” you finally say. “Getting a perfect blueprint of it would be impossible for me but I can give you a picture of the design, measurements if I could, and I’ll give you the money too. Then, while we’re waiting for it to be finished, I’ll bring you the spellbook and help you translate them.”

Master Fu’s eyes shoots up. “You know the ancient language of the Order too?”

Wayzz flies in surprise. "This can't be!"

Anpu looks at him then accompanies the surprised kwami. “My master knows an ancient language too?!” 

Anpu, why are you acting so surprised? You already told him about it yesterday night.

“I don’t know the ancient language,” you placate, making everyone’s shock calm down. “But I do know a few of the recipes if you ever get stuck on translating them. You don’t have to trust me fully, cause that's not my goal here, but please know that retrieving these important things is something I can’t do alone. You’re the only one who I know wouldn’t jeopardize the safety of the miraculouses, so if you would hear me out, I’ll help you in everything you need too.”

Maybe not about Hawk Moth yet but others, I can still try-

Master Fu studies you for a long moment. Then, slowly, his eyes drift to Anpu, the kwami who is now watching him with an innocent yet expectant gaze.

“…The Jackal Miraculous,” he murmurs, his voice filled with not just wariness, but reverence.

He closes his eyes. 

“Very well.” He looks at you again. “Bring me the spellbook. And if what you say is true, then I will do what I can to help you.”

FINALLY!

"Thank you," you say, polite and very demure. You offer him a smile. "I'll make sure I bring back the spellbook and the Peacock Miraculous safely, I promise.”

You finish all that is left on your hot chocolate, exchanging victorious grins with Anpu as you set your cup down. Then you had the greatest idea of looking at the window, and you belatedly realize: 

My mom!

You almost shoot out of your seat. 

You’re doomed. 

Your mother must be desperately looking for you after you just ran out of the bakery so suddenly. Knowing her personality, she would have called your father and everyone she knows, maybe even get the police in on it too and crap- she must have been so stressed already, trying to find you everywhere in Seine.

“Master Fu…” you say sheepishly, “Can I request something again?”

"You seem to have a lot of requests, young one,” he teases. You resist the urge to bury your heating face in your hands. “Well, you already said the most important request of all. Is there something else you need?"

You peek at him through your lashes. “Can you please call my mom and let her know I’m okay…?” 

He blinks, the request processing in his head. Then he lets out a hearty laugh. You can’t help but feel even more embarrassed at the light-hearted laughter in the air.

Thankfully, Master Fu called your mother after you gave her number. As you expected, she panicked a lot and went farther away from the bakery you disappeared from, so you had no choice but to wait for her in the massage shop. You also have that sinking feeling that if you take your time, your mother would have ended up searching the entire city for you, resources and money be damned.

After a few more minutes eating sweets with Anpu and Wayzz, your mother bursts into the massage shop with dry and new tears in her eyes. She hugs you so tight you almost prepared to vomit what you just ate. Then she breaks your nausea by pulling on your ear hard and scolding you for walking away from her line of sight.

Master Fu, bless his soul, helped you out by saying that you seemed to gravitate towards the energy of this shop. And your mother who had been a long time superstitious person, seems to believe his words, which gave you a chance to push her (subtly) into letting you come back here sometimes.

Thus, the first step of the plan is done. Now, you just need to duplicate the ring, and you’ll start with the most urgent of all: 

Colt Fathom’s ring.

Should you back out now?

The more you dwell on this thought, the more you believe this is a bad idea. For your mental health, and possibly financial circumstance too.

I'm just taking a picture of a ring. I'm not even stealing it! Not yet, at least, so why do I feel so anxious anyway as if someone's coming up to assassinate me once I blink?

You inhale sharply, pressing your hands against your face. Don’t dwell on pessimistic thoughts, self; You've prepared for this moment a few days ago already. Everything will be fine, don’t make yourself any more nervous-

A soft breeze brushes against your cheek. You glance up to see Anpu floating in front of you.

"He’s in the shower, master.” Anpu also looks a bit worried but he gives you a trusting nod. "The ring is on the nightstand, just like how I saw it back when you first ordered me to spy on him. But you need to hurry! I already unlocked the door, so someone might see it if you don’t go there soon!"

Your stomach twists, but you smile. “Thank you, Anpu.” 

Having a fairy-like (and overpowered) creature nearby really does wonders to your nerves. 

Exhaling all of your hesitation, you slip out of your room, looking around the empty hallways. When the coast is clear, you inch toward the other side of the stair, until you finally reach the right side of the grand staircase. 

Anpu is waiting for you at the end of the second hall. He tilts his head, gesturing wildly and anxiously to the opened door. 

Please go on! There’s no more time! You can guess is what his face was saying.

Another wave of nerves roll in as you push Colt’s door open, just enough to slip in.

The room is eerily similar to yours, probably because it was still the Agrestes’ guest room. For some reason though, this place is more suffocating. The sound of the showers running in the background makes it feel even deadlier than a graveyard on Halloween night.

Okay, first: I need an escape route.

You check the wardrobe on the other side of the door. There isn’t much clothing inside, and it’s big enough for one kid to fit into. Colt wouldn’t need to get some clothing here anyway; he already had an ironed-out vest and long sleeved polo lying on his bed. 

Your gaze slides on the bedside. And there you see on the nightstand, gleaming under a bedside lamp, the ring. 

Target located. 

You step closer carefully, trying not to knock anything on the room as you approach the nightstand. 

Adrenaline floods your veins as you take out your phone with shaking fingers. You raise it above the ring, adjusting the angle and the lighting, then—

Snap.

You tense up, hiding your phone in your shirt and snapping your head to the bathroom door. The water is still running, and you hear some odd humming too, undettered by your phone’s sound.

From behind you, Anpu vigorously shakes his hands, eyes wide in panic. You gesture for him to keep watch outside. He melts even more from the anxiety, but complies anyway.

You turn back to take one more photo of the ring, with your phone silent this time around. You can’t stop the sweat forming on your skin in cool, perfect beads as you capture it in different angles.

When you finish, you look past your shoulder and hiss quietly, “Anpu.”

“Nothing yet!” Anpu whispers back. 

You glance down at the ring. Should you…?

No, this should be enough.

But what if Colt is like Gabriel? What if a single incorrect detail ruins your entire plan because he felt that the ring isn’t similar at all?

Your fingers hover over the ring, debating whether to take it so you can grab a closer picture—just one, a final one—

Oh, to hell with it. 

You snatch the ring and start taking pictures of the curves and its inside as well. Anpu said nobody is there yet anyway, so you’ll just be quick. You'll get the measurements too, and—

And you are quick. When you finish the last batch of measuring, you place the ring down on the nightstand, trying to match its exact position down to the last millimeter. 

There. Done. Now you just have to—

"Master!” Anpu’s urgent whisper sends ice through your veins. "Someone’s coming!"

You whip your head toward the door, panic seizing your limbs. 

Anpu vanishes instantly, hiding in the shadows just as footsteps approach. He can hide wherever he can and nobody would notice, but you? You can’t do that. 

But there’s the wardrobe nearby. Your emergency plan. You lunge towards it, trying not to make any sounds at the same time as your fingers curl around the handle but–

“You?”

It's too late.

You snap your head to the doorway, and the one that caught you is:

"Felix?" you say hoarsely.

The blond is standing just past the threshold, the door left ajar behind him. His brows furrow, sharp green eyes darting from your hand still gripping the wardrobe handle to the nightstand where Colt’s ring sits. In just a simple glance, you know he already has an inkling on what your purpose is.

But that doesn’t matter. Because you are here. In his father’s room, while his father is in the bathroom. He can easily shout that a thief is in this room and it won’t be out of character for him, because what were you in Felix’s eyes if not a leech, and soon a thief, to their family?

The realization hits you like a punch to the gut.

“I-I can explain,” you begin the most pathetic statement of all time.

A flicker of annoyance comes into Felix’s face, but before either of you can speak again: the shower stops.

Your blood runs cold. You didn’t need Anpu to know what was about to happen next.

Before you can react, Felix grabs your wrist in a frantic grip and yanks you toward the wardrobe you were in the middle of opening. You barely have time to register what’s happening before he pushes you inside and he follows after, closing the door right at the same time Colt leaves the bathroom.

He glances down at you as your eyes adjust to the darkness. Don’t make a sound, his gaze widens in a warning. It takes you a moment to realize it, but:

The boy in front of you isn’t supposed to be here either.

When you created this plan, you accounted for everything that could go wrong.

You just never expected Felix catching you would be a part of that category too. 

Felix’s body is pressed against yours, his breath warm against your cheek. Your heart is racing so fast it hurts, yet neither of you dare to move. Because outside, you hear footsteps cross the room—slow, and wet. Then the rustle of fabric, the faint shifting of a blanket falling on tiles.

Oh man, Colt is just outside the wardrobe.

Well.

You lived a good life, didn't you? 

...

...No, no you didn’t. You’re still seven years old- and yes, you are a reincarnated soul but that doesn’t mean you want to die again through dumb mistakes such as breaking in a hot-tempered guy's room and getting stuck in a closet with a billionaire’s son–!

You glance up at the blond through the darkness, only to find him already looking at you. 

Felix always had that perfectly combed blond hair that separated him from Adrien, but right now the golden ringlets curl on his forehead wildly. Faint trepidation touches the space between his brows, and you wonder what exactly he’s thinking right now—whether he’s regretting pulling you in here, or whether he’s about to shove you out and let you deal with Colt yourself.

Thankfully, he does nothing except let go of your wrist, and shifting, just barely, angling himself so he’s pressing even closer to your body.

When you let out a small grunt, he glares at you. 

‘I said don’t make a sound. Can’t you follow such a simple instruction?’ is what his gaze probably says.

You glare back. ‘As if I wouldn’t make a sound. I’m practically pinned under you in this small space.’

His lips press into a thin line. You can feel his annoyance radiating off him in waves, but he doesn’t say anything. He just averts his gaze and tries to see past his shoulder. It’s a terrible action, since his hair brushes against your nose, and suddenly you are overtaken by his scent and the urge to sneeze. He doesn’t smell bad, but he smells like expensive soap and something strong and citrusy, probably some cologne his mother picked for him. It’s fresh and sharp, and in this tiny space, you don’t really appreciate the scent of his cologne right on your nose.

Then he looks back at you and shifts again, “Make some more space," he orders quietly.

“I don't think so," you say, leaning back. "If you move any further, I’ll really sneeze on you."

His eyes widen, horrified. But you are serious. You really will sneeze. He must have realized that too cause reluctantly he eases back the slightest bit. It’s not much, considering the wardrobe barely fits the both of you as is, but at least he’s not actively suffocating you anymore

Outside, Colt clicks his tongue. “Can’t believe I have to wear this damn thing... I should’ve burned it years ago.”

There’s silence. Then—the heavy rustling of fabric. The distinct sound of a belt unbuckling. For a second, you blink to yourself. 

Is Colt… getting dressed?

Felix stiffens, realization clicking at the same time as yours.

And just like that, you couldn’t stop your face from scrunching in disgust. 

Ewwwwww...?

Colt Fathom getting dressed is not something you want to imagine, not even in your wildest dreams. But that’s the thing with people with a hyperactive imagination: when a thought appears in your head, your mind has no choice but to show and display it for you. And the image of Colt, that abhorrent thing, being semi-naked right outside the wardrobe is giving you the biggest ick you’ve experienced in your entire life. 

Ew ew get it off my head ew!

Felix suddenly lurches forward, his head dropping on the spot between your shoulder and neck. You worriedly grasp at his shirt, wondering if something must have happened. That's when you feel a blow of breath; a trembling of the body, and your brows frantically shoot up.

Is he… laughing?

You stare at Felix in disbelief as his shoulders rise higher to his ears in an attempt to stifle his noises. 

He is.

He is absolutely trying not to laugh.

The absolute nerve of this boy.

Felix feels your accusatory glare even in the darkness, but that makes him muffle his laughter against you even more, his forehead pressing into the crook of your neck. His breaths are making the hair on your skin stand on all ends, tickling you almost if you aren't entirely panicking at the thought that here you are, both trapped in a wardrobe while a half-dressed Colt Fathom is just a few feet away, and Felix—Felix of all people—chooses now to laugh?

You dig your nails on his shirt. "Shut up," you growl quietly.

If this guy gives you away because he couldn’t control himself, you swear you will haunt him in your next life. It doesn’t matter if you never get reincarnated in Miraculous Ladybug again—you will haunt him forever and you will not make his life any better even in other universes-

Felix finally pulls his head back slightly. 'No,' he mouths, giving you a boyish grin.

Before you can berate him more, Colt’s voice cuts through the space again.

“Where the hell did I put that damn tie again?” 

All traces of amusement between you and Felix suddenly vanishes. Colt is rummaging through something just outside, opening multiple cabinet drawers. Then he takes a short pause. Followed by a growl. “Damn wench must’ve moved it somewhere else. Amelie!”

The boy in front of you ticks a muscle in his jaw. He glances outside, even if the wardrobe is closed, and you recognize that burning glare of his—the way anger coils just beneath his skin, simmering, waiting. Like he's ready to shout curses if given a chance.

But the darkness in his green eyes seizes when he feels arms slowly circle around him. He snaps his head back to see you press your palms against his back, making him stiffen more.

You don’t know what compels you to do it—but you don't move, and neither does Felix. His heartbeat is hammering against your palms, fast, and you rub circles to comfort him, watching how his breath gradually comes to a slow rhythm at your action.

"What is it, dear?" Amelie's voice comes into the room.

"Where did you put my tie?!"

"Oh. Is it not there...?"

"No. I had it ironed out earlier and..."

Outside, Colt’s complaints grow distant as he stomps toward the door, swinging it shut, until silence permeates the room.

He's gone.

For a long moment, neither of you move.

Felix pulls away slightly, just enough to give you an odd look. You are about to ask what was that look for, but he reaches for the wardrobe door and eases it open. He peeks out first, green eyes scanning the room. Then when the coast is clear, he steps out and you are finally given the chance to breathe without anyone pressing in on you.

Freedom! You cheer silently, letting one leg dangle out of the wardrobe.

You don’t have enough time to savor it though before Felix pulls you out of the cramped space forcefully. As expected, the sudden action causes needles to prick on your numbed feet, and you hiss, stumbling. 

The blond catches your wrist before you can faceplant into the floor. 

"What were you thinking?"

You bite back a wince. Now’s not the right time to ask that question, you want to say, but you can’t even do anything but try to lighten your feet at the uncomfortable tingling crawling up your numbed legs. Of course, Felix doesn’t seem to care.

“You had no business being in here,” he growls. “Do you even realize what could’ve happened if my father found you?”

You do. That’s why you were so terrified.

But right now, all you can focus on is the boy in front of you. The way his usually pristine hair is disheveled, his white polo slightly wrinkled from being pressed against you. The way his lips are snarled in a different way than when you last saw him. And the way he’s holding onto your wrist, like he’s keeping you upright under the guise of interrogating you.

Felix is mad. You know that much. 

But… is he mad because he’s worried?

Something in your face must have shown more of your thoughts, because Felix averts his gaze and frowns. “Come on.”

“Ah," you strain. Then he drags you, and you flinch. "Ow- okay, my leg is cramping up, I’ll follow you soon- wait–!”

Felix doesn’t listen as he tugs you out of the room and toward the hallway in a cautious yet hasty stride. It isn’t until you reach your bedroom does he finally let go of your wrist, throwing you far inside.

“Explain,” Felix demands. “Why are you snooping around in my father’s room?”

“I…” You swallow. “I just—”

His gaze darkens. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not,” you blurt out. That doesn’t erase the furrow of his brows. “I just need a moment. Look- we were almost caught, and considering how you were pressing on me earlier, my legs are feeling so numbed right now. Can’t you give me some kind of- I don’t know, a chance to calm down first before questioning me?”

You never thought Felix is intimidating with his younger, almost baby-faced look, but the way he glowers at you that moment, you think even a ghost would hide away from it.

Thankfully, he averts his gaze. That's enough of an answer for you.

You sigh in relief, stumbling back on the edge of your bed. The flowing blood on your numbed feet is making the tingling less uncomfortable, so you had a chance to think to yourself.

Aside from the terrible turn of events, you got everything you needed, right? You even had the chance to measure the ring, and to take a picture of the inner details as well.  

You look around the room, trying to find where Anpu could be hiding. He’ll be fine since kwamis can phase through walls, but you still need to see him to feel less nervous. And right on cue, peeking out of your bookshelf is the black kwami. He almost stumbles out of his hiding spot but when he sees Felix, he motions to the blond boy with wide and confused eyes.

You shook your head. Anpu slithers back into the shelf in response. 

Felix suddenly turns your way. “So what was it?”

You snap your attention back to him, straightening up. "What was what?"

"The reason," he frowns. "Or are you going to keep acting like you need time to process it?"

What kind of person does he think you are? Of course you don't need anymore time to process it, but what if you did need one, and he just makes you feel shameful over it?

You sigh, knowing your answer already without even overthinking it anymore. 

“You’ve felt that something’s off sometimes, right?” You say without any context. 

Felix looks at you, unamused. "Answering my question with another question?"

“I'm answering your question with the answer you want," you retort. He doesn't reply back, so you continue, "I don’t know how much you know about it. Heck, I don’t even know if you of all people would believe it once I say this, but the ring that your father wears… it’s called an Amok, an item that controls certain beings created by someone. It's the reason why you don’t feel like you have full control of yourself when your father's around. It's the thing that controls you no matter how much you don't want to follow him.”

Maybe this is for the better. 

Felix doesn’t know anything about his circumstance, not at this age at least. But you remember his gaze earlier when he caught you in his father's room. His eyes shifted from you and towards the nightstand where a small, supposedly insignificant ring is lying. You’d like to think he’s suspecting you of wanting to steal it, but if that’s the case, he could have looked anywhere else that was more valuable than a wedding ring. Like Amelie’s vanity table, the jewelry box peeking under the bed, or even the wallet that was perfectly lying on top of the bed, waiting for a thief to just grab it and have a field day of being rich.

It's a gamble for you, but maybe… maybe there’s a chance that Felix already knows about what he is.

You can trust him to be smart. You can even trust him to be careful about everything around him—you saw how he easily pulled you into the closet, how he tried to calm himself when he hears his father talk badly of his mother. You even watched the show and seen how the boy simply wants the happiness and freedom of all sentimonsters. He, of all people, can understand your insistence in doing this.

With that, you let go of all hesitation and tell him everything. From your plan of duplicating the ring, to swapping and stealing Colt’s. Your words spill out in a rush of adrenaline, and you almost wonder if Felix can understand you. The way he’s looking at you, all stoic and unreadable, makes it harder to know whether you’re expressing yourself clearly or not.

When you finish telling the tale, Felix remains completely silent.

It’s unnerving, really. You expect some kind of reaction—anything. A scoff followed by a sarcastic comment, or an outright dismissal. But no. He just stands there, staring at you like he’s trying to decide whether you’ve lost your mind or if he should take you seriously.

“Is it the same for Adrien?” 

You blink in surprise. “Huh?”

Felix repeats, “Is it the same for Adrien?”

“Oh. Uh… Yes…?” you say, unsure of where he’s going, but he stays silent afterwards. “I-I haven’t finished the plan yet, so I don’t have the rings belonging to the Agrestes—”

“To the Graham de Vanily family,” he corrects. "It's a family heirloom that belongs to the Graham de Vanily twins."

“Right. Well, I wanted to get yours first, and–”

“Why?” 

“Why…” Why does he keep on interrupting you? 

Felix lets out a mocking chuckle. “Unbelievable.”

An irk grows on your forehead. "Listen to me first. If you just—”

“No,” he cuts in. His lips curl—not in amusement, but something more bitter. “It’s just so convenient that a stranger of all people, knows everything that I’ve been suspecting for a long time. And now, that person is trying to get the ring from my side first, when they know their best friend Adrien is suffering the same thing too. Is that not an unbelievable situation?"

You open your mouth, scrambling for a response, but Felix raises a cruel brow.

“What are you hoping to get out of this?” His voice is sharp. “Why are you so invested in my freedom first?”

It’s not an unfair question. But you don’t have an answer that doesn’t sound… incriminating, because the truth is:

You don’t know.

You don’t know why your first instinct was to help Felix before Adrien. Maybe it’s because you met Felix first, saw firsthand the way his father loomed over him like an unshakable shadow. Maybe it’s because you recognize the way Felix glances at an empty space with that sinking gaze, the way he masks his emotions so deeply that even now, even when you’re telling him everything, he refuses to show even a fraction of vulnerability.

Or maybe, deep down, you know Adrien isn’t ready to hear the truth yet. And Felix… 

"I just… I thought you’d be the first person who’d understand.”

He goes still.

“I thought you’d want to take control of your own life first before anything else. I thought if anyone would have the resolve to fight back, it would be you.”

“And if I refuse?”

Your breath hitches.

“If I tell you to leave it alone, to let me handle it myself.” He turns his head slightly, sharp green eyes locking onto yours. “Would you listen?”

“If it’s what you want,” you say without hesitation. That’s what you wanted in the first place.

His expression is smooth, blank, almost serene. But his eyes looks as if it burns quite badly as he stares you down.

Before you can focus on that, Felix turns toward the door, pausing just as he reaches for the handle. “Do whatever you want.” He doesn’t look back. “Just don’t expect me to clean up your mess if this plan of yours falls apart.”

With that, he leaves. He takes with him all of your trust, confession, and the fate of your plan that can easily fall if he decides to tell on you.

Chapter Text

The Emilie full body painting in Gabriel’s atelier is exactly as you expect it to be. 

It stands higher than you, covering the middle of the room with its diamond-like shapes, the ones that make Emilie look as if her bottom part is disintegrating into beautiful abstract shards of gold and silver. 

You wonder if your father is the one who painted this in the original series too. Maybe it’s meant to be—you, meeting Adrien and Felix. You, being in this room. And you, stealing the spellbook and the Peacock Miraculous years before the show’s timeline started.

What happened with you? You thought you won’t insert yourself in this convoluted series, yet you’re here, standing in the heart of it all.

You tilt your head up, eyes raking over the painting of a woman in front of you. It almost feels like the woman is staring back, with her posture perfect, her hands clasped on her chest, and her eyes as sharp as the fresh grass.

This is a woman who was originally a plot device in your world. The woman who had no importance other than being a motivator for Gabriel in the future. But with her image in front of you, with her presence subtly making its way into your life, you feel it even clearer now: this is a woman, not a character no longer, who will soon be lost, only to haunt the people she will leave behind.

Brushing your fingers against the edge of the frame, you hold onto the sides and push it, watching the painting swing open like a door, revealing the hidden compartment behind it.

You grasp at the ajar metal safe, courtesy to Anpu tinkering with the lock after you made sure everyone in the entire mansion had fallen asleep. You almost worried he wouldn’t be able to do it because unlike Plagg, who opened the safe easily for Adrien in the show, your kwami is less knowledgeable in technology. But he succeeded, and that's all that matters.

Pushing the safe open, the first thing you see is the spellbook. Thick and worn red cover with golden detailing in the middle; it's exactly as you remembered it to be. You don’t hesitate to take it, your gloved fingers curling around the leather as you press it against your chest. 

Then, you glance at the blue and green feathered brooch resting in front of an Agreste family photo. The Peacock Miraculous. You hesitate for a split second before plucking the brooch from its resting place, the cool metal pressing against your palm.

There. It’s done.

With both the spellbook and the Peacock Miraculous secured, you take a breath, steadying yourself for what comes next.

Because now?

Now it’s time to wake the beast.

You turn on your heel, closing the safe and the Emilie painting again. You approach the atelier's security console, fingers grazing over the touchscreen pads. It opens, flashing your eyes with a bright light, the screen awaiting for you to input a password.

Randomly, you tap whatever number you can do until the screen flashes red.

WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. SECURITY ALERT ACTIVATED.

A shrill alarm cuts through the silence of the mansion like a banshee’s scream. You hear the poles of metal slam in front of the outdoor gates, all windows shutting with a series of heavy clicks, locking the entire mansion down.

Then—footsteps. You take a step back, watching as the atelier bathes in pulsing red light, and listening as the door slam open down the hall, the hurried clatter of multiple people ascending the grand staircase.

Everyone is awake now.

Your lips quirk beneath your mask. Maybe it’s the anonymity of your transformation, but you almost feel excited to see everyone’s faces. Most specifically Gabriel’s.

If it’ll take more than five seasons to see his not-satisfying end, I might as well enjoy his defeat today. Years before his supposed-defeat. 

The door of the atelier slams open. You meet Gabriel’s eyes, the alarmed yet tired secretary Nathalie right beside him, and behind him is someone’s pale blond hair. Emilie, Amelie, whoever it is between them, you couldn’t verify. Not when Gabriel looks down at the spellbook in your arms, the Peacock Miraculous clutched in your fingers. His pupils shrink with shock, his face paling under the emergency lights.

Then, rage.

“Phantom,” he growls out in pure, unbridled anger. “Paris declared you a hero, but you are just a thief.”

You shoot him a finger gun and grin. “A cute thief, you mean.” 

The fury that twists Gabriel’s face is almost beautiful. You wish you could be as skilled as your father. Maybe if you have his hands, you’ll be able to paint the anger of the man in front of you. 

“Put. That. Down.” 

“Put what, down?” You tilt the spellbook their way. “This? Or do you mean-” you snap the brooch on your neck, right above Anpu’s amulet, and grin, “-This?”

The blond woman behind Gabriel—Emilie, you realize as she pushes herself past Nathalie to stare at you—clasps her hands together. Unlike Gabriel whose fury is clear, Emilie’s expression is one of devastation. “Phantom… Please, let’s talk about this.”

For a moment, you hesitate. 

You’ve always seen Emilie happy with everyone in the mansion. She never let her own illness show any of her pain, even when the others already know she’s suffering. But tonight, her voice is raw, laced with something fragile—desperation, maybe, or the quiet horror of realizing she is watching something irreplaceable slip through her fingers.

And for a split second, you think: maybe you are doing something entirely wrong.

Gabriel takes that hesitation as an opportunity.

"Seize them!" he commands. Before you can even react, he lunges forward himself.

For the first time, you see the appeal in big and lavish rooms. The door of the atelier is more than ten feet away from where you are standing, and even though everyone is scampering to reach for you, you have enough time to swipe your foot backward and raise your free arm up.

“Eclipse!”  

As those words leave your lips, golden light swirls from your ankles and up to your torso.

The atelier around you dims into a greyscale, the red security lights smearing into black and white. When you look down, your body isn’t there anymore. Neither is the spellbook and anything that you are holding.

Gabriel’s outstretched fingers grasp at air, his expression twisting with fury as he stumbles forward.

"No!" His roar shakes the room. "Don’t let them get away!"

Nathalie is already barking orders into her earpiece, but it doesn’t matter. You already spin on your heel and sprint toward the nearest wall. The strange, weightless sensation of your feet floods your senses as you brace yourself—and leap.

For a heartbeat, you are suspended midair, then the world shudders, and you emerge into the hallway, stumbling on your feet.

One minute.

For one minute, you are nothing. You are a phantom in the truest sense.

The countdown is burning in your head as you continue running, the spellbook still clutched tightly in your arms. The entire Agreste mansion has transformed into a gilded cage, with all windows and doors shut, but you aren’t trying to go outside anyway.

You turn the corridor and jump inside your own room. You slide towards your bed and hide the spellbook under, unclipping the Peacock Miraculous from your neck and placing it inside the book.

“Anpu, fall back.” 

The transformation disappears at the same time as your colors appear. Anpu swirls out of your amulet. You gesture for him to hide hastily, and when he’s under your pillow, you give him a cookie to restore his energy.

It’s done.

Your heart is beating so fast, sweat building up on your forehead. With the alarms blaring outside, you know it wouldn’t be surprising for a child like you to be scared by the situation. And Gabriel saw the true culprit—they wouldn’t be able to connect the idea that Phantom, the hero of Paris for almost a year now, is a seven year old kid of a commissioned artist.

But that doesn’t stop your nerves from overflowing anyway.

You wish you could have the confidence of Phantom. Something about yourself is different when you are wearing that superhero skin. You even had the gall to taunt Gabriel, but now, here you are, trying not to breathe fast from both the exhaustion of running and the panic as the alarms screamed in your ears.

It’ll take a while before every door gets unlocked. You grab your phone from your table and tap on a certain number.

When they pick up, you breathe shakily. “Mama… papa...  I’m scared…”

For once, you aren’t lying to your parents.

As you expected, it takes at least five minutes for the alarms to stop blaring. Another ten minutes for the doors to unlock. And not any minute less for your parents to burst into your room.

You cling to them, burying your face in the warmth of your mother’s shoulder as she strokes your hair. Their voices tremble as they ask if you’re hurt or if you saw anything. You respond with the innocence of someone who had just woken up, and the comfort lasts only for a minute before you are told to accompany Adrien in his room.

The boy grabs your wrist almost the moment you step inside.

“You’re okay,” Adrien breathes out, relief washing over his features. His green eyes are wide, darting over your face as if searching for any sign of injury. “I- I thought you got hurt.”

His grip is firm, but his hands are clammy, fingers curling around yours with barely restrained tension. He looks shaken—more than you expected him to be.

“I was sleeping when the alarm happened,” you reassure him. “Mama and Papa came running in after the door was unlocked though, so even if I was hurt, I think I'll be fine.”

“Right,” he mutters, more to himself than to you. He lets go of your wrist and rubs his arm awkwardly. “Do you want… to hear me play?”

“Play…?” You blink. "Right now?"

“Yeah. The piano,” he gestures meekly to the grand piano in the middle of his room. It must be his way of distracting himself, or maybe you.

How sweet. You would have loved it if only you aren’t feeling guilty for being the one who caused such chaos in the first place. 

“Can you play Rush E?”

Adrien laughs at your request. “I don’t think I can,” he admits, settling onto the bench. He stretches his fingers above the keys and smiles at you. “But I can try playing something else. Maybe you'll enjoy it more than Rush E.”

You sit beside him, watching as he thinks of the piece he'll play. His hands are still shaky, but when he presses down on the first note, the sound is clear and steady, and soon a gentle melody fills the air.

"Beethoven's Für Elise," you muse. He's playing the slower version of it, letting the note linger in the background as he taps on the next one.

Adrien hums softly in response, his shoulders easing as he plays. "It's one of the first pieces I learned. My mom loves it, so I try to play it for her whenever I can."

You watch him in silence. Even in the dim glow of his bedside lamp, you can see how pale he is, how his expression flickers between focus and something distant. His fingers falter slightly at one transition, and he tenses up. He glances at you from the corner of his eyes before recovering quickly.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I messed up a little."

"Nothing's wrong about that." You push one finger into a random black key, which makes a terrible sound while Adrien slows his playing to glance at you, startled. “See? You can still play something even after making one mistake.”

Adrien blinks, then lets out a small, surprised chuckle. “I guess so.”

"Do," you sing out of tune on purpose. "Re, mi, fa, so, la—"

"Ti, do," Adrien finishes in a flair.

"No. Ti doooo." You lean to his face, nuzzling your hair on his cheek.

He laughs and leans away, scrunching up his nose. "Hey, that tickles!"

"Good," you say smugly, pulling back just enough to watch the tension finally ease from his face. 

Adrien shakes his head, still smiling, and returns his fingers to the piano. This time, the melody flows smoother, the notes more certain. You don’t interrupt him again, hugging one of your knees to your chest while you watch him with a strange fondness.

It’s easy to forget in this moment that you were Phantom just minutes ago. That you stole the spellbook and the Peacock Miraculous from under Gabriel Agreste’s nose. That the entire mansion had been on high alert because of you.

Instead, you are just a kid again, sitting beside a friend who is trying to comfort you and himself with his soft music.

The door suddenly creaks open.

Both you and Adrien turn to see Felix stepping inside. He doesn’t acknowledge the two of you as he closes the door behind him. When his eyes land on you, it sweeps back to Adrien, then the piano, and back at you again.

“I thought I’d find you two moping in silence. Turns out I'm half-wrong about my assumption,” Felix remarks. He walks inside and falls down on Adrien’s bed, crossing his legs and resting a hand on his chin. “You look cozy, considering Paris’ only hero has been caught stealing from Gabriel Agreste’s mansion.” 

A discordant note rings out as Adrien’s fingers freeze on the keys. He turns sharply to Felix, his expression shifting into shock. “What do you mean?” 

Felix seems more focused on his nails now. “I mean exactly what I said. Every adult is talking about it right now. Apparently, the so-called Phantom stole something important from your family, and now your father is making sure it won’t happen again.”

Adrien stands up in haste. “That doesn’t make sense. Phantom isn’t a thief!”

“Anybody can be a thief." Felix slides his gaze your way. "Even the people you least expect.”

He really has no subtlety at all. You're resisting the urge to choke him and shake him until his probing eyes and stupidly smart brain pop out of his skull.

First, he’ll ignore you for almost a week after the wardrobe situation, now he’s staring at you as if you are the one at fault? 

Well, you are be the one at fault, but nobody can connect you to Phantom, the hero who’s been around for a year now. Felix might look like he can, but you have a feeling his deliberate stare is another way for you to confess your guilt on your own. He must have realized you tend to be honest when tension is clearly staring at your face.

But after giving you the biggest anxiety with his vague words a few days ago, who says you want to play his game on his own terms?

“So what did they steal?” you ask instead.

Felix seems to understand his tricks aren't going to make you say groundbreaking things this time around. He cups his chin and looks toward the door. “Designs for the upcoming fashion event, apparently.”

So that’s the excuse they chose?

Adrien makes a confused sound. “Why does Phantom need that? Fashion designs aren't usually stolen by heroes who are busy fighting the bad guys...” 

"Yeah, it sounds out-of-character of them too, don’t you think so?” you add. Nobody would suspect you if you act like you’re curious too.

"Right?" Adrien frowns, sitting back down on the piano bench. "Phantom always goes after the villains. They aren't supposed to be the villain here, so I don't understand it at all…”

The other blond reclines further into the bed like it’s his own. "Whatever the reason is, my father is making sure it doesn’t happen again. He said it’s a disgrace to get robbed as a prestigious family. That's why he’s giving your father more security."

"What do you mean?"

Felix lifts a brow. "You know what I mean." He snaps his fingers per syllables. "More. Bo-dy-guards."

Adrien groans and sinks his forehead on the piano keys. “No way. This whole thing is already weird as is, but getting more bodyguards?” He sighs. "Modeling and fencing would be so stifling even more..."

“Don’t worry,” you pat his blond hair, watching the boy tilt his head to look up at you with a soft and affectionate gaze. “It won't have to be that stifling. Not when I can teach you how to outrun those bodyguards in the future.” 

Or bodyguard, not plural. He only has to worry about Gorilla in the future anyway. 

A snort echoes in the room. “I’m surprised you haven’t been kicked out for putting thoughts like that in his head.”

You turn toward Felix, narrowing your eyes. “Why? Are you going to tell on me?”

Felix meets your gaze in that impossibly still and stoic facade of his. He knows it’s a loaded question, more than just the topic of being a bad influence to Adrien, but he doesn’t give you the satisfaction of an answer anyway. He just huffs once more and turns on his side, lying with his back on you. 

“I’m going to sleep. Don’t make obnoxious noises, or else.” 

Or else what, you want to sass, but you bite your tongue and look at Adrien instead. 

“Do you think Phantom is really a thief?” The boy whispers. “They’ve always fought for the good guys… I can't really think of a reason why they'd steal from anyone. Not when they're supposed to be the hero here…”

You reach a hesitant hand before letting it drop on your lap. “People aren’t good or bad only, Adrien. Maybe Phantom has their reasons. Maybe they’re just trying to make things right in their own way, even if it hurts other people in the process.”

Adrien stares at you, but you don’t give him the chance to dig deeper. You nudge his shoulder. "Come on. Weren’t you playing something for me earlier?"

He blinks, lips parting slightly, but then he gives a small nod. In just a second, his fingers return to the keys, and the melody resumes. Every time Adrien makes a mistake, he tries to laugh it off, but when you show him a warm smile, he looks down at his hands with reddened cheeks and he doesn't hesitate in recovering from the mistakes anymore. 

As the song comes to an end, Adrien exhales, tension finally slipping from his shoulders. You give him a slow clap. He glances at you, smiling, and then hesitating for a moment.

"Um…" He fiddles with the hem of his sleeve. "Can I—would it be okay if I hugged you?"

You gasp mockingly. "You’re asking me?"

Adrien stares, unamused. You chuckle, murmuring a "Just kidding," before opening your arms for him.  He doesn’t waste a second. He wraps his arms around you, his warmth sinking into your skin as he nuzzles on the crook of your neck. He doesn’t say anything, but you feel the fast heartbeat of his relief under your palms on his back.

You return the hug, patting ruffling the back of his hair twice before pulling away. “Feeling better?”

Adrien nods, grinning. “Yeah.”

Then, as if something dawns on him, his eyes flicker toward the bed, where Felix remains facing away from the two of you. The boy has been so still, so perfectly composed, that anyone else would have thought he was truly asleep, but an expert like you know better. That's exactly the position you make yourself when you're trying to fool your mother that you've fallen asleep, just for you to stand up and escape to become Phantom of the night.

Adrien catches your gaze, his lips curling mischievously. He silently tilts his head toward Felix.

What a mischievous cat.

"You sure he'll appreciate that?" you whisper at him. Worried but still willing to do it. Maybe as a payback from the moody boy.

"Felix likes hugging," Adrien whispers back, shrugging. "Don't know why he stopped, though. I think it's cause other people are here in the house instead."

Now that was enough to convince you about this plan.

When you give Adrien a nod, the two of you move away from the piano and toward the bed. Slowly you climb on it, the mattress sinking on both of your weights, but Felix doesn’t move an inch even as you settle on either side of him. He must think you're trying to sleep too, since it's the only bed available in the room.

But in perfect sync, you both pounce.

Felix jerks as your combined weight crashes onto him, but to his credit, he still keeps up the act. His breathing remains even, his body lax despite the obvious invasion of his personal space. But anyone can literally wake up to two kids smothering them in their arms. 

Adrien buries his face into Felix’s shoulder, muffling a quiet snicker. “Wow, he sleeps like a log.”

You rest your chin against Felix’s stomach, blinking at him innocently. “It’s kinda impressive. I bet we could throw him out the window and he wouldn’t even stir.”

Felix’s arm twitches again.

Your partner in crime grins wider. “You think so?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“Get. Off.” Felix finally cracks. His voice is tight, strained with barely held patience.

“But why?” Adrien drawls, arms tightening around Felix's shoulders in an exaggerated show of affection. “We’re just bonding, cousin.”

You hum in agreement, tightening your hold on his torso. “Yeah. Why are you against bonding? You sound so defensive, almost as if you’re actually awake.”

Felix exhales sharply, the kind of long-suffering sigh that tells you he's fighting the urge to shove you both off the bed and say something snarky. 

Adrien looks at you with a glint in his eyes. “Maybe if we squeeze him hard enough, he’ll wake up.”

You don't hesitate. 

You and Adrien tighten your hold on Felix, practically squishing him between your arms. 

And that seems to be enough for Felix to finally snap his eyes open. He groans in annoyance, covering his face with both of his hands. At least he isn't shoving you off like you thought he would be.

For a while, the three of you just stay like that. Felix pretends to hate it. Adrien soaks in the warmth. And you?

You let yourself enjoy the moment.

Tomorrow will bring new worries. New futures to witness. For now, in this room, with your arms entangled with the other two, nothing else matters. Maybe.

Chapter Text

Wouldn’t you know it, stealing actually has some consequences, but you, the robber, aren’t the one who is suffering from it:

Adrien is.

His daily extracurriculars and modeling photoshoots are even more ridiculous now that he has Gorilla right by his side. Yes, you found out that this bodyguard actually has a name, which is insane and kinda forgettable, considering you don’t even remember who he is except that Adrien calls him Gorilla, and that he’s a bodyguard given by Colt Fathom himself.

Then there’s Felix. He’s… well, he’s still Felix. An acquaintance who is not quite a friend but tolerates you enough to sit next to you during breakfasts. At first you felt a bit touched. Felix sitting next to you on his own accord? That abrupt cuddle session must have softened his heart on you or something-

Then the pride easily shattered when you realized your veggies were becoming more than what you usually get. The source of this multiplication was the blond magician right beside you, subtly placing his greens on your plate without any reaction on his face whatsoever. 

Sometimes you miss having little to no memories of this world. Maybe if you stayed the ignorant self you are back when you were three years old, the one who just accepted this reincarnation because you had no choice, maybe you’ll enjoy this life with Adrien and Felix's family a bit more than you do now. 

But noooo. You have to stand to the side and be bored for your entire week because you are waiting for Master Fu’s translation of the spellbook!

At least you have your friends at school to distract you. 

...Kinda?

You glance at Nathaniel sitting beside you in class. He had his head buried on his sketchbook, his other arm caging it like he doesn’t want anyone to see. Not even you, someone he always tries to show everything he creates. 

“Hey,” you whisper to him. 

He shuts his sketchbook close.

Okay. That’s not weird at all.

“Sorry,” Nathaniel mumbles, eyes darting away. He slides his arms closer to himself, pulling the sketchbook to his chest. “What- what is it?”

“I just wanted to ask how you did your history homework. I researched too many things in the library that I don’t even know if I did my formatting properly. Can I see how you did yours?” 

“O-oh. You mean that…” He laughs nervously. Still not looking at your eyes. “Yeah, I can show you mine. Wait a second.” 

Nathaniel stuffs his sketchbook into his bag hurriedly. You don’t say anything as he flips open his history notebook, pushing it toward you with a sheepish smile. You take it, scanning the neatly written notes, but the words blur together. 

Nathaniel has always been reserved, but not like this. Not with you. He always showed you his drawings back then, but now, he keeps them away, as if they’re meant for someone else’s eyes. 

Someone who isn’t you.

You look past Nathaniel’s shoulders and towards Kim, the other boy who should have been right beside you in his usual seat. He isn’t obligated to sit next to you per se, as seat arrangements don’t exist in this place, but ever since new students transferred in the school, he’s slowly losing interest in keeping his challenge with you nor his own friendship with Nathaniel.

Well. It's only a matter of time. Compared to your bond with Nathaniel, you know you weren’t the closest to Kim. Seeing him interacting with Alix and Max, two new students—two students you definitely know about—you can’t help but feel the distance between you and your friend growing larger as you expected. 

“Uh… (Y/n)? you’re going to rip the page off…”

You loosen your unbearably tight grip on the notebook. “Sorry,” you sheepishly smile at Nathaniel. His gaze softens as you turn the next page. “Oh, so that’s how you decided to put those facts down. That actually looks so neat, using brackets instead of just a hyphen.” You look at him, amused. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were a model student.”

Nathaniel rubs his fingers on his bangs. “Well, I try.”

You hand his notebook back, careful not to brush against his fingers. "Thanks. I might have to steal your own format for my own. That okay with you?"

He laughs softly. "It’s not stealing if you ask me about it.” It’s familiar, that laugh. But today, something is missing. “Sure though. Do what you like… I’m just-” He glances back at his bag nervously. “I’m going to draw some more. Can you…?”

You cover your eyes with both hands and look away pointedly. “I cannot see anything, sir. What color is your hair again? Was it purple? Red?”

You hear him chuckle, calling you a ‘dork’ under his breath, which he takes back immediately with an embarrassed cough as he starts drawing again.

The conversation ends the same way it always does; you, joking around and looking the other way. The other person, your friend, doing something that doesn’t truly involve you.

But for the first time in a long while, you have a chance to look at your surroundings. 

It’s an odd thing to notice, how this world that you consider your own is slowly being completed as time passes by, even without your help.

New people. Familiar characters. Their presence is almost suffocating when you realize they are forming their groups, and you don’t know where to go. If you even belong in the first place. 

Nathaniel’s sketchbook is still tucked away while he draws. Kim isn't laughing with you anymore.

You release a small chuckle that sounds nothing like you. Showing Nathaniel a smile when he glances in intrigue, and carrying on the day as if nothing is wrong.

Because if you pretend hard enough, you know it will be.

You are checking your phone absent-mindedly when you see a text from Master Fu.

“It’s done.”

It’s an overly vague statement, but you know what he already wants to say.

You stand up as the bell rings, hurriedly packing your bag when Nathaniel suddenly calls your name. "Wait!" 

Pausing, you glance over your shoulder. He's gripping the strap of his bag tightly, his knuckles pale. "Uh… I… I wanted to tell you something.”

The message from Master Fu still lingers in your mind, but Nathaniel looks like he’s been working up the courage to say this for a while. There’s something else in his face other than nervousness, judging from the way he stands there and shifts his weight on his feet. 

Adjusting your bag to your back, you smile. "Sure. What is it?"

Nathaniel opens his mouth, and you wait for a revelation. Or a question. Anything, really.

But you are met with nothing instead.

That’s alright, you show him you can wait patiently. You can go to Master Fu anytime you want anyway, with your mother accompanying you to the massage shop by herself. Maybe you can even spend more time with Nathaniel, just a little to break whatever wall has been placed between you two.

“You see… I’ve– uh, been making… last week, I was doing… ugh.” Nathaniel decides stumbling over his tongue isn’t working so he tries to unclasp his bag. “I think it’s better if I show you—” but everything inside it tumbles out when he finally unclasps his bag’s button. “O-oh no! Sorry! That’s not supposed to- I’m sorry.”

You crouch down to help him, reaching for a few scattered pencils and a notebook that has fallen open. Nathaniel scrambles to pick it up as well. When you reach over to his sketchbook, he snatches it from your hands in a flustered panic, clutching it tightly to his chest.

You draw your hand back, fingers twitching in surprise. Nathaniel looks like he's berating himself for his abrupt reaction, which brings your brows to furrow. “Are you… really okay? You know I won’t bite you, right?"

Nathaniel lets out a nervous chuckle at your light-hearted joke. "Y-yeah. Of course I do. I just- um, the sketchbook has the…”

Again, he clams up in the middle of his statement—not even in the middle of it, but at the start—and suddenly you find yourself staring at the side of his face as he decides to look away from you. 

Oh, Nathaniel. You resist the urge to sigh affectionately. If it were any other people, you would have been annoyed. But for Nathaniel, you can have a lot more patience than usual.

“Here.” You hand him his pencils and other notebooks, which he snatches with an embarrassed squeak. Something that he only does when he isn’t close to the one he’s talking with. You don’t know why, but that somehow stings more than you can admit.

"(Y/n), Nathaniel!"

You turn your head just as Kim, Alix, and Max approach.

"Whoa, whoa, what’s going on here?" Alix teases, nudging Nathaniel with her elbow. "You confessing or something?"

Nathaniel stiffens beside you.

Max fixes his glasses with a finger. “Based on how Nathaniel has been acting lately, writing excessively on his sketchbook and being frustrated most of the time, that hypothesis isn’t entirely unfounded.”

Nathaniel’s face goes from red to absolutely mortified. "What? No!" His voice comes out louder than intended, almost frantic. "I was just— I mean, it’s not—"

Then Kim suddenly throws an arm around his shoulders with a teasing grin. "So you finally have some guts to say it, Nate?" he waggles his eyebrows before dramatically gasping. "Oh my God, Nathaniel's in loooove with (Y/n)—"

Nathaniel shoves Kim off. "Shut up, Kim! I-I wasn't-” his gaze slides your way. He sees the small, patient smile you always give him, and suddenly he looks away from you with a scowl. “I don’t like (Y/n) in that way. No! That’skindagross, so please stop teasing me about it!”

Your smile falters. 

Kim and Alix erupt into laughter, clearly taking it as just another flustered outburst from their friend. 

“Oof, way to reject someone before they even confess…” Max says.

Perhaps it’s a gradual thing. The crack in your heart that fosters itself since the moment you realize you aren’t from this world. It’s a quiet thing, something no one else notices. Not Kim, who’s laughing at Nathaniel’s denial, or Alix, who keeps on teasing the boy to just say it outright. Not even Nathaniel, who looks more mortified than anything.

But you know what they say: nobody can notice anything from someone who builds their walls too high up.

“Man, way to boost someone’s self-esteem, Nathaniel,” you joke, clutching your bag straps tighter than usual.

Nathaniel’s eyes flicker back to you, and for a moment, you think he’s about to apologize for saying gross. He said it so fast, so desperately, like the idea of liking you—of even being associated with you in that way—was something repulsive.

But then Kim claps him on the back, and Nathaniel looks away with another snarky response that puts him back into a bubble far away from you.

Nathaniel is obviously flustered, you tell yourself. He must have said it out of embarrassment from being teased. You, of all people, know how awkward these guys can get when they’re cornered by others. You know how it's also a trope most commonly used in stories, especially in the series of this world.

But why can’t you stop the lump from forming in throat? Why can’t you look at them without your vision blurring into two?

"Ah, I should get going.” You offer them a small smile. Any bigger than that and they might notice the mist in your eyes. "My mama’s going to be here soon. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?"

Several answers reach your ears, but you are already turning around with steps that don’t seem rushed. 

You have other things to worry about anyway than the loneliness that engulfs you slowly.

Wayzz watches Master Fu drop a small amount of golden liquid on the broken brooch miraculous. Beside him, Anpu floats in anticipation, and you stand beside the two kwami as Master Fu sets the pipette aside. 

"The process is almost complete.” He carefully lifts the brooch, observing how the cracks have begun to mend. "This should stabilize the miraculous and hopefully restore Duusu as well."

It’s almost enchanting how a simple drop of a liquid can be enough to mend and fit the spiderwebbing cracks on a brooch. But now that you are here, you have more pressing issues than the ASMR of fixing a miraculous. 

“Master Fu,” you call out to the man. “Can I request something again? I couldn’t say it back then because I didn’t want to overstep, but I think it’s better to say it now than never.” 

Master Fu settles the brooch back on the table and looks at you with a smile. “Of course, young one. We have you to thank for finding what I have lost after all. It’s almost a miracle…” He glances at Anpu who’s staring expectantly at the brooch. “If only I didn’t know what the world is capable of.”   

You have a feeling he won’t be grateful for you at your next request, however helpful you are to him.

“Can I…” still, you breathe the confidence you need to continue, “Can I wield the Peacock Miraculous for a while?”

When you see both Wayzz and Master Fu physically freeze, you hurriedly add. “Just this once. There is something I need to say to Duusu, and in order to talk to a kwami, we need a holder to manifest their existence, right? I promise I’ll give the brooch back to you afterwards.”

That probably sounds believable, if only they didn’t know how sneaky you are with your plans of stealing things. Like, the reason you even got Duusu back is because you stole her from somewhere. Trust a dishonest man to be dishonest, they said, but will you trust a thief to not be a thief when it comes to valuable treasure?

“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” Master Fu starts slowly. “First, the Peacock Miraculous is still being mended. It isn’t an instant fix because miraculouses aren’t meant to be broken in the first place. If we use it too hastily, heavy consequences might befall the user. And I cannot allow that mistake to happen within my reach.”

“I understand. I know it’s risky, so I’m telling you that it’s your choice in the end,” you reply. “But if you ask me, I believe Duusu would want to see the world again, even for a moment.”

Master Fu releases a hum as he looks down at the brooch. At least he’s considering your request. You thought you had doomed your plans by giving yourself the reputation of being a sneaky klepto, but that doesn’t seem to be the case.

“I can leave for a while, master,” Anpu chirps. “Since it’s not recommended for you to wield many miraculouses, and Duusu must have felt so lonely inside the miraculous, I think it’ll be okay if I—”

“No,” you cut in, desperate. “I need you with me, Anpu.” 

If your only consistent friend, the one who has been with you throughout everything, leaves your side, then what would become of you?

You know that the Peacock Miraculous uses emotions, and as much as you want to be in denial, you don’t want to make a mistake with your flaring emotions. Not when you need this, or else everything fails.

Anpu looks touched, his eyes tearing up again. How easily he cries, you don't understand. But he asks anyway, "Are- are you sure?"

You straighten your back and nod. “I'm sure. I think I’ll be fine even if I use the two of you at the same time too.”

“Young one,” Master Fu tries to warn.

“I’ve been reincarnated, Master Fu.” You pause, letting the words marinate in their mind. “If there’s anyone who can handle the strain of having two different miracles in their hands, then it’ll be someone like me.”

He watches you carefully, his gaze worried. 

But after a moment, he sighs. “Very well. But proceed with caution. The Peacock Miraculous is one of the most precious of all. You must know that its powers isn’t to be dealt with so carelessly, or it'll bring about more than just a tragedy.”

You know. That’s why you reach for the brooch with steady hands, steadying your mind and heart with only the most important thoughts:

Your friends. The people who like you. And the people you like back. 

The cool metal presses against your palm, and the moment you fasten it onto your clothing, the air around you shifts.

An expensive wedding ring rests upon your palms. You hold it between your fingers, looking at it through the light of the chandelier. 

It’s no duplicate. This time, it’s the real deal—Colt’s true ring, the one that you finally stole in the same manner you took pictures of it. 

Unlike before though, there isn’t any worry of you getting caught. Not even when you are walking out directly from Colt’s bedroom, ignoring the way you left it open. Not even when you pocket his ring to your pockets, twisting it around your fingers. And certainly not when you knock on the room of a blond boy who has no qualms in showing how much he despises looking at your face from behind his ajar door.

Felix arches a brow. “What do you want?” He doesn’t open the door any further than a crack, but that’s not important. 

“I need to talk,” you begin.

“I see,” he says. He looks at you up and down, then he closes the door shut.

You grab the sides to stop it, wincing when the hinges dig into your fingers. "Felix," you grunt. "Don’t be like this. I really need to talk to you this time."

“I don’t recall us being on speaking terms,” he says dryly, making another attempt to close the door.

You push against it, just enough to keep him from shutting you out completely. “Please.”

That desperate whisper seems to grab his attention. Felix studies you, weighing the risk of whatever you’re about to say. Then, with a quiet sigh, he lets go of the door and steps back. “You have five minutes.”

You slip inside before he changes his mind, hearing the door click shut behind you. His room is as pristine as you expect it to be—neatly arranged bookshelves, a desk devoid of clutter, not a single thing out of place. It’s cold, too, like no one really lives here. Considering how often his family goes out for business, you have a feeling that last statement is true. 

But there’s only so much silence Felix can handle, so he crosses his arms and stares you down. “Well? Out with it.”

Now that you are standing here, you don’t know how to start the conversation. “Maybe showing it would be better.” Without any hesitation, you pull one ring out of your pockets and hold it up between your fingers.

Felix stiffens. His eyes widens, cheeks heating up in a bloom of red as he stares at the ring in your grasp. His lips part, but nothing comprehensible comes out. For a moment you swear you see something like disbelief, hope, even. Then, as his sharp eyes trace every familiar detail of the gold band, realization dawns upon him.

The soft flush on his face drains in an instant.

“No,” he breathes, uncrossing his arms. He stomps closer to you and seizes your wrist with unexpected force. “No, no, no.” His voice rises, panic seeping in. “You really–”

“That’s why I need your help,” you interrupt him. Desperately meeting his mortified eyes. “I know we never started on a good note. Heck, I know you don’t want to be involved either, but just this once. Please. Just this once, please listen to my request."

You don't look away from his trembling wide eyes.

"It’s the last thing I’ll ask of you before leaving you alone.”

The sound of the shower stops, and a figure of a man steps out with lofty strides. He dries his wet hair with a fleecy towel, his other hand patting for something on his nightstand.

But everything in his body halts when his fingers meet nothing but the cool surface of polished wood.

Colt stills. The towel slips from his hand as he snaps his head down, finding his nightstand bare.

Where is it? 

There should have been the ring, his ring, right here, but now it’s gone. And that can't be possible. No, that's incomprehensible-

He pulls open the drawers, searches between the pages of a nearby book, under the bed, pushes aside thrown clothes on the ground. But there’s still nothing. No sign of the ring that he left alone for only a couple of minutes.

A cold fury grips him by the throat, coiling tighter and tighter.

Who dared to steal from him, Colt Fathom, of all people?

He strides toward his wardrobe, yanking the doors open with enough force that they nearly slam against the walls. He should have left from the first moment he stepped in here. First, he's witnessing Gabriel’s negligent care for his own mansion and wealth, and now it’s his valuables that have been caught in the crossfire. But his wife kept making excuses. She said Felix is doing his duties better here with his cousin nearby, and he couldn’t say anything because it’s true. Even if his foolish son isn’t doing better, at least he knows he wouldn't go out of line when he's here. Not when he is in this mansion where his father could freely control his actions without receiving odd looks from his own family.

But when he came here, he didn't expect vermins to surround him all over the place. Vermins that dare to steal from his very own property.

His servants wouldn’t dare step foot in his vicinity, not when they know how his fury grasps those who evoke it. Gabriel and Emilie have no reason to. That's the thing that frustrates him; they're capable of themselves, maybe even more than what Colt wants to admit in this day and age. Felix—no, his son knows better. Just like how his wife knows her own place too.

That leaves only one possibility.

Colt slams the wardrobe shut. He doesn’t bother fixing himself up as he storms out of his room. 

Down the foyer of the grand staircase, three women are under a pleasant conversation. The three maternal figures of each family stand with smiles that grates Colt’s, because one of them doesn’t deserve to be there. And one of them is the reason for his anger that simmered and boiled out of the burning pot.

“You!”

Emilie tilts her head up at Colt’s direction, her smile dimming. His own wife stiffens, her brows furrowing in mild irritation and fear. Good. They know how to feel around him. But the trash next to them doesn't know a thing or two about proper respect, because she looks up at him and gives him the brightest beam that no commoner should show to someone with a higher authority than them.

“Oh, Monsieur Fathom!” Your mother tips her head politely. “I heard from your lovely wife that you were feeling unwell earlier. I do hope you’re—”

“Shut your mouth, wench!” Colt snaps. Your mother stares in surprise as he storms downstairs. “I don’t want to hear another word from a pathetic leech like you!”

“Colt!” Amelie hisses, reaching for his arm, but he jerks away from her grasp like she’s the filth he so despises.

“You thieves,” he seethes, pointing a trembling, accusatory finger at your mother. “I knew from the moment I laid eyes on your kind that you would sink your claws into something that doesn’t belong to you! And now look at what you did!”

“Colt,” Emilie cuts in with a disapproving frown. “What on earth are you talking about to our esteemed guests?”

“They stole something from me, Emilie!” he roars. “Something they don’t know is more valuable than their life. They stole my ring!” Amelie tenses up, eyes widening in horror. “They’re taken by these ungrateful, bottom-feeding parasites, and I want them gone now!”

Amelie looks at your mother, whose face shows pure confusion. Someone who’s guilty wouldn’t be making that innocent face. But if it’s the ring that’s stolen, if it’s the ring—

“Our son,” Amelie says shakily, trying to grab at Colt’s wrist. “Stop this and find our son first, Colt—”

But his husband has other priorities. “I warned you, Emilie. I told you what would happen if you surrounded yourself with commoners. And now look! They’ve proven me right, just like I knew they would!” His face is red with fury. “I should’ve had them thrown out the second I laid eyes on them. But no—your bleeding heart had to interfere, had to give them a place at the table. And look where that’s gotten us!”

Emilie’s lips press in a thin line. “I understand what’s happening. We can look for the ring together." She motions for Nathalie nearby, who bows and walks up towards the atelier. "I’ll organize a group to search throughout the mansion, so in the meantime please calm yourself—”

“Do you think before you speak?” Colt interrupts with a humorless laugh. “I know you've always been naive, Emilie, but this? This is outright stupidity. If you don't act now, these people will bleed you dry, and you’ll sit there smiling like a witless girl who doesn’t realize she’s being used!”

Amelie flinches at his words but doesn’t interrupt. She knows better than to try when he’s in one of his fits. But Emilie is less willing to stand there and take his venom.

“You forget yourself, Colt,” she hisses. “How dare you insult not just our guests, but my judgment? And to release those inappropriate words right in front of me too!” She flexes her fingers, scowling. That seems to terrify the man for a moment. “I must have looked pretty friendly recently to everyone now that I'm feeling a bit sicker than usual. But don’t you remember how I act when I’m surrounded by people who hurl those insipid accusations in my presence? Don't you, Colt Fathom?”

Colt swallows hard. For all his bluster, even he knows better than to provoke Emilie Agreste when she’s truly furious. There’s a reason why even among their circles, she was known as an unruly girl in her youth—one who never hesitated to make a scene when it came to defending her beliefs, consequences be damned.

Still, his pride causes him to scoff and look the other way. “Whatever. I demand you to fire these people at once and call the authorities. I don’t care how long it takes, or if I have to bring my own lawyer from London. Get them out of my sight before I start calling the press myself. You can’t possibly expect me to stay in a house where criminals walk freely under your roof!”

“That's enough.”

A voice, commanding yet deceptively calm, rings loud throughout the mansion. Everyone snaps their head up to see none other than Gabriel Agreste, standing right outside his atelier’s door. His usually impassive face is shadowed with something close to annoyance, though not nearly as livid as Emilie’s.

Beside him, your father follows. His usually gentle face is hard with tension as he takes in the sight of the commotion downstairs. Nathalie stands at a respectable distance behind them, arms behind her back, face impassive and a bit uncomfortable. 

Gabriel steps down the stairs, leveling Colt with a look of pure disappointment. “What is the meaning of this, Colt?”

“My ring is gone,” Colt growls. And with Gabriel’s narrowing eyes, it’s obvious they know how important this situation is. “I have no doubt that your wretched spawn is responsible for it, so I demand you fire them already, Gabriel. Lock them up for not only theft but for daring to stand where they don’t belong.”

Your father stiffens at the insult, but it’s Gabriel who speaks. “Your accusations are baseless. Unless you have actual proof, you will not slander my guests in my home.”

Colt scoffs. “Proof? You think I need proof when it’s so painfully obvious? Look at them! They’ve already taken advantage of your hospitality by acting like they deserve to be here with all of us! I have no doubt that after seeing how easily a hero can steal from this mansion, of course crawling vermins like them wouldn't think twice of coming after our possessions too.”

“Monsieur Fathom," your father finally speaks, his voice tight with restraint. "These past few days, I have tolerated your remarks out of respect for my host and our mutual connections. You can say everything you want about me, insult me however you want, but you will not speak about my family in such a vile and degrading way when I am nearby.”

Colt sneers. “Oh, how noble. Defending your little wretch as if they’re innocent.” His gaze flicks to Gabriel. “Are you really going to take their side? Over me?”

Gabriel adjusts his cuffs, a subtle sign of his dwindling patience. “I’m taking the side of reason. And if you continue this baseless tirade, you will find yourself very unwelcome in this house, brother-in-law you may be."

Colt’s face twists with fury. "That's preposterous!" He opens his mouth to begin shouting again, but-

CRASH!

Every head turns toward the source.

Upstairs.

Felix’s room.

For a fraction of a second, there’s silence. Absolute and suffocating.

Then Amelie staggers. Her face pale as paper. Blood draining from her body that's losing strength, until the fear finally makes her run upstairs in desperation. The others follow suit in both panic and confusion.

As they all scramble up the staircase, the thundering sounds of feet pounding the polished steps echo through the mansion, sharp and frantic.

“Felix?! Felix, what happened there?!”

Amelie slams the door open, nearly ripping it off its hinges, and then she sees it.

Her son, Felix, standing near the center of the room, his small frame rigid, his hand curled tightly around something. His face is an unreadable mess, empty green eyes locked on the object between his fingers. 

Amelie gasps, rushing forward and wrapping Felix in a crushing embrace, hands patting over his shoulders, his face for any injuries. “Felix,” she breathes shakily, voice thick with fear. “My son. My sweet boy. Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt anywhere?”

Felix doesn’t answer. His body becomes limp against his mother’s touch, his gaze rid of all emotions as he stares past her shoulders.

At his lack of response, everyone else’s attention shifts past them.

To you, who's on the floor, breath shallow, eyes wide like a startled animal. Your parents are by your side in an instant, your mother pulling you into her arms, your father checking you over for injuries. “(Y/n), are you hurt?” his voice is urgent, yet gentle.

Before you can even find your voice, Colt’s laughter slices through the air like a jagged knife.

“I knew it!”

Amelie flinches. “Colt—”

“I knew these rats couldn’t be trusted!” Colt sneers, taking a slow step forward. He gestures broadly at the scene, at you on the ground, at Felix standing over you with his ring in hand. “If there was ever a doubt, now it’s clear. The little thief got exactly what they wanted, didn't they? They tricked all of you. Look who's got my ring now! And you—" Colt stares the silent Felix down. "Good boy. You took back what was stolen, didn’t you?” His tone is almost warm, patronizing, the way one speaks to a dog who has finally obeyed his tricks. “That’s my son. You understand order, more than the people in this place at least. You understand how things should be.”

He holds out his hand. “Now, give it back.”

Felix doesn’t move. He looks down at the ring, then at you, still pressed against your mother’s embrace. 

“Felix,” Colt’s smile tightens. “Give me the ring. Now.”

Like clockwork, Felix steps backwards and places the ring in Colt’s outstretched palm. Colt exhales, triumphant. He cradles the ring in his grip like a long-lost treasure, his smirk deepening as he turns to Gabriel.

“Now there’s your proof,” he declares.

Gabriel’s expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze settles heavily on you and your father.

Your father straightens. “Gabriel," he begins. "There must have been some kind of misunderstanding—”

“There’s no misunderstanding!” Colt cuts him off, sneering. “The thief was caught red-handed. You don't suppose to have more excuses for something as blatant as this evidence, do you?”

Your mother’s hold on you tightens. “(Y/n) would never steal.”

Colt barks a laugh. “And yet they're in my son's room, where my son got ahold of this ring that he would never dare steal even if I turned my back from him!” He turns to Gabriel, all but reveling in his moment of victory. “What's the move, Agreste? Surely you see the kind of people you’ve let into your home.”

Gabriel exhales slowly. He doesn’t look at Colt. Instead, his icy blue gaze stays on your father.

“Gabriel,” your father says softly. The tone he used for his friend, not his employer.

But Gabriel simply averts his gaze. “Nathalie,” he says, his voice carrying the finality of a gavel. “Make arrangements for the (L/n) family to leave. Find a hotel that will accept them without any reservations, and ask the staff to help them pack up. Do it as quick and efficient as possible without causing anymore disturbance.”

There’s a sharp inhale from your mother, a stunned silence from your father. You bury your face into your mother’s chest, who cradles you as tight as she could, as if it will make you disappear from this gut wrenching situation if she wills it so.

Gabriel turns away. “I won’t call the police on you, so please leave the premises as quietly as you could.”

That surprises even Colt, whose smirk flickers into a brief scowl of irritation. “What?”

Gabriel ignores him. “That is my final decision. See yourself out. I’m sure you, of all people, would know how this works.”

It's directed to your father who lets out a quiet chuckle. Humorless and tired. “I see.” He looks down at you in your mother’s arms, then back at Gabriel. “I thought after all these years, our families were close enough for you to know that we would never do something like this.” He swallows thickly. “But it seems all those years meant nothing in the end.”

Gabriel clenches his fist. “Nathalie,” he repeats.

She nods, adjusting her tablet with mechanical precision, already typing in search of a place to send you.

Your father places a hand on your mother’s shoulder. “Then we’ll leave.”

There is no arguing. No begging. Your family has their dignity after all, even in the face of betrayal.

“NO!”

But then a cry rips through the room, broken and disbelieving.

Everyone turns to see Adrien standing right behind the crowd, disheveled, and wide-eyed. His face is red, tear-streaked, his hands gripping the hinges of the door so tightly his knuckles turn white.

“You can’t do this, Father.” He stumbles forward, slow and hesitant. "You can't just dismiss them like- like it's just nothing. Not like this!" And then he's running. Rushing past the doorway, past the surprised adults, but it is his mother who catches his arm before he could go any further than where he's supposed to be. “No! Let me go! Mother, you know this isn’t fair! (Y/n) would never steal from anyone! Their family would never do this, and you know that, you and Father! You know that yourself!”

She pulls him into her chest, stopping him from thrashing as he fights against her hold. "Adrien, stop. Stop, sweetheart. Your father already decided, and you should respect it-" Adrien chokes on his own breath, and Emilie tightens her hold, burying his face into her shoulder. “Shh,” she soothes. “Let's get out of here. You have piano lessons later, right? Let's focus on that instead of today, sweets.”

"I don't care about piano!" Adrien's blurry green eyes snap your way, desperate. “Please don’t send them away. Please don’t make them leave. I don’t want them to go away. Please, Mother. Father, I—I’ll do anything you ask me. I'll do more of my homework, fencing, modeling. Just please don’t take them away from me—”

“Stop it right this instant, Adrien.”

Adrien stills. His body trembles against his mother’s arms, his breath hitching as he slowly lifts his head. Gabriel is facing him now, cold blue eyes meeting his with a gaze so piercing, it freezes the entire room.

“The Agrestes do not grovel,” Gabriel says, his tone as sharp as a chisel against stone. “They do not beg either. Wipe your tears and stand up straight. Don't say anything more than what you are supposed to.”

Adrien's lips tremble, the fight draining from his body, but the tears still fall freely down his face. “But, Father—”

“No more,” Gabriel cuts him off. “This discussion is over.”

There is nothing in his father’s gaze anymore. No warmth. No sympathy. No fatherly softness that can soothe his breaking heart. The only thing that matters is his cold, immovable authority, and the life that is being torn away from him. The friend that he believed would always be there, that is now slipping through his fingers. And he can't do anything again, no matter how his throat scorched from the lump forming in it.

His hands clench into his mother’s dress. His shoulders shake, his entire world crashing down around him. Then he looks at you, at the way your parents hold you close, and something inside him finally breaks.

Adrien's knees buckle and he screams into his mother’s embrace. She cradles him, rocking him back and forth as he cries his heart out.

The Fathoms only watch as your father lifts you into his arms, staying quiet as all of you move toward the door.

Felix remains unmoving. He doesn’t look at the sobbing Adrien. He doesn’t even look at his mother who kneels in front of him to ask something that doesn’t register in his mind.

He only stares at where you once were, and he remembers the smile you showed him. In the middle of the argument with the adults in the room, you mouthed something that only he could see:

Thank you.

Thank you, because Felix did his part. Thank you, because he gave his father the false ring, the real one hidden in his own pockets.

Thank you, because Felix deserved it. But did he really?

Felix is left standing in a room filled with too many people, too much noise, and none of it matters anymore. The sounds of Adrien’s screams are distant. His mother’s voice doesn’t reach him, and he doesn't understand why. He should have known this would happen. He should have expected it, you, leaving soon, because everything he's beginning to relish, everything he's beginning to love, will always be pulled away from his grasp if he dared to breathe about it. But like a betrayal from his heart, the pain slices deeper than anything he’s ever felt.

The moment your family steps out of that estate, two boys from two different families had never felt so alone.

Chapter Text

The way back home is quiet and arduous. 

Your father does all the talking, which says a lot because he only spoke when you were in the hotel lobby that Gabriel asked Nathalie to reserve. Your mother stays right beside you, combing her fingers through your hair in heavy silence. 

They don’t ask about what happened. Don't even talk about it when your father leads you to your temporary room. They just hold you in their arms and discuss in soft, hoarse voices what you’ll do once you come back to your hometown. 

Maybe it’s their way of silently telling you that they know you are guilty. After all, they are your parents; they know you better than anyone else.

You press your face into your mother’s shoulder. It’s warm, familiar. It reminds you of another lifetime, another set of arms that held you just like this. But those memories are blurred at the edges, washed away by time, and it doesn’t matter anymore.

“It’s okay, Papa, Mama.”

This life is the one that matters now.

“We were supposed to go home soon anyway, right? Maybe this is just the universe hurrying things along.”

And in this life, you will not let your parents break

“Besides, I kinda missed home. I bet the old bookstore still smells like coffee and dust. And oh, do you think the market still sells those fried bananas? Maybe if we go early enough we can…”

You talk through their silence, until you see a hint of smile in their lips, until you see the brightness slip back into their eyes. 

Your mother presses a kiss to the top of your head, lingering for a second too long before she pulls away. “Oh, my little sunshine,” she whispers. “You always find a way to shine, don’t you?”

If it’s what you can do to lift up the consequences you caused for them, then you’ll shine. More than anything, more than ever, even if it means burying everything else beneath the light.

When you arrive back at your hometown, you realize that you actually enjoy the rural life more than the city. 

For once, you aren’t struggling to find the best place to transform. Here, eyes aren’t everywhere to crowd you and peer through your every action. Marinette and Adrien must have some special powers for being able to keep their identities a secret when there isn’t a single non-crowded place in Paris. But maybe it’s just a main character thing. You aren’t one, so you must not have the same privilege as them.

But here in your rural place, you can be Phantom whenever you want. The crimes that burden you aren’t the occasional criminals in the street but instead a drunken brawl at the local bar or a mischievous teenager breaking a barrel from a farm yard. 

It’s peaceful, almost perfect. 

And yet…

No, you will not think about the emptiness clawing at your chest.

Instead, you throw yourself into the simple joys of your previous life before meeting any of the canon characters in the series: you wake up to the sound of birds. You help your parents with the garden, getting your hands dirty with soil. You learn the names of your neighbors without needing a past life for the knowledge.

This is the life you wanted: the peace, the calmness, the distance between you and what’ll happen in canon. 

It is Anpu who inevitably brings your emptiness out to the world. He doesn’t even mean to do it. He just comes out of your scarf one day when you are taking a walk past the beach, looks past the blues of the sea, and murmurs, 

“I wish we said goodbye to Wayzz and Master Fu…” 

He whispered it so despondently, how can you not realize the weight of it all?

Your parents leaving behind their friends isn’t meant to happen. Anpu not having the chance to say goodbye to the first kwami he met, not even getting the opportunity of meeting Tikki and Plagg, the long time friends he told you excitedly about after you met Master Fu, and you disappearing from your friends’ life without notice—none of it was supposed to happen.

But it did.

All because of you and the choices you made. 

You don't regret doing things the way you did it. But isn’t it only right for you to take responsibility for your actions? 

On that summer morning of your eight birthday, you make a decision:

You will return to Paris. No matter what it takes.

It doesn’t have to be about you. Maybe it can be about your parents who don’t quite fit in with this rural life, because let’s face it, they’re already facing enough scrutiny at the sight of their child who doesn’t suit the mold of a rural upbringing. You aren’t going to blend in the city life easily either. But being in a busy place where people won’t care about your existence is still preferable than being in a town where everyone can notice your oddity.

That’s why you work hard. You throw yourself into your studies, trying to excel in subjects you already know the advanced lessons of from your past life 

You learn to paint. If you can be as good as your father—no, better—then surely an art scholarship will be within reach.

Fencing is also something you dabbled on. You know Adrien takes fencing class, and if academics won’t be enough, then you have no choice but to memorize footwork, the flick of a wrist, and the precise angles that can get you in that class whether the referee likes you or not.

Throughout it all, you try to learn different things. In your mind, anything can help you out if you just try your hardest.

But the thing about effort is that it only takes you so far. 

Yes, you can paint now, better than the children your age, but the ideas do not come to you and no matter what you do every stroke doesn’t look good in your eyes. You can defeat the greatest student in your fencing class, but it’s nothing when there’s only four of you in the whole club. You score high on your exams, but other, more naturally talented kids, still outshine you.

And isn’t that just frustrating to realize? You have the advantage of a previous life, but knowledge isn’t talent. It’s only a tool. So the years pass, and you remain where you are: Almost there. Almost brilliant. Almost enough.

It isn’t until you’re fourteen years old that your father sits you down one evening and says,

“We’re going back to Paris.”

For a moment, the words don't sink in.

“We should have realized it sooner,” he continues, meeting the confused stare that you have. “When you were working so hard after coming back here, we thought it was just you trying to busy yourself, that maybe you were adjusting in your own way. But… we should have known. You never stopped looking back, did you?”

Your mother’s hands cup yours on your lap. “You should have told us,” she says softly. “We could have done this decision sooner.” 

And what can you say to that?

That you think it wasn’t something you needed help with? That this is your doing, so it will also be your undoing too? 

It is only when you are alone in your room that night did the weight of it all finally crashes over you.

“We’re going back to Paris?” Anpu asks, settling on the pillow beside your head. “Oh, I can’t believe it, master! We’re really going back! It’s been years since I last saw Wayzz—do you think he’ll be surprised with me talking too much again? Oh oh, Duusu too! The last time we talked, we were…"

You just stare at the ceiling, hearing Anpu drone in your ears about everything he wants to do once you visit Master Fu again.

In the end it wasn’t even your efforts that brought you back.

It was your father who apparently was keeping an offer in Paris open for years straight until he accepted it now. It was your mother who noticed the way your hands trembled when you stared too long at your old sketchbooks, at the faded photographs of the city you left behind and so she told your father. It was your parents who saw you, who realized, and who moved the world for you because they realized you still had something you wanted to do in your previous home.

Anpu stops rambling when he hears you taking a deep, shuddering breath. "Master… Aren’t you… happy?"

You press the heels of your palms into your eyes, exhaling something between a laugh and a sob. "Of course I’m happy."

And you are.

You really are.

So you take another deep breath, roll onto your side, and smile at your black kwami. "I’m happy because we’re finally going back, Anpu. You’ve always wanted to go back, right? Mom and dad missed Paris too.” Your smile softens. "I missed Paris too."

Anpu beams at your smile. He knows the difference between your perfected smile and your real ones after being by your side for so long. And this time, when he knows it’s true, he darts to your cheek and hugs you. And like a pattern you’re used to, you melt into his tiny hands.

On your fourteenth birthday, a ticket to Paris becomes the gift for you.

Somehow, this situation feels familiar.

You don’t ask who’s the commissioner for your father. Again. And now you’re standing in front of Le Grand Paris Hotel, feeling a familiar whiplash like you did in the past.

When he said he had someone who offered him a position back in Paris, you didn’t expect it would be the Mayor of Paris himself!

He said something about the previous event in the Agrestes mansion being the reason why a lot of rich families tried to contact him, but your father never accepted any—not after what happened in his previous patron's mansion, no.

But none of that matters now that you are standing in the grand lobby of Le Grand Paris Hotel, with your suitcase by your side, and with none other than Andre Bourgeois himself striding toward your family and beaming.

“Ah! Monsieur and Madame! Welcome, welcome!” He shakes your father’s hand with great enthusiasm, then takes your mother’s in a much gentler grasp. “It is an honor to have you both here in the most luxurious and high-rated hotel in all of Paris! You must be exhausted from your trip, I gather. But it's fine—the finest suite has been prepared for your stay already by none other than the Mayor of Paris, me!”

Your father offers a humble nod. “We appreciate your hospitality, Mayor Bourgeois.”

“Of course!” Andre waves a hand. “Anything for the artist of the decade. Why, I was just telling everyone a few days ago how your work is simply magnificent, and how it is only fitting that the mayor’s office should feature the most esteemed paintings in contemporary France. And now look: here you are! In the flesh! I almost thought somebody was able to hear my wishes when my butler saw you respond on my email that was sent years ago—”

"Ugh, Daddy, you’re rambling again!"

You turn just in time to see her—Chloe Bourgeois, stepping into the lobby like she owns the place, which, to be fair, she kind of does. She flips her golden ponytail over her shoulder, nose slightly upturned as she surveys you and your family with an appraising glance. 

But really, it only lingers on one person.

"You're the artist everyone's talking about?" Chloe leans in toward your father, pastel purple lips curling into a sneer. Before it settles into a smirk. "I've been dying to meet you for so long. Your work is only, like, so amazing and so inspiring. I think I even heard Sabrina say you made more than a million views with your sketches alone on the internet.”

You smile amusedly.

Does Chloe even know anything about art?

Judging by how she immediately pivots to gushing about how famous your father is, the answer is a resounding no.

Still, it's funny watching her attempt to impress someone who genuinely couldn’t care less about flattery. Seven years is a lot of time to change, and your father—who would have immediately flushed red at the attention back then—is now as polite and calm as an undisturbed river. 

"Thank you, Mademoiselle. I’m honored by your kind words—"

"You should be," Chloe interrupts. "It’s only right cause we are going to be seeing a lot of each other now that you’re here to give my daddy your art."

Your father sweatdrops. “Right...”

Her eyes flick to you for the briefest second, but you doubt she actually registers you as anything more than the artist’s kid. 

But, honestly? You like Chloe.

Or at least, you liked the Chloe that should have been—the one who was meant to grow, to change, to be something more than just the rich, spoiled girl who hates the main character so much, the writers thought she doesn’t deserve to have her development anymore. For them, the terrorist fashion designer who doesn’t deserve to be called a dad can get the best ending where he’s happy and fulfilled, while the young girl who never got the proper love from her own family is already considered ‘irredeemable’.

You aren’t bitter about that. Not at all.

"Nice to meet you, Mademoiselle Chloe," you say, offering a small, polite smile.

For the first time, her gaze really lands on you. Her brows knit, like she’s only just now realizing you exist.

"You’re the artist’s kid?" she asks, blunt as ever.

"Yep." You clear your throat. “Yes.”

"Hmm." She tilts her head, eyes scanning you like she’s trying to determine if you’re worth her time. 

You don’t falter with your perfected smile.

Chloe’s lips purse slightly, then she huffs, flicking her phone on her hand and typing something. Probably a message to Sabrina or whatnot.  “I suppose this makes sense. Not everyone can be as remarkable as their parents.”

“What an intriguing thing to say.” It almost sounds like she’s talking about herself, not you, but who are you to judge?

You bite back your laughter while Chloe continues typing on her phone, letting her eyes skim over you for a second before turning away again.

"Well, you definitely have a better style than some people around here. I suppose that makes you tolerable." She tucks her phone into her white purse, obviously Hermès, and looks your way with a tut. "Come on, I’ll show you around. Someone who has a great family as you shouldn’t be wandering around cluelessly like some kind of country bumpkin.”

The way she uttered her words sounded disgusted. You almost wanted to tell her you are a country bumpkin, but she’s already holding your arm with both her hands and dragging you away.

“First things first! You have to meet Sabrina.”

Your parents are left behind with Andre, who is now eagerly discussing some extravagant gala that will showcase your father’s work. You catch your mother mouthing you ‘bags!’ while pointing at your luggages. In return you just tilt your head at her and smile as brightly as you can… before you get pulled away by Chloe as you turn the corner. 

You’ll get your luggage later. You have plenty of time before night comes anyway, so you might as well enjoy the ‘tour’... even if it’s just Chloe bragging about how better the top floors are, which she’s currently using, compared to the ones below.

When you reach her room, you inevitably lay your eyes on another girl sitting by Chloe’s expensive crimson sofa. She looks up from her phone at the sound of the door opening, and she brightens up.

“Chloe!” The girl halts when she sees you. “Umm… who’s this?”

Chloe scrunches her face. “Sabrina, I told you already: this is that artist's kid, the one that you talked about a lot that my ears started bleeding from it.” 

You roll your eyes, but decide to play along. “Yes, Sabrina. I am the kid of the artist you’ve talked about a lot.” You bow lightly, raising your head up with a charming smile. “My name is (Y/n) (L/n). It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Sabrina Raincomprix is exactly how you remember her—petite, chin length ginger hair with a pink headband, and thick brown glasses that make her eyes look bigger.

Or perhaps it doesn't make her eyes look bigger; she's actually just widening it when she sees that smile on your lips instead. 

“O-Oh! Um! Yes! It’s nice to m-meet you too, (Y/n)!” 

You can practically see the gears in her head turning, her face heating up as she scrambles for something to say. It’s cute, really.

Chloe, on the other hand, scoffs. “Ugh, puh-lease, Sabrina, don’t embarrass yourself.” 

“I was not—” Sabrina tries to defend herself but Chloe turns your way immediately.

“How much do you know about Parisian culture?”

You tilt your head, still smiling. “Enough to know that the people here have excellent taste in fashion.”

Chloe lays a hand on her chest. “Well, obviously, cause the first one you saw here is moi: the best standard in the country. So don’t expect everyone to look similar to me. My daddy just bought me this gorgeous new handbag from—" 

"The Hermès bag line collection, yes," you hum, leaning in a bit closer to examine her purse. "It's pretty expensive from what I heard of it, but I guess you have to get the best of the best, huh?”

She lifts her chin and huffs, satisfied. “Duh. A Bourgeois only accepts the finest.” She turns around and walks to the door with a strut. “Since you clearly have a decent level of fashion sense, I suppose I can show you the place where I get my clothes fitted. Only I can access that here in my daddy's hotel, but I’ll let you see it anyway so you’ll know how high-class fashion is truly done in this place."

You laugh, soft and warm. "That’s very generous of you. Do lead the way, Mademoiselle.”

It’s almost amusing how easily Chloe preens at your words, giving you one last ‘come hither’ with her hands before walking out of the door. 

Chloe Bourgeois is many things—spoiled, arrogant, insufferable—but she does seem like a fun person to be around, especially her haughty attitude.

Or maybe you just like poking fun at her without her realizing it. 

Maybe.

Sabrina is still standing frozen behind you, gawking the entire time. When you turn and meet her eyes, her cheeks turn brighter red and amusingly, she doesn’t close her mouth. Instead:

“Wow,” she breathes. 

You raise a brow. “Wow?”

Sabrina fumbles for words, her back straightening up as she grips the hem of her shirt like a lifeline. “I just—I mean, Chloe usually doesn’t follow anyone's flow but hers, so seeing you talk to her so easily like that is just…” She sighs dreamily, her entire body leaning forward as well, “Wow.”

You wanted to snort. But you settle on a chuckle instead. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She nods, a little too enthusiastically. “Oh! It is! Definitely! You’re just so—” She stops herself and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, still looking at you like you just walked out of a movie scene.

You don’t press her for it. Instead, you flash her another easy smile and offer your arm, just as Chloe did to you earlier. “Shall we?”

Sabrina freezes, eyes flickering between your outstretched arm and your face. For a second, it almost looks like her brain just stopped working.

Then, as if rebooting, she stammers out, “Y-Yes! Of course! I-I mean—thank you! I—” She hurriedly loops her arm through yours before she can fumble over any more words.

By the time you both step out, Chloe is already tapping her foot impatiently. "Finally. That took you a sweet amount of time, didn't you?" When she sees the red in Sabrina's face, she glares. "Sabrina, I said stop embarrassing yourself. You’re making me look really pathetic."

"I-I'm sorry Chloe," Sabrina mumbles under her breath, but you catch the way she clings to your arm just a little tighter, as if grounding herself.

"Don’t be so mean to her, Chloe," you say. "Sabrina is quite charming, actually."

Sabrina makes a noise that sounds suspiciously like a dying animal.

Chloe scoffs. “As if. Sabrina’s used to me being 'mean'." She makes an air quote. "Now come on and stop touching each other.” She pries Sabrina’s fingers off your arm and links her own with yours instead. “You and I got some important puh-laces to be!”

Sabrina lets out a tiny, barely audible whimper when Chloe pulls you away, her hands hovering midair before she forces them back to her sides. You offer her a quick smile over your shoulder, and she nearly trips over her own feet.

You're enjoying this way too much.

Chloe, for all her arrogance, seems oddly satisfied with your presence. It’s like she’s already decided you’re worth showing off. You wonder how long it’ll last—whether she’ll remain tolerable or if her usual brattiness will take over once she decides you aren’t as impressive as she initially thought.

Either way, it’s not a bad start for someone like you. Maybe it'll make things smoother in the future. Who knows?

You barely even have the time to step out of your hotel room before Chloe is standing outside of your door.

“There you are! Ugh, do you know how rude it is to keep a Bourgeois waiting?” Chloe huffs, arms crossed.  She leans in to look inside your room. “Where’s your dad? I think I look extremely ravishing today, so obviously, he should be here to paint me as his new muse."

As your father’s muse? 

You bite back a laugh. Good luck with fighting your mother for that spot, Chloe.

Leaning casually against the doorframe, you let out a dramatic sigh. “Ah,” you gesture, “Unfortunately, my father has an early meeting today. It’s truly unfortunate but I’ll be sure to let him know he missed the chance to witness Chloe Bourgeois at her finest this morning.”

Chloe turns around once more and grins. “You know exactly what to say. Anyway, come along! You’re riding to school with me on my daddy’s limousine.”

It’s amusing, really. You had only returned to Paris a few days ago, and somehow, you’ve already been claimed by Chloe Bourgeois.

Other people might have tried to argue or refuse because she's clearly difficult to tolerate, especially when all she does is talk about herself and insult other people, but you?

You just smile and step forward, adjusting your bag to your shoulder as you follow her to the lobby.

The ride to Collège Françoise Dupont is filled with Chloe’s endless chatter—about the school, the teachers, with her lingering more on her description of Ms. Bustier’s classes. It’s obvious that’s her favorite class out of all that’s available. But the most important topic she talks about is the social hierarchy.

You hum to her words, but your mind is stuck elsewhere.

Collège Françoise Dupont looms outside the window, it looks different from what you remember it to be.

It's similar to the show, of course, with the school standing high and proud in its limestone glory. The other buildings are a bit farther away, but you pass by Tom and Sabine’s Boulangerie Patisserie on the west side of the school. And with the amount of people, mostly students, coming from this bakery shop, you know you have to get some bread there soon, if not later.

Then the car rolls to a smooth stop, and a tingle runs down your spine.

This is it.

You release a breath you’ve been holding. 

This is where it all happens. Where the main characters will fumble their way into being the city’s greatest heroes. Where a story you already know will unfold finally. 

(Where your old friends await, but how long has it been since you’ve seen them? Would they still remember you after all these years?)

Sabrina stands in front of the car and waves happily. You wave back, but you falter when Chloe steps out of the limousine quickly as if she has places to be.

“Come on, new kid. We have to get to class before that Dupain-Cheng steals my new seat on the first day of classes.”

Right.

She does have places to be, and it’s in the front lines of tormenting the main character herself.

Cliche shows and its cliche bully scenes.

"Sabrina, you already know what you'd do once we get there and we find her sitting on that seat," Chloe says obnoxiously as she walks ahead. "You know how Ms. Bustier likes all the new studsnts to be seated in the front rows? Ha! I definitely won't let a baker girl have the perfect seat behind my Adrikins of all people!"

Just like the show, there are only a few students filtering in and out of the school. But most of them seem to snap their heads your way when they see you exiting Chloe’s car.

It’s almost unbearable… if only you didn’t like the attention.

You can’t hear what Anpu is saying in your scarf—the crowd and nearby vehicles are too loud for your ears—but you do know he’s as excited as you are. Maybe you influenced his ego after you kept transforming as the cocky Phantom all the time; fame has its way of dulling one’s mind after all.

It is only when Chloe's voice drifts far away do you realize you've lost your two guide.

You still walk upstairs, trying to remember where exactly Ms. Bustier’s class is in your memory because Chloe and Sabrina are now fully gone from your sight. Usually you'd consider that rude—leaving behind the new kid who doesn't know their way in the school after promising you'll show them around here? 

But you can't complain much, especially when you know where to go already anyway. Cause as you approach the right classroom door, you hear it:

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng!” 

A sing-song voice. Mocking and overly jeering rings true in the classroom.

Then an exasperated, almost sad, sigh. “Here we go again…” 

Chloe huffs again, “That’s my seat!”

You enter the classroom, eyes landing immediately on the right row where Chloe looms over a girl of blueberry hair, who shrinks to herself at the blonde's presence. Her pigtails make her dark hair look even more noticeable from afar, or maybe that's just her main character energy.

“But Chloe, this has always been my seat,” Marinette defends. 

“Not anymore.” Her attention drifts to Sabrina who slides herself right beside her, crossing her arms and taunting. “New school, new year, new seats.”

Chloe slams a hand on the table. “So why don’t you just go and sit beside that new girl over there?” She turns and points at the wavy brown haired girl on the front row seats.

Right on cue, the 'new girl' turns around, glaring through her glasses. Just like the way you remember it, Alya Cesaire is clutching her phone in her hand; she's not completed without it, apparently.

"You're blocking the way." 

You tense up as someone growls behind you.

“Oh, sorry,” you say turning to look.

Only to find yourself staring at a big guy wearing a black shirt with a vector of bones in the middle of it. He had a short swirl of blond in the middle of his trimmed black hair, and you know immediately that this is Ivan Bruel.

And wow does Ivan look intimidating in real life with that scalding glare of his.

You step aside and offer him a smile. He walks past you without any other glance.

Your eyes follow his movement before turning around to look at the other person who was smaller than Ivan. The one that was hiding behind him, with his brightly colored red hair falling down his eye and sketchbook in his limp arms.

Your offered smile slowly becomes difficult to maintain. "Hi...?"

His breath hitches. You see a flash of recognition in his wide turquoise eyes, his mouth hanging open, as he stands frozen in place in front of the entrance. 

Chapter Text

For years, you wondered what your friends in Paris thought when you left them.

Were they hurt? Sad? Confused? Or were they all of those things, waiting for you to prove them wrong, for days, for years, until soon they realized you’ll never come back to talk to them again?

You didn’t have an answer to that for a long time.

Now that you’re standing in front of a visibly shocked Nathaniel though, you get the feeling that, at least for him, the answer was never simple.

“Hi…?”

You try your best to think of the happy memories. Anything to help you feel less awkward. They said that sometimes reminiscing can be a way for you to start a small talk with an old friend, but aside from his sketches and your days in classes, all you could recall is your last moment with the turquoise eyed boy. 

A hesitant voice. "Wait! Uh… I… I wanted to tell you something.”

"Oh my God, Nathaniel's in loooove—"

Panic. Fear, mortification, and fluster . “Shut up, Kim! I-I wasn't- I don’t like (Y/n) in that way. No! That’skindagross, so please stop teasing me about it!”

Then a lump in a throat. 

"Ah, I should get going. My mama’s going to be here soon. I’ll see you guys tomorrow?"

Tears unshed. Chest clenching. 

You resist the urge to bury yourself underground. 

That’s the most cringeworthy memory lane you’ve ever had in your life so far. Which says a lot, cause you clearly had more cringy stuff that you said out loud to your parents when you were still not adjusted properly to this world.

You almost find it unbelievable; were you really hurt by Nathaniel calling you gross? He was a child! And you should know better than him, how embarrassment can still control whatever a person says, yet why did it still stung you?

Whatever. That’s not the problem now.

The problem is that Nathaniel is finally standing right in front of you, his mouth wide open. He looks at you up and down, and if it were anyone else, you would have raised a brow and cleared your throat, telling them that your eyes are up here, buster. But just like the boy, you can’t find the words nor the movement to do anything.

He still had that same one-sided hairstyle, swept to make it look draping and flat, but instead of the brown that you had gotten used to, it was its iconic bright color of red instead. 

Say something. The silence is so awkward. 

You force a charming smile. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it, Nathan?”

Nathaniel’s lips part slightly, but he doesn’t say anything. His hands clench at his bag straps tighter, his shoulders stiff like he’s bracing for impact.

And then he runs past you without a single word.

Oh.

You watch his retreating figure as he slides into his seat, his head ducked low, avoiding your gaze completely. 

Right.

That’s fair, isn’t it?

You left without a single word, not even a note to explain yourself. If Nathaniel’s avoiding you now, then that must mean he resents you for it. And well, you can’t blame him for that. It’s normal for people to feel betrayed when a friend must’ve looked like they easily discarded them. You’ll let him feel his emotions for now—as long as it doesn’t get him akumatized…

Oh, who are you kidding. Everyone in this class will get their turn of being a supervillain someday. You won’t be surprised if you become Nathaniel’s reason for being akumatized. 

Seriously though, why is it only Ms. Bustier’s students who get targeted for supervillainy? Gabriel has some serious explaining to do, poking his nose on student drama he isn't supposed to be in. Isn’t the most famous fashion designer of France busy with fashion designing things? 

“Hey, who elected you Queen of Seats?”

Oops. Gabriel hate is over.

Chloe must have finished her entire speech about reserving Adrien’s seat, that’s why Alya comes to the rescue with her line of typically fighting back from the bully. 

To be fair, Alya did sound kinda cool when she said that rhetorical question out loud. And she also looks cool with her arms crossed, standing right in front of the infamous blonde girl without a hint of fear.

But cool or not, this is a tragic moment. Any moment now and Marinette’s macarons will meet its doom.

You can be anything you want to be; you can be emo, you can be a social recluse, but what you can’t allow yourself is to be someone who watches perfectly good food go to waste.

So you turn around, walking up the inclined steps between the two columns of bench style tables and approaching the scene. 

“Ooh, look, Sabrina. We’ve got a little do-gooder in our class this year.” Chloe’s voice drips with condescension as she pushes her face closer to the brown haired girl. “What are you gonna do, super newbie? Shoot beams at me with your glasses?”

Oh, that’s awful.

No, really. Who decided that’s a good insult to write about?

It’s just as awful as the blegh blegh blegh kid back when you were six years old.

Alya’s sharp eyes snap to you immediately. “What’s so funny?”

You only realize you couldn’t stifle your laugh when everyone’s attention suddenly darts your way.

“Oh,” you begin, “Well—”

“Let me guess, you’re another one of her little lackeys, huh?” She jerks her thumb at Chloe. “Cause that’s the only explanation I can think of as to why you’re laughing so freely right now.”

You’re laughing at Chloe’s cringy lines. Is it that bad to laugh at things like that?!

You try to smile despite the irk on your forehead. “Oh, no. I wasn’t trying to mock you or anything. It’s just—come on. Super newbie? Shooting beams with your glasses?” You let out a small, amused huff. “Chloe, if you’re going to insult someone, at least be creative about it.”

You’re hoping to lighten the mood, maybe get Alya to see that you’re not actually against her. 

But the sharp glare she’s shooting your way tells you that it’s not working.

Alya shakes her head. “Laughing at weak insults doesn’t make you look smart. It just makes you look like you think bullying is funny.”

You stiffen slightly. 

You don’t even get the chance to defend yourself before Alya grabs Marinette by the wrist. “C’mon, girl. We’re not dealing with the likes of them this early in the morning.”

It’s obvious Marinette doesn’t understand what’s happening, but her quickfast senses makes her hand dart to her box of macarons as Alya pulls her up, and that’s when it happens:

“GAH!” 

Marinette trips over her own feet, the box of macarons in her hands goes flying.

You wince as the beautiful little green pastries scatter through the air, some landing on the floor, others tragically bouncing off desks and rolling away.

It’s a crime. A tragedy. A senseless waste of good food.

And it’s something you said you’ll change, but now here you are, watching Alya kneel and grab Marinette’s wrist to help her out, while the blue-haired girl could do nothing but pick up her box and lament the only one macarons that survived the crash.

Is this what you said you’ll try to change?

“Huh,” Chloe says as she slides into Marinette’s original seat. “I thought for sure you were trying to side with the losers like her, but it seems like you did good just now.”

She thought correctly, but judging by the looks sent your way, you feel like nobody would believe you if you tried to defend yourself now.

With a quiet sigh, you slide into the seat behind Chloe, leaning your chin on your propped hand.

You had great—not so long-term—plans on your first day in canon:

One. Be Marinette’s friend, if not just a confidante for her once she inevitably falls in love with Adrien. You definitely will steer her away from her stalkerish tendencies, but that doesn’t mean you’ll try to influence their love story. After all, this world wants them to be meant for each other. You aren’t gonna fight fate for that. 

Two, join the main characters and help them get out from whatever kind of stupid deeds they might do in the future. This one is still in progress, but you already failed the first part by making the main character and her friend dislike you in record time.

It feels like a painful slap in the face, really. 

“I don’t think charming people isn’t always going to be the best approach, master,” Anpu whispers from your scarf.

“Be quiet,” you hiss at your kwami. Then you turn to Ivan, your seatmate who’s now looking at you weirdly. “Hi.”

Ivan blinks at you, clearly unsure if he should acknowledge the fact that you just whispered to your scarf, or if he should ignore it.

“…Hey.” Thankfully he chooses the latter.

You flash him your typical, albeit slightly tired, smile. “I hope you don’t mind me sitting here for the rest of the school year.”

Ivan shrugs, “Doesn’t bother me.”

Well, at least someone isn’t looking at you like you just kicked a puppy.

“Cool,” you say, because what else can you say?

You glance toward the front of the classroom, where Marinette and Alya are now seated. Their heads are ducked together as the brown-haired girl whispers something with her usual passion. Marinette looks a little more composed now, though her fingers are still fidgeting at the edges of her visibly empty macaron box.

Yeah. You have definitely become rusty when it comes to influencing things in the storyline.

“Alright, has everyone found a seat?” 

You only realize that Ms. Bustier is here the entire time when she speaks up and writes her name on the board. 

What’s up with the teachers in this world? You already know Ms. Bustier is icky from the moment she sends Ivan out to the principal instead of talking to him about what happened in the Origins episode, but you really are losing more respect to her now that you know how loud Chloe’s voice is even outside the classroom, yet Ms. Bustier does nothing to scold her when another of her student is clearly being terrorized.

Oh that’s cause Chloe is the mayor’s daughter—

So what? She’s obviously Chloe’s favorite teacher. She can easily connect with the girl if she wanted to, and yet there she is, introducing herself to the class like she didn’t just ignore them when everyone’s fighting over who sits where.

As you expect, the classroom doesn’t get completed. Adrien must be outside the school grounds right now, trying to escape Nathalie in a futile manner.

And with the bitterness of the macarons still in your mind, you wonder if your actions mean nothing to this world.

Didn’t you try to influence Emilie about Adrien’s homeschooling? Seven years had passed, but you held onto hope that Adrien would be a lot better than he did in the original series.

Yet here he is. Still not coming to class. 

As if the world is conspiring to continue without any changes.

You prop your chin on your hand, watching Ms. Bustier drone on about something you’re not really paying attention to.

That can’t happen—for one, you retrieved the Peacock Miraculous back to Master Fu. And the spellbook too, which is a literal plot device in the story. Those are huge changes already, so even if small things like Adrien’s absence on his first day of class and Marinette’s macarons happen (you notice they’re still lying on the ground, and Gods above you want to snatch it and eat it even if it’s past the five seconds rule already) it shouldn’t undermine the impact you’ve made. 

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

The only changes that your existence seems to have caused now is Alya's resentment to you when she catches your gaze in one fleeting moment. 

And also Kim's visceral shock as he stares blatantly at you throughout class. He almost made Ms. Bustier threaten him to go to the principal's office, so you had no choice but to look at the boy and exchange expressive yet silent messages with him using your faces. (It’s mostly just you asking him ‘what?’ and him actually jolting from his seat, like he wasn’t trying to catch your attention a few seconds ago.)

There's also Nathaniel, but you thought it’s weird to look behind your back just to glance at him for no reason, which is why you just settle on sensing the stare at the back of your head instead. At least you know that there's two people who recognize you.

What about Adrien?

It’s been seven years since you last saw the boy in person. You still catch glimpses of his posters even in the countryside, but you wonder if he really looks different in real life.

You wonder if he still remembers you at all.

Even as the class nears its end, Adrien is nowhere to be found.

“Those of you who have PE, Mr. D’Argencourt is expecting you at the stadium,” Ms. Bustier says amidst the loud ringing of the school bell.

You barely even have the chance to stand up before somebody is already pushing himself on the side of your desk, leaning to your face. “Is that really you, (Y/n)?”

“Who are you?” you say to Kim nonchalantly.

And his face drops so fast, you actually feel bad. 

“I’m just kidding,” you add, smiling. "It's been a really long while, hasn't it Kim?"

A second passes before a wide grin cracks on Kim’s face. He laughs, placing both of his hands on his hips and leaning down at you. “A while is understatement—you just disappeared one day without any notice! I couldn’t even find you on the internet. I thought for sure you got stranded in the sea and disappeared or something.” 

“What a very specific theory,” you deadpan. “Now why in the world would you think I’d even be out in the sea?”

He opens his mouth to respond, but then Chloe interrupts. "(Y/n)! Ugh, stop talking to randos and come with us already.”

She walks right in front of your table, slamming her hand on it and glaring at Kim. “Move, weirdo. (Y/n) has PE and they're going with me.”  

“C-Chloe!” Kim stammers. He rubs the back of his head, cheeks heating up as he smiles in that droopy, dork way. “(Y/n)’s going with you? Wow. I just- you know, we’re catching up on each other. Childhood best friends and all that.”

Chloe raises a brow. “Childhood best friends?” she repeats, tone mocking as she crosses her arms. 

“We were classmates back when we were six years old,” you interrupt Kim before he could dig you into whatever kind of purpose he’s trying to do. “I think Kim wants to catch up with me, so you can either go with Sabrina or we can let him come with us?” 

Kim is ecstatic by your suggestion. Chloe doesn’t look thrilled.

Still, you know what the boy was trying to do here, and if you aren’t about to become the greatest macaron savior, then you might as well be the greatest wingman instead.

“Fine,” Chloe tuts. She turns away and walks off. “Just get going and don’t waste my time, Jim!” 

“It’s Kim!” Kim calls out, but he’s too lovestruck to even feel offended by that mistake. He drops his hands on your shoulders and looks you dead in the eyes. “You really are cool, (Y/n)! I promise I’ll make it up to you in the future!” 

You show him a smirk. “You gonna do chores for me for an entire week again, then?”

He steps back and flexes, grinning back at you. “If it’s only that, then you betcha!” 

It’s been seven years, but Kim still remembers the first interaction you did with him. The flutter it gave to your heart is far too fuzzy for you to focus on, but you don’t have to do your best to ignore it:

You already redirected your thoughts as you walk out and stand in line for the PE group, finding not just Kim, Chloe, and Sabrina talking to you about something mundane, but also Ivan—who should be Hawk Moth’s first victim in the series, but he’s not.

Mr. D’Argencourt is actually a pretty fun teacher.

It’s obvious how much he adores all types of sports, specifically fencing, since he always finds a way to relate any physical activity to fencing and chivalry. He seems particularly pleased when he realizes that your footwork is perfect, and when you mention you’re the top fencer in your previous class, he becomes a full-time unstoppable record that everyone has to try their best to ignore.

So while you, and a couple of students who clearly respect Mr. D’Argencourt, are stuck listening to him ramble (and praise you from time to time), you barely even noticed how the numbers seem to dwindle.

First you know Rose Lavillant is beside you. Then after a couple of minutes she and Juleka Couffaine are now gone, stretching and doing their drills by themselves.

Alix gestures for you to run, and she’ll distract Mr. D’Argencourt, but even she gets pulled into the conversation until she can no longer run away.

You don’t know where Chloe and Sabrina are located right now. You can’t even look behind you. The only thing you know is that you’re smiling kindly and nodding your head at everything Mr. D'Argencourt is saying, but your mind is flying somewhere faraway.

Then you hear it.

“KIM!” 

Everyone tenses up.

You look past your shoulder, finding Ivan raising his fist as Kim braces for it, grinning cheekily.

Mr. D’Argencourt straightens immediately. “Stop this instant!” 

His voice echoes through the gymnasium, drawing everyone’s attention. Ivan freezes, arm still raised, his face red with a mix of embarrassment and frustration.

Oh no. Oh no nono—

If this went the way you think it did, you are going to actually panic.

“It’s not me,” Ivan defends. His fist stays suspended in the air, it’s only when he waves it did you see the paper in his hand. “Kim was being—”

“This is not acceptable in my class,” Mr. D'Argencourt interrupts sharply, “I don’t care if you’re upset, you keep your emotions in check while you’re in here. You’re supposed to show the heart of chivalry here, not the heart of a thug! How many times must I tell you kids to keep your temper in check?”

Everyone is now silent. Even Kim seems to realize what he did as he looks at Ivan, whose shoulders are now slumping, gaze dropping to the floor. 

"Mr. D'Argencourt," you interject, trying to show the teacher the smile that he seems to praise earlier when he was absorbed in your conversation. "I’m sure there’s a reason for this. Ivan didn’t mean to—"

Mr. D'Argencourt raises a hand, stopping you. “No, (Y/n),” Mr. D'Argencourt says, his tone still sharp but with a hint of impatience. “You’re new here, so you don’t yet understand the way we handle things. This isn’t about excuses. Ivan needs to learn that actions have consequences.” He turns back to Ivan, whose face is growing redder with each passing second. “You should’ve known better, young man. This isn’t the behavior we expect in this class. This and…”

Instantly, the teacher goes back to his rambles, but this time it’s settled on punching down Ivan’s embarrassment while the rest of the class watches.

Your stomach twists. 

This is so much worse than what he’s supposed to experience in the series. Ivan was originally going to be akumatized inside Ms. Bustier’s classroom, right after she tells him to go to the principal when Ivan tries to punch Kim after the latter throws him a paper that teases the black haired boy’s crush on Mylene.

Oh, Kim. You resist the urge to groan. What did he do this time?

You thought you were doing great, not having Kiim throw that paper after class. But compared to being sent to the principal’s office for a minor offense, being publicly humiliated is even worse. You can’t stop anyone from feeling strong emotions from that.

What should you do? Should you look around for the butterfly? Should you try to stop Mr. D’Argencourt?

Damnit, where’s your charisma when you need it the most anyway!? 

But before you can move, something strange catches your eye. A delicate flutter of movement at the corner of the stadium. 

You look to the side, heart sinking. 

“No,” you whisper under your breath.

Without thinking, you push yourself forward. 

“Ivan, MOVE!” 

Everyone looks at you in surprise, but it’s too late.

The butterfly lands on the paper in Ivan’s fist, and a flash of crimson decorates his eyes.

“Oh no,” you say. You done messed up. With a step backward, you yell at the top of your lungs, “RUN!” 

Nobody understands what’s happening, but your frantic scream causes everyone to scramble, grabbing their bags and items with haste.

Left behind in the middle of the field is Ivan, with dark purple energy from his curled fist swallowing his body whole. His eyes turn into an empty yellow glow, and with a mighty roar, stone covers him, building him up into an impenetrable creature, until he stands seven feet taller than before. 

Ivan—no, Stoneheart—lets out a shout, “Kim!” His previously human expression is replaced with a terrifying, stony glare. “Teacher!”

The two people who the supervillain is now planning to attack stupidly stop in their tracks, but you can’t really blame them. 

In the series, Ivan's transformation looks utterly ridiculous, but now that you're seeing it in real life? 

He towers over you, and you can sense the realization that this monstrous being shouldn’t even exist. His steps are loud, his growls are feral, and if even you could feel the slight fear trembling in your stomach, you wonder what the other frozen kids around you felt at the sight of their classmate turning into this creature.

Kim stumbles back, eyes wide in panic, “Wh-What the heck. Ivan?!”

At least Mr. D’Argencourt runs when he realizes the danger. You don't have the time to criticize him leaving the children behind in favor of his own safety, because Stoneheart is starting to look for his targets. 

“Run away already, stupidhead!” you shout, grabbing Kim’s arm and trying to pull him back. “He’s not Ivan anymore, he’s—!”

A roar reverberates in the stadium. “I am Stoneheart! You—!” He zones in on Kim, who screeches and wraps his entire body around you, almost pulling you down, “KIM!!”

Alright, you get it! He wants Kim! He didn't have to make your ears bleed screaming it over and over again. 

You shake Kim's arms and legs off you. “When you run, don't you dare look back!” you push him away, stepping defensively towards the supervillain. “I’ll hold him off!"

“You?!” Kim says, high pitched. 

“Does it look like you can do it instead? You know you are Stoneheart’s target, you idiot!”

Calm down, self. You already made multiple mistakes in one day. You do not want to add ‘blowing up on your childhood friend’ as the next one in today’s list.  

Thankfully, Kim realizes what you meant and he runs away. He also trips and falls on his knees while doing so, but at least he finds a way to get farther away from the stadium.

Stoneheart seems to realize his targets are gone, so he stomps past you instead. 

Your heart races as you look around. Too much, you changed too much from this situation. 

Without the security cameras of the school catching Ivan’s transformation, and without any reporters on sight, not even Alya and her trustworthy cellphone, you don’t have the liberty to wait for Ladybug and Chat Noir’s debut today. They only get the opportunity to transform when they see that Paris is in jeopardy from the news, but what news can they watch if there are no cameras in this stadium?

And you can’t even rely on how fast Paris’ reporters are. The series and the real life world are different from each other. If you wait for the two heroes to come, if you don’t do anything right now, you’ll risk others being hurt. And Ladybug can't fix them nor bring them back to life if she's not here.

You have no choice. 

You don’t hesitate in running to the shade of the stadium, grasping your scarf tightly.

“Anpu, lead on!” 

It’s not your first time running after an enemy in your hero form, but this is your first rodeo of chasing after a supervillain after years of just targeting petty criminals.

Just as you expect, Stoneheart can turn bigger when something attacks him with force. He’s already six feet on his first transformation, but when cars crash against his walking form, it takes you so much speed in grabbing all the civilians out of the way while he enlarges himself and wreaks havoc even more fiercely than before.

Now, Stoneheart approaches the bustling place with more people. You hurriedly jump right in front of him, hands held out in front of you. “Hey there, big guy! Woah, woah, eyes on me right now!”

Stoneheart stops, looking down at you with what you can assume to be confusion and anger at the same time.

“Come on,” you say, trying to keep your voice playful, though you don’t loosen your hold on your double scythe on your hands. “I know it’s a terrible thing, being humiliated like that in front of so many people when you didn't do anything wrong. And I know it’s painful when your teacher didn't even care to listen to your side. But why don’t we take it slow, breathe calmly, and process what happened together, does that sound good to you?”

You usually don’t like using talk-no-jutsu to handle enemies, but in this case, Ivan’s still underneath all this stone. If you can find a way to calm down Ivan’s emotion that has been akumatized by Hawk Moth, you might be able to buy Marinette and Adrien more time in preparing for their first time as heroes.

Who said only Ladybug can de-akumatize the akuma anyway? This is really inconvenient when it's real life anymore, and not a plot device!

Instead of being calmed by your words, Stoneheart roars louder.

You let your head fall limp, tired already. “I guess trying to talk some sense on a stone is impossible.”

Stoneheart steps forward, his massive stone feet pounding into the ground. 

"Look at me!" you call out, sidestepping from his reach. You hop back, running backwards with your eyes stuck on the enemy.

Your plan?

Keep his attention on you, keep him distracted.

But Stoneheart’s fury is unrelenting. He growls again, and you can feel the rush of air as he swings a huge fist in your direction. You narrowly dodge it, rolling across the ground to avoid the crushing blow. Your breath catches as you scramble to your feet, eyes scanning for a place where you can lure him.

“Come on, come on, Ivan,” you mutter to yourself, your mind running through possibilities. You see a row of trees just ahead—there are fewer people around, and the security cameras across the street might be able to catch him in action. It’s not ideal, but it’s the best you can do for now.

You dart toward the trees, using every ounce of your agility to stay a step ahead of Stoneheart.

Behind you, you hear his steps, thunderous and relentless. 

Just a little further...

As you run, you glance over your shoulder and see him speeding up, his arms swinging forward like wrecking balls. You brace yourself, hoping you’re leading him to the right spot. 

Finally, you reach the clearing near the park, the trees thick enough to block much of the view from the street. The security cameras at the nearby convenience store are just within sight. You take a deep breath and stop, turning to face him. 

“You wanna go all out, big guy?” you taunt. “It’s not an ideal way of letting it all out. In fact, it's super unhealthy and I don't recommend it, but if you want, we can spar each other! Get our feelings out through punching, eh? What do you say?”

Stoneheart lets out another deafening roar, and this time, his fist is aimed directly at you. Your reflexes kick in, and you manage to duck under it, rolling to your feet and skidding across the ground. 

Okay, he’s fast—way too fast for someone who’s supposed to be slow.

Are you overthinking this?

You can feel the panic rising as the stone-encrusted giant takes another step toward you, swinging his other fist with terrifying speed. You dodge, again and again, leading him perfectly to the cameras.

But as if the world is truly against you, your foot suddenly slips.

You stumble, falling down on your butt as one of your scythe is thrown far away from you.

This isn’t the time to be a bumbling idiot! 

You scramble to regain your footing, but Stoneheart’s massive foot crashes into the ground right beside you, the shockwave almost knocking you off balance again. 

His fist swings upwards, slamming down to crush you.

The most perfect outcome here is for you to dash out of his punch and continue stalling him, but you are still a human underneath that mask. So you flinch, bracing yourself for the impact.

And the impact comes. Just not in the way you expect it to be.

With a sharp swoosh, a long, extending pole slams into the side of your body, knocking you away from the path of Stoneheart’s strike.

You gasp for breath as you roll, pushed out of the danger zone.

"Well, that’s one way to avoid a rocky situation!” 

A familiar, cocky voice calls out from behind you.

You look up just in time to see another hero landing in front of you, his feline agility graceful and quick. He flicks his pole to the side, making it shorter until he grasps all of it in one hand. 

“Hey,” Chat Noir says to you, voice so familiar, yet so different at the same time.

And you must have looked stupid. Sitting on the ground, staring up at his twitching black ears against his messy blond hair, your mouth wide open. If it’s the Chat Noir you know, he would have been the flirty hero who revels in the adoration of anyone around him. He knows his charm, even if his overconfidence ruins its sincerity to other people.

But confusion seizes your throat when Chat Noir glances past his shoulders and quite literally glares at you.

“Tch. That’s one favor out of a negative,” he says irritatedly, “Are you going to stand up and help now?”

… Huh?

Chapter Text

Chat Noir is looking at you like you’re a pest.

Chat Noir is looking at you like you are a pest!

Something as trivial as that shouldn’t be a problem. Especially not when you are being attacked by a literal golem monster that could crush you if you don’t move any time soon now. 

But it’s the Chat Noir of the show!

Nevermind the fact that you literally met Adrien, his real identity, and befriended him already at a young age. What you cannot handle is the fact that the current flirty blond catboy of the damn show, one of the redeeming qualities of the entire show, is treating you as if you have done his ancestors some wrong!

…Wait a second-

“Look out!” Chat Noir shouts.

Something thwacks you in the head again, and you let out a loud ‘ow!’ as you tumble away from Stoneheart’s fist.

When you stop rolling, you sit up abruptly, watching Chat Noir retract his weapon that hit you without hesitation—again. 

You rub the pain throbbing on the side of your head. “Now that’s just being mean,” you grumble.

Chat Noir dodges one big attack from Stoneheart then skids right beside you, extending his weapon and digging it to the ground.

“Not my fault you’ve got your head stuck in the clouds in the middle of the battlefield.” The blond then leans on his hip on his weapon, looking down at you with one brow raised and a deep frown that almost looks like a pout. “Let me guess: were you so caught up daydreaming about being a better person that you completely missed the golem swinging at your face?”

First of all:

Fuck him. What a jerk. His first debut as a fellow hero and here he is, being sarcastic right above your face? Aren’t you supposed to be his senior in hero stuff too, since you have more experience than him in this timeline?

Second of all:

… maybe you don’t mind him hating you too much. If it means you’ll get to see the serious version of the blond cat boy, the way his entire eyes, even his sclera, look pure green while he narrows it your way, then maybe—

You slap both of your cheeks loud and sharp.

Chat Noir flinches, losing his balance on his weapon but recovering fast enough to avoid embarrassing himself. 

No, self. You are not going to be a simp. 

Unlike some people, you still have respect for yourself, and you are not about to lose that any time soon. 

“What are you doing?” Chat Noir asks, looking at you oddly when you keep on mushing your face with your palms.

“I’m getting rid of stupid thoughts in my head.”

“Right... And I’m supposed to be the newbie here?”

At least he’s standing beside you without throwing a fit. God knows how childish this guy is, especially when he’s in his Chat Noir-is-angry-at-someone(mostly Ladybug) mode. 

With a sigh, you rest your hands on your lap and look over at the rampaging Stoneheart.  “Listen," you start slowly, "I don’t know why exactly a stranger would hate me, because let's be honest, that’s literally what we are to each other right now: strangers—”

“Phantom is not a stranger to any Parisians,” he interrupts. You would have felt flattered by that. Cause you? Not being a stranger to the entirety of Paris?

“But you are one to me. And before you start saying the true reason for your hater attitude, let’s do our job first of saving Paris, because that—” you point, “supervillain of a rubble isn’t gonna stop himself even after he crushes half the city into a pulp.”

Chat Noir opens his mouth—you don’t know whether to throw another jab at you or agree—but a loud crash cuts him off.  It’s a car slamming to one of the trees after Stoneheart threw it hard. 

The blond looks at the chaos from the corner of his eyes, then without moving his head, he meets yours again.

“Okay. Fine.” He offers a hand. “Truce.” 

“Truce.” 

You take his hand, letting him pull you up. His grip is firm, but the second you're back on your feet, he lets go like your touch burns him. Dramatic.

Chat Noir retracts his weapon, making a zwip! sound when it falls back on his gloved palms. “You better have some ideas on how to stop that supervillain, cause the only thing I can think of is attacking that thing to prevent him from ruining more of the buildings—”

“That ‘thing’ you mentioned is a civilian underneath all those stones,” you correct. “And I do have some ideas. But I need to know first if you have met some other heroes along the way.”

If everything’s going exactly the way it did in the series, then maybe the two already had their first clumsy meeting with each other—

Chat Noir tilts his head. “No. Should I have?”

You deadpan. “Of course. The world just can’t seem to stop inconveniencing me, can it?” You don’t acknowledge his visibly puzzled expression. “I was hoping you’ve met the main character already, but this is fine too. We can work with this.”

For now.

You can’t exactly de-akumatize a supervillain created by the Butterfly Miraculous without the Ladybug Miraculous, but she'll be here soon enough. You just have to wait and trust her.

...But what if Marinette didn’t watch the news on time because you influenced everything here? What if there isn't any news at all, and she doesn’t get notified about this villain attack fast? Well, the last one seems to be impossible since Chat Noir already made his way over here, so there must be some kind of news that alerted him to come here. But what if—

“Oh, don’t look so sad,” Chat Noir croons. “I don’t need to meet the main character when he’s already here.” He places a hand to his chest and gives you a fanged grin. “The name’s Chat Noir, at your service.”

You blink at him.

Then you blink again, right at the same time a bench flies over your heads.

Then you snort.

"You’re the main character indeed,” your voice lilts teasingly. Chat Noir falters a bit, but you lean close to his face and grin back. “Thanks. That definitely made me less des-paw-ndent about this situation of ours.” 

Chat Noir blinks, so you curl your fist near your cheek and make a pawing motion. “Meow.”

His mouth drops open.

For a moment you internally cringed—why you did such a thing was not something you can answer, but it already happened, and now you had no choice but to live with the consequences.

Said-consequences involve the twitching of Chat Noir's cat ears, the thick swallowing of his throat, and the dilating of his slitted pupils. You hear a sound almost resembling a purr before you watch mortification paint his entire face.

He slaps both of his cheeks with his gloved hands, surprising you. “No. Absolutely not! I won’t let this happen!”

Blinking, you lean away from his mental breakdown. “Let what happen?”

“This!” He gestures at you with one hand, the other still on his cheek. “I won’t let you of all people do this to me. I refuse.”

You don’t understand what exactly he’s saying, but you give him a smooth smile to act like you do. He glares at you through his thick dark mask.

Then a car flies past your heads, and both of you duck just in time before it embeds itself into a lamp post behind you.

Right. Ivan’s Stoneheart. 

That’s a little detail you two seem to have forgotten for a moment.

You straighten up and look at the bent lamp post. “Uh, we should probably—”

“Yeah,” Chat Noir cuts in quickly. “We definitely should.”

He turns around, his belt of a tail almost smacking your face from how fast he whips away from you. That leaves you sputtering, glaring at him. For someone who was fascinated by your hero persona when he was once a kid, he really doesn't think twice about being rude to you.

You follow after him, walking out of the empty and now decimated parking lot. “I have a plan, but it involves a little more effort than what you might be used to.”

“I can do more than just a ‘little effort’,” he says, shooting you a skeptical but curious look. “What do you have in mind?”

His question makes you grin wider. “Run.”

He slows down. “What?”

You pivot on your heels, cup your mouth with both hands, and shout, “Stoneheart! Look here and admire the kitty beside me! Yoohoo!”

Chat Noir halts in his tracks, his eyes darting toward you in disbelief. "Wait—what?!" His voice cracks with a mix of confusion and genuine frustration. He looks like he's about to explode. "Did you just—?"

“Like I said: run!”

You dash away to a specific location, hearing the kittycat clumsily scramble towards you when Stoneheart finally directs his attention to your duo.

“I gave you the benefit of the doubt, but you are just as disdainful as I thought you would be!” you hear Chat Noir say behind you, but when you look his way, he’s already gone. Instead, you spot him vaulting up a lamp post, leaving you being chased by Stoneheart in the middle of the street all by yourself.

“I told you to continue running!” you shout, looking forward again. “We have to lead him to the stadium since we have one of his targets around here!”

“And who’s his target?!” He calls out. “You?!” 

“You, chaton!” 

“Me?!” Chat Noir’s voice echoes from above, full of disbelief.

Then he finally jumps down, tumbling right beside you before standing upright on his feet and running. 

“Why is it me?! I’ve only just got here!” He drifts closer, tilting his head your way and almost nudging you out of your sprint. “Unlike Paris’ old hero who has done who-knows-what to some people in Paris, I’m clearly at the bottom target lane for these new supervillains!”

You want to roll your eyes at his words. “Unlike me, you are clearly the holder of the Cat Miraculous, and that’s enough of a marker for you to be the supervillain’s target!” He blinks, but you turn away to look at the approaching stadium instead. “I told you that this stone golem is a civilian. His name is Ivan, and he’s been turned into a monster by some guy who wants your miraculous. That’s why, if you want to keep being the main character of the day, just try to lead him to the stadium with me and then we’ll think of a better plan once we’re there!” 

You don’t know if he understood your infodump. You aren’t even sure if you should be telling him all of this now. 

But Chat Noir slows his running and jogs backwards, facing Stoneheart with his arms spread. “Hey, buddy! I’m right over here! If you want someone to rock your world, come and get me yourself, then!”

The golem roars loudly, charging straight for him.

“Good, good, keep that up!” you shout over your shoulder as you veer off to the side. Just a couple more distance and you’ll be right back at the stadium in no time—

“Wait!" Chat Noir yells. His voice had a hint of panic. "You’re not leaving me behind, right?!”

That almost makes you falter. He sounds so frightened, maybe because he's literally being chased by the golem, but you shake it off with another shout. 

“I’m not going to leave you! Just try to keep up, kittycat!”

“Don’t call me that!” comes his immediate retort. You can practically hear him grimacing, but you don’t turn around this time. Instead, you nudge anything that might be in the way for the two of them. Cars, trash bins, whatever’s left behind in the evacuated streets.

The entrance to the stadium looms ahead. 

You slow your pace for just a second, looking behind you to see how Chat Noir is faring.

"Look out!"

But you hear the sound of a high pitch scream above you, and before you could even move, a body suddenly slams into your back, sending you crashing to the ground with an audible thud. 

“I— I’m so sorry!” somebody squeaks, their heavy weight knocking the life out of you. “I’m so clumsy. I’m madly clumsy!”

“What in the world—!?” you sputter, hands instinctively trying to push yourself away. But you find your arms stuck, not only by the body that landed on you but also by the long strands of a metal-like string wrapped tightly around your torso.

You snap your head up, seeing a pair of bluebell eyes that are literally up close to your face. 

“You—” you stammer, stomach dropping. “You have got to be kidding me.”

“I’m really sorry!” The girl with red and black dots of a mask repeats, her panicked eyes whipping towards the approaching golem monster and then back at the mess of string around you both. “I swear, I wasn’t trying to sabotage you! I was just watching you—and not in that way, no I didn't follow you here, I'm just a long-term fan and—okay, nevermind me. I’m- I'm going to untangle us, please give me a second!”

How did this girl even wrap the yo-yo around you and herself at the same time? You don't think this is even physically possible, but whatever. You're here now, so you breathe to yourself and smile through gritted teeth.

“Take your time, mademoiselle.”

Not like a stone golem is approaching you two any time now, but hey. Don't put pressure on an already nervous person—you might end up making it worse.

If there's something worse than this day, that is.

I swear if this world gives me karma for taking Chat Noir’s moment of being entangled with Ladybug on her yo-yo, then I will—

“One stone golem coming through!” A gust of wind ruffles your skin as Chat Noir dash past you two. But then he doubles back and stares down at you and Ladybug, his legs still running in place. “If I were you, I’d unwrap this problem fast unless I wanna turn into tomato juice on the ground.”

He runs away. Then in another second, he comes back in the same manner earlier.

“Oh, but if that’s exactly what you guys want, then I guess can’t judge too much. More spotlight for me or whatever.” He gives one last shrug before finally running inside the stadium. Leaving you with an absolutely flustered and panicked Ladybug. 

“Nobody’s turning into tomato juice here!” Ladybug shouts back. “J-Just give me a second, Phantom, I’ll—” she stammers, her hands fumbling as she tries to yank the string loose.

You fall limp on the floor, sighing. You're giving up on your calm facade. There is nothing calming about this day, nothing at all. “I don’t mean to alarm you, but Ivan is getting really close to us right now.”

“That alarms me more than you think it does—!” She pauses. “Wait. Ivan?”

You meet her eyes with a casual frown. “That’s what the students here in the stadium shouted when he transformed like that.”

Her eyes widen. “Ivan… that’s right. He’s part of the students who went here to PE class!”

Ed Sheeran should sue her, cause why is she thinking out loud when you’re clearly nearby to hear her unintentionally doxx herself? 

Whatever. You won’t point it out to her—you already know her secret anyway. Instead, you instruct her, “Think about retracting your yo-yo."

She stops. "Huh?"

"Your weapon’s magical, so don’t think about using it like a regular toy. Think and visualize the string retracting back instead of plucking the strings yourself.”

Ladybug’s eyes widen, then nervously glances at the strings. “Oh, right! I should’ve known that! Silly me!”

You're trying so hard not to cringe as Marinette—Ladybug—finally managed to retract her yo-yo strings back to herself. She staggers at the recoil, but at least she finally pulls herself off of you, making you sit up immediately.

“Well... I guess I should say I’m sorry again,” she tries to say. “Like I said earlier, I was just watching you and the other one earlier and—”

You grab her wrist and dash. “Let’s talk while we run away!”

“Huh? What do you— Woah!”

Catching up with Chat Noir is easy, especially when he’s just standing in the middle of the green stadium with his arms crossed, foot tapping as he waited.

“There you are,” Chat Noir uncrosses his arms and walks your way. “I was thinking you two would never make it out of that love knot.”

Still gripping Ladybug’s wrist as she stumbles beside you, you deadpan at the catboy. “You are so funny for not helping us there, aren't you?” 

Chat Noir bows mockingly. “I try my best.”

Ladybug releases a breath when you let go of her wrist. It takes a while but when she processes his words, she raises her hands and waves vigorously. “We were stuck because of me being clumsy, not Phantom, so please don’t tease them for it!”

“I wouldn’t even dream of it,” Chat Noir huffs. 

You squint. "What does that even mean?"

The sound of stomping causes all of you to turn, seeing Stoneheart follow you inside the stadium with a roar. 

“Ladybug,” you call out, not looking away from Stoneheart. You hear two confused noises beside you. “You know how to use your Lucky Charm, right?”

You hear her clear her throat. “R-right!” 

“Use it right now," you order. "We have to open Stoneheart’s right fist and destroy the akumatized item to defeat him, and we need your super power to help us do it fast.” 

"How did you...?" she tries to say, but Chat Noir interrupts with a sound of eureka.

“That’s right…! We have super powers!”

"Time's ticking, Ladybug," you snap, not minding the geeking catboy.

“Uh right! Right, right." Ladybug readies her stance, gripping the yo-yo in her hand before throwing it above her. “Lucky Charm!” 

You twirl your scythes and prepare yourself to throw it towards the nearby hose.

If your memory serves you right, Ladybug is supposed to get an inflatable suit as her Lucky Charm. It doesn’t make any sense, but apparently she’ll fill it with water and use it as a pump to pry Stoneheart’s fist open. 

You aren’t exactly the best at physics but even you know water pumping a long and human-sized suit can’t be done in just a single second, but who are you to complain? That kind of miracle is something you need right now, and with Alya not being anywhere near here, you can just take her place instead.

Oh, wait. There’s something moving from the corner of your eyes. 

When you turn, you see a brown haired girl sneaking with her phone, hiding underneath the shadow of the stadium’s entrance. She notices your stare and she grins wide, raising her phone even higher. 

Well. She’s not anywhere near the faucet this time, so me taking her role is still going to be the plan.

Suddenly, Chat Noir snarks. “That’s your super power?” 

You turn just in time to see Ladybug holding not an inflatable suit in her arms, but a red and black polka dotted tarpaulin instead. 

You suck in a surprised breath. “What is that?!” 

“A tarpaulin— I mean, I don’t know either!” Ladybug looks around the place, panic swirling in her eyes. “My kwami said this charm thing is supposed to be my secret super power, but I didn’t expect it to be like- like this!”

Inflatable suit? Water hose plan? Gone.

“Maybe your secret super power is the ability to wrap someone up like a present. You already got it down to all the details with that magical yo-yo and whatnot,” Chat Noir snickers. He holds his wrist and grins. “But I guess it’s time for Chat Noir to save the day, huh?” 

“Wait- wait!” you interrupt the boy, but he’s already shouting ‘Cataclysm!’ at the top of his lungs. 

You couldn’t stop the groan from leaving your lips.

Who says knowing the future is an overpowered thing? That Lucky Charm must have calculated your existence too, so now it’s different from what canon should have been. You can’t even help Ladybug out cause her powers cater to her overactive imagination, and if you could help her out, what can you even do with a tarpaulin anyway?!

Once Chat Noir curls his fist until a bubble of dark energy swirls around his fingers. He stands up straight and grins at Ladybug. “Apparently I destroy whatever I touch.”

“Well, I don’t need a super power to destroy everything,” Ladybug sulks.

“Whatever you do,” you pointedly begin. Chat Noir turns your way. “Do not use it carelessly.”

Chat Noir rolls his eyes. “You’re acting like I don’t have common sense.”

“That’s because you—get your hand away from that goal post right now!” You snatch Chat Noir’s wrist before he leans his hand against the metal.

He blinks at you, then at your hand on his wrist, before scowling. "I wasn’t actually gonna touch it!" he pulls his wrist away from your grasp.

"You absolutely were."

At least that's one good thing you changed today. Unlike in canon, Chat Noir still has his Cataclysm, so maybe you can find a way to utilize his flexibility and destruction somewhere. 

You turn to Ladybug. "You figured out the plan yet, lucky charm?"

Ladybug makes a strangled sound in her throat. "I—uh—yes! Kind of! Haha!" She waves the tarpaulin in front of her like it's supposed to explain anything. “Um… what super power do you have again, Phantom?”

“I can make my entire body and whatever I’m holding turn invisible and intangible,” you finish, watching as understanding dawns in Ladybug’s eyes.

“Now that makes sense,” Chat Noir scoffs. If his hand isn’t radiating chaotic energy, he would have crossed his arms and blown out the hair falling on his rolling eyes like the sassy cat he is.  

“Quiet, kitty,” Ladybug snaps. Then she does the thing that is absolutely a huge part of the show: 

Ladybug’s eyes flicker between you, Chat Noir’s wrist, the tarpaulin in her hands, the firehose that she’s supposed to use in canon as something to inflate her lucky charm, the goal post, then Stoneheart’s massive clenched fist. 

A slow but determined smile spreads across her face. “I have an idea.”

“I don’t know what’s in that head of yours, clumsy girl,” Chat Noir says, grinning wide as he fixes his stance, “but I trust you.”

You stare at him unashamedly. “You trust her but you don’t trust me."

"Of course," he simply says.

"Are you sure you’re not playing favorites just because you think she’s cute?”

Chat Noir makes a tutting sound. “Let’s be honest: I’m actually cuter than both of you combined.”

“Phantom!” Ladybug suddenly calls out. You thought she’s about to scold you for bantering with the blond too much, but she seems to be too busy tying up the tarpaulin on the goal post by herself. “You’re the only one who can get through Stoneheart’s grip without breaking it. The akuma is inside the item in his hand, right?”

“You want me to phase in and grab it?”

“Yes!” Ladybug brightens, confidence replacing her earlier panic. “Once you have it, we need a distraction—Chat Noir, you take the fire hose over there and break the faucet so the water goes wild. Spray it on his face and don’t let him notice whatever I’m doing.”

Chat Noir tilts his head. “And what are you doing exactly?”

Ladybug ties up the last few ends of the tarpaulin with both hands. “Setting up our goalpost for our MVP to throw into.”

Your blink in surprise when Ladybug gives you a sheepish smile, which takes you a while to understand. “Wait. I’m the MVP?”

“Oh come on! What about me?” Chat Noir glances at you both, his pointed glare seeming to land on you even more. “You’re seriously telling me that they’re more important than me in this situation?”

“This is Phantom we’re talking about, are you insane?” Ladybug suddenly rushes. Then she looks at you and stiffens. “I- I mean— We’re equally important, chaton, so just trust me on this one because I can’t do this alone!”

Now that brings a smile on your face. “You don’t need to say it twice,” you muse.

Without hesitation, you sprint forward. Stoneheart doesn’t seem to be expecting you to approach him, but when you’re a bit closer, you swipe your foot back and raise your hand to your chest. 

“Eclipse!” 

Your body flickers. The familiar sense of being a part of the wind envelops you until your entire body turns invisible.

“Who’s the good stone that wants to shower, huh?!” 

At the same time, Chat Noir uses his cataclysm to the faucet nearby. His other hand holding the hose sends a chaotic burst of water that shoots out like a geyser towards Stoneheart, making the supervillain stagger, trying to shield his face with his left hand.

The right hand has the paper, and it's free for you to take.

You bolt, using all your strength to coil your knees and jump through his clenched fist. For just a second, you’re completely surrounded by solid stone. But you focus on your fingers trying to close around a purple paper, then you come crashing back down on the ground, rolling to secure your landing.

“Alright, Phantom! I'm done! It's time for you to score!” Ladybug shouts. She’s standing right beside the goalpost, where, instead of the net, the polka dotted tarpaulin covered it instead. 

Standing up, you pivot on your heels and toss the akumatized item straight at the outstretched goalpost. The paper sails perfectly, turning from an invisible item to a flash of dark purple against the bright stadium lights. It hits the tarpaulin just as planned, not passing through the net, but nestling securely inside.

Ladybug's face lights up with triumph. “Nice throw!”

Without wasting a second, she runs toward the paper and stomps with her feet. 

The akumatized item breaks. A purple butterfly flies into the air.

Right at the same time, Stoneheart’s massive body crumbles, shattering into pieces of debris until Ivan’s normal form is revealed underneath.

The stadium falls silent, save for the malfunctioning hose in Chat Noir’s hand.

He blinks as he looks at the akumatized victim and then at Ladybug. “Huh. That actually worked.”

Ladybug reaches down for the paper, while you stretch your arms and approach them. “Now that’s a job well done,” you say, but you must have turned visible in the middle of your speech cause she screams and jumps back, her heart racing.

"Phantom!" Ladybug gasps, her hand pressed to her chest. "You— You startled me!"

You can't help but smirk. "I forgot to say my invisibility wears off after a minute passes by. Sorry about that.”

The sounds of your miraculouses beep. “Oh,” Ladybug looks disappointed. “That’s a sign we have to leave now, right?”

Chat Noir's exaggerated sigh cuts through the moment. "We don’t have to leave yet, not when everyone’s forgetting to compliment the guy who had to provide the entertainment value," he says, casually twirling the now-drenched hose around his wrist. "That distraction? Totally a touchdown on my part. You guys couldn't have scored without me here, so let me hear it. Go on."

The blond is standing, leaning forward with one hand on his hips. His grin is bright and expectant, like a kid waiting for someone to compliment him.

Your lips twitch. Even when he's older, he really likes fishing for compliments. "You did a good job, Chat Noir.”

Surprise flickers over his face at your words. Maybe there's embarrassment too, but Ladybug trying to suppress her giggle snaps him out of it. He huffs and look away. "I guess I can settle with that for now."

You meet Ladybug's eyes, exchanging a silent shrug at her. She smiles, then she brightens up. “Oh! That’s right!” She tries to look around, but whatever it is, she doesn’t seem to find it, so she goes back to being disappointed.

“What’s wrong?”

“I was going to savor this moment and ask for your autograph, but I don’t think I brought a paper with me,” she sighs, running a hand on her face. 

You don't think anyone would bring a paper on an emergency situation, but her words almost sends a tingle in your spine. 

So Ladybug is really your fan?  

Before you could respond, an enthusiastic voice cuts through the moment. “I can take a picture of you three!” 

You turn to see Alya walking over with a grin plastered on her face, her phone still in hand. “You know, for posterity. You guys make an epic super hero team! I can't believe Phantom is back in Paris. You've been everywhere but Paris, why is that? Oh, you look so amazing up close too! And are these your fellow heroes? Chat Noir, and Lucky Charm…?”

Ladybug blinks at the girl's rambling before catching your gaze. When you show her a smile, she turns back to the camera with a determined smile. “Ladybug,” she corrects. “My name’s Ladybug.” 

Alya brightens up. “Ladybug! That’s so cool!” 

It’s just the name of an insect. What part of that is cool to her? 

Oh well. Who are you to be judging; Alya can find anything cool whatever it is she wants. It’s a free world you're all living in, and you are not about to ruin that for her with your pessimistic thoughts.

Chat Noir leans his elbow on Ladybug’s shoulder and gives Alya a smirk. “I’ll let you take a picture only if I’m the center of the shot. Out of the three of us, I'm the most photogenic person here, you know?”

Ladybug shakes her head, her smile widening. “I don’t think we have enough time to take a picture. You hear that?”

Three beeping noises come at the same time. You can see only three dots on each of your miraculouses now, meaning you only have three minutes left before you de-transform back. 

“Maybe we can take a picture next time,” you offer, turning around and smiling at them. “Hopefully we can work together as a team the next supervillain attack too.”

“Don’t count on it,” Chat Noir teases. “My patience isn’t really the best when it comes to dealing with people I don’t like.” 

You grin back at him. “Good thing I’m not someone you dislike.”

“You totally are!” 

You wave, not bothering to look back. You hear some more grumbling, and even Alya shouts, "Wait, Phantom, I need to take more pictures of you!" 

You don't give her the attention anymore though. Now that the chaos is done, every authority will come back to check up on Ivan, and you need to be there with him or else you won't have an alibi when Kim asks you about stalling the supervillain.

When you hide behind the walls of the stadium and de-transformed, you have a strange feeling that you forgot something important.

But like they said: if you forget it, then it must not be that important.

Chapter Text

“Ivan!” 

Ladybug stiffens when she hears you run inside the stadium. The smile she had a second ago falters. Alya doesn’t hide her reaction either, with her lifting a brow at you, her phone dropping just slightly but still held at the ready. 

It’s not outright hostility, but it’s not exactly warmth either. Good thing you aren’t focusing on them though, because your target for your acting today is not any of them, but it’s the previously-supervillain student who is now sitting on the ground, disoriented from himseld.

“You’re okay!” You stop by their side and wince. “Or maybe you’re not. You turned into a supervillain for a moment so who am I to assume you’re feeling okay?” With a sigh, you try your best to look concerned. “How are you feeling?” 

It’s not real concern, of course. There’s no way a series like Miraculous Ladybug would hurt these characters enough for you to get worried; maybe if it’s a behind-the-scenes type of hurt like with Felix’s case, that’s where you’ll get concerned, but this? 

“I’m… feeling okay,” Ivan grumbles, “but I don’t remember what happened. One moment I was mad at Kim. Then I felt shameful ‘cause teacher didn’t listen to my side. And the next...”

The next, he doesn’t need to elaborate. 

“I’m sorry,” you offer. Your mind races for comforting words, but when you find one, Ivan is already looking at the ground. 

“No, I’m sorry. I ruin a lot of things when I get angry.” The mask you’re putting on falters. “I was already uncontrollable when I got mad, but I think today is… worse. I don’t know why.”

Ladybug waves vigorously. “Hey, no! Don’t apologize for something like that! You weren’t yourself when it happened, Ivan, so don’t beat yourself up for it—”

“Wait a sec,” Alya stops her. “How’d you know Ivan’s name, Ladybug?” 

The color drains from Ladybug’s face. “Uh.”

While Ladybubg scrambles for an answer, you lower yourself slowly and take a seat on the grass beside Ivan. 

He’s one of the most terrifying middle schoolers you’ve ever seen. It’s not even an exaggeration to say he looks unapproachable; he’s not the tallest, but he towers over everyone else by glaring all the time. His lips are always curled downwards as he grumbles his words out, even when he’s apologizing. It’s an objective fact that Ivan Bruel looks like someone you won’t try to mess with.

But the boy is sitting down around the remains of his own anger, taken advantaged by someone who sensed his momentary weakness. He’s looking at his hands and for a moment, he almost feels small. Fragile, even.

“I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being angry,” you suddenly say, catching everyone’s attention.

You don’t need to look to know that Ladybug and Alya are both watching you, probably with those cautious stares, but you only lean your elbows on your knees and look out across the field. 

“It feels unfair when you’re misunderstood for expressing yourself, especially when they poke fun at just the way you are. It’s normal to be angry at that,” you continue. “But today, someone terrible took advantage of it. The anger you were feeling—it was real, but it was twisted and used against your will, and you don’t have to apologize for that.”

You get the show needs a villain. It’s the only way the series can proceed and have an interesting and addicting story formula like it had when it was first starting out.

But now that you think about it, if you live in a city where feeling even just a little semblance of negative emotions means you’ll get turned into a supervillain—isn’t that a bit too much for any of these people here?

The furrow between Ivan’s brows soften ever so slightly. “You think so?”

An endeared smile curls on your lips. “I know so.” 

He seems like he needs to think more about what happened and even your words, so you give one last pat on his shoulder, then you stand up and turn around. 

Ladybug is staring at you, shoulders loose, lips parted. It’s hard to see through the mask covering her eyes but her words are gentle and soft as she speaks. “That’s… really nice of you to say that.”

“I don’t think being a normal person is worth the praise,” you joke in a light-hearted tone. That leads to the ends of her lips quirking up. “But enough about that. I think you should get going.”

Ladybug tilts her head. “Huh?”

“Aren’t you… like, on a timer or something?”

The sound of a fast beeping makes her hand snap to the side of her earring. “Oh, yeah! I mean, oh no. I really need to go now!” She readies her yo-yo and looks back at Ivan. “It’s not your fault, okay? There’s also nothing wrong with not being ready to tell someone your crush on them. Don’t beat yourself up with whatever Kim told you earlier. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.” 

Oh. Yeah. 

You forgot that the true reason for Stoneheart’s existence was because Kim made fun of Ivan’s inability to confess his crush to his classmate.

Your point still stands: Hawk Moth is the reason for this all, and you wish he could feel ashamed of himself. He’s a literal multimillionaire grown man with a busy job, a son he needs to look after, but he still has some time to scrounge in Paris, preying on young children’s emotions just to get what he wants?

The poor guy’s trying to grieve for his dead wife, you know, but that doesn’t make him any less creepy and stupid at the same time.

When Ladybug throws her yo-yo and coils her knees to jump, Alya snaps out of her thoughts and raises her phone again. “Wait, Ladybug! I still have some questions about your debut, liike how long have you known Phantom and Chat Noir? And is this your first time being a hero? What was that thing you used with the Lucky Charm and—!”

“Thank you so much, Ladybug!” you interrupted. 

Alya looks at you unamused.

You give her an innocent smile and a shrug. Maybe you misheard it, but right before Ladybug jumps, a small giggle seems to leave the heroine’s lips. But when you look back at her, she’s already gone.

Alya looks past the stadium, her eyes starstruck and mouth wide open. After a while passes, she turns to you again. 

“Really?” she raises a brow, “You’re just going to let her go like that?”

“Some heroes need a mystery to last them for decades, you know,” you joke.

She rolls her eyes, a smile decorating her lips. “I don’t think these new heroes will need that when they’re the only ones moving here in Paris.” Fully turning your way, she hums. “Anyway, it seems like you’re not all that bad, you know, if even the newest hero can acknowledge it.”

“And what if she didn’t? Would you still think I’m bad?” You prod, trying not to let yourself get excited at the thought of Alya liking you a little bit now. 

“If she didn’t,” Alya drawls out, “I’ll still think you hang around with Chloe on purpose.” 

You let out an amused huff. “Is that a problem?”

“Of course,” she says incredulously. “It’s Chloe—she is the problem. I don’t know about you, but even when I’m a new student in the class, I already know exactly what kind of girl she is.” Alya crosses her arms and gives you a pointed look. "You saw what she's like even in the classroom, right?"

"Yes?"

Alya blinks slowly when you just smile at her. There’s no malice in your gaze, no defensiveness either. Just an endeared smile, the kind that makes Alya falter, if only a bit.

“...Do you like that or something?” she asks, frowning.

You laugh under your breath at that. “God, no. You're misunderstanding me again.”

“That's because you're acting in a way that’s so easy to misunderstand!" Alya groans, but she laughs alongside you too. “Every time you smile it just looks so… what’s the right word for it? Not mysterious, and definitely not charming, but— too pristine!” She says, bumping her fist into her palm. “Now that kind of pristine smile might make teachers and our parents feel relaxed, but to us—to me with my very perceptive journalistic eyes—it just makes you look like you’re hiding ten different meanings under your actions.”

You raise your hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll try not to be too uptight when I’m talking with others. But no promises on not talking to Chloe.”

That brings an exasperated, almost annoyed sigh out of her.

“Hey,” you say, amused. “First of all, I live in her father’s hotel. We’re being commissioned by her family to stay so I can’t afford to anger her outside of the hotel.”

Alya widens her eyes. “You live in the mayor’s luxurious hotel?”

You nod. “But that doesn’t mean I'll suck up on her and agree with everything she does and says. Chloe might get on everyone’s nerves and she might overuse her daddy's authority every once in a while, but I don’t really think people are that simple.”

She stares at you, her brows easing the same way her shoulders loosen. 

“Hm, how do I say it?” You avert your gaze, staring past the stadium’s entrance with a faint smile. “I like to think that if you looked past the masks of everyone and talked to them like they’re just a normal person, regardless of status or wealth, then you might find that they’re just as complicated as anyone else. People aren't just what they show the world. Who am I to declare that Chloe is incorrigible?”

“Incorrigible,” Alya repeats. She doesn’t look irritated as she did when you first interacted with her, but she still looks incredulous at your words. She shakes her head, curls bouncing with the motion. “Honestly? I really don’t understand you.”

You hum, smiling smoothly. “Maybe if you spend some time with me, you will.” 

That gets a real laugh out of her. “You’re pushing this waaay too fast, girl.” Her smile falters, and she peeks a glance at you, contemplating things. 

She stuffs her phone in her pocket and holds out a hand. 

“Alright. Why don’t we try this again?” She tilts her head and smiles. “My name’s Alya. Alya Cesaire.”

You return her smile and clasp her hand in yours. “My name’s (Y/n).” 

It takes a while for the police to come to the stadium, so you and Alya accompany Ivan while he regains his bearings again.

Alya doesn’t seem that hostile anymore. In fact, she’s talking to you about a lot of things that you knew only her friends would know. Like the blogs she does, her favorite genre of stories (which involves superhero systems) and wow, do you already know those facts about her.

Still, you act like you’re hearing them for the first time anyway. It is technically your first time, and she’s exchanging information with you like a normal person making friends.

The most surprising thing you’ve heard from her was the fact that she owned the PhantomFiles blog on the internet. You’ve always kept up with it when you left Paris, since everything about the formatting of the blog to the posts within it showed a lot about Paris without Phantom’s presence. But to think Alya herself has been that talented to make engaging posts since she was just a child like you.

Or maybe I’m just untalented. I mean, I already knew it when Nathaniel drew realistic illustrations as a kid, but now Alya, too, has an exaggerated amount of talent in her writing and blogging skills?

When the police come, they escort you back to your homes. You are the first to leave, considering Le Grand Paris hotel is closer to the stadium than Ivan’s and Alya’s houses.

Your parents fret over you as expected. They don’t even let you step foot into the hotel before they tackle you in the lobby, asking you so many questions you couldn’t even keep track of it. They also have a lot of reprimands waiting for you to be heard, but for now, your ears are safe from their yapping.

You manage to peel your parents off you after a solid five minutes of overwhelming affection, half-hugs, half-checkups, and endless reminders that “you should never put yourself in danger like that again.” Which, to be fair, is a little rich coming from two people who raised you to “follow your instincts” and “appreciate the moment.” Right now, you would like a moment of silence.

You’re just about to slip toward the elevators when—

“(Y/N)!”

You barely register the shrill cry before a flash of blonde collides into you.

“Oh my God, you’re alive,” Chloe gasps, one hand clutching your shirt, the other angled to her temple like she’s the one about to faint. “Do you even understand how worried I was?”

Immediately, you know she is not at all worried. But you still entertained her by going along with her act anyway.

She said something about you being such an agreeable person and how she would hate to see someone like you get hurt, that’s why she told her daddy—who is now holding a press conference about the situation, by the way—to send out Sabrina’s dad’s unit towards the stadium as soon as possible. You’re welcome, she says.

You should probably feel weirded out. Chloe is being her usual ‘you should never talk and only I get to talk’ mood as always, but instead of annoying you, it just makes you laugh. Especially when your parents look absolutely gobsmacked by how you escaped their arms and are now dragged away by the blonde up to her room.

You know she’s going to be alone for the rest of the night, with the mayor being busy from the troubles that are still happening in Paris and Sabrina being right beside her dad the entire time, so you let her take you anywhere she wanted to. 

You are watching Chloe throw multiple designer clothes down the ground when the flat screen TV in her room suddenly plays the news.

“ Breaking Live : Just as Paris is about to celebrate the reappearance of their old superhero, Phantom, and the two new superheroes alongside them, Ladybug and Chat Noir, a new wave of panic is sweeping across the capital as dozens of people are mysteriously transformed into stone beings.” 

Your stomach drops immediately at what you heard.

Chloe looks out from her wardrobe. “Ugh, they didn’t finish it off? What kind of superheroes are they if they can’t even defeat a single supervillain in a city?”

Then she goes back to rummaging through her clothes without a care. You know she’ll take her time finding what it is she needs, so you walk towards the balcony, looking back to see if she’ll notice you, then you step to the side and tug your scarf down.

“Master, master!” Anpu peeks out in worry. “Oh no. This is bad! I thought we already subdued the villain?!”

“I messed up,” you murmur, his eyes widening. “I knew I was forgetting something but—you know Tikki’s power? The new Ladybug holder should have de-akumatized the butterfly before it multiplied into countless other akumas, but I couldn’t tell her about that.”

You were so focused on making things perfect, you forgot the most important thing of all time. 

You look past the balcony fences. 

The city isn’t on fire, like how chaos is usually portrayed in most depictions. But some streetlight poles were bent, and some cars are still thrown upside down while the police and multiple citizens crowd over it with their cameras out. 

Your face just blanks out. “I forgot to remind her about the Miraculous Ladybug power too.” 

Great! 

You did not do anything correctly today. How wonderful is that?

“Well,” Anpu pauses, “Maybe… maybe we can tell her to do it tomorrow?” 

A scoff leaves your lips. “As if. She’ll probably be late for tomorrow’s battle. Right now, I’m sure Ladybug’s real identity is feeling guilty and panicked for making a mistake like this.” 

You don’t blame her; if you aren’t entirely all-knowing, you would have thought this would be the end of the world. After all, people are literally turning into stone beings around you, even if they’re currently frozen in place. Nobody knows when exactly they’ll move.

But you do. You have more time until Ivan, the owner of that akumatized butterfly, finally becomes Stoneheart again, and you don’t even know if Marinette will have the courage to solve it quickly this time around…

You let the thought marinate in your mind for a moment.

Then you shrug. “Oh well. Not my problem.” 

“What?!” Anpu covers his mouth as he peeks at Chloe inside the room. 

The girl hasn’t noticed a single thing yet, so he looks back at you and whispers sharply.

“But master, this is a really serious situation! What if the stone beings suddenly moved overnight—?!”

“It won’t. Trust me on that.” Your kwami looks worried but he does trust you, so you give him a reassuring smile to remove all doubts in him. “I told you before, didn’t I? Only Ladybug can de-akumatize the butterflies, and only the power of creation can fix all the damages you see her. Besides, if you really want to save the world, then you know the drill: let’s relax for today and—”

“—think our problems away,” Anpu finishes. He flashes you an understanding smile. “Alright. I trust you. I’ll relax and won’t think about any problems that will happen any time in the future!” 

“Oh no,” you deadpan. “I’m a bad holder for teaching you unhealthy coping mechanisms, am I?”

“Oh (Y/n)!” Chloe calls from behind you. “I found a perfect pair of jeans for this jewelry I got from Givenchy!” 

“Coming!” you call back, urging Anpu into your scarf and closing the balcony doors behind you.

You think of a lot of plans that night. Most of them involve cheering up Marinette because she definitely feels the biggest guilt and pressure out of everyone else in Paris.

Well—you aren’t part of those ‘everyone’. You don’t let yourself dwell on such frivolous things called panic and emotions. Maybe if you’re Phantom, you’ll be antsy as you were in that Stoneheart fight. But right now, you are the calm (Y/n). And the calm (Y/n) can think of great plans that will make things turn out for the better.

Then your parents decided to crush all those plans to the ground by driving you to the school themselves.

‘It’s because the route to the metro station are destroyed,’ they said. They probably just feel anxious at the thought of you leaving when literally everyone is turning into stone beings, but hey, at least you get a free ride today again.

Then the road your mother chose got hit with the biggest traffic of all time, and suddenly you aren’t having fun anymore. 

This is fine. Things will go well later on. That Miraculous Ladybug will happen before tomorrow even comes, this is fine.

After literally half an hour of sitting in traffic, you finally arrive in front of Françoise Dupont.

"Mom," you say as neutrally as possible, "I got it from here."

"You sure? I can talk to the principal for you if it gets too much—"

"No," you say, already halfway out the door. "Seriously. I’m fine. I’ll see you at our room later."

She hesitates, brows still knitted in that way parents do when they want to fuss. But finally, she pulls her hand away from the door and nods. “Alright. Be careful today too, honey. Please do not come home as a stone being.”

“I’ll try not to,” you say, giving her one last grin before walking towards the entrance of the school.

Well, you try to. 

When you notice how empty the usually bustling campus is, you realize how late you must be, so you immediately rush inside and up the stairs where Ms. Bustier’s class would be.

You almost drop dead in relief when you see that you aren’t entirely late. Ms. Bustier isn’t there just yet, but there is something else in the room which catches your attention.

“Hey! What are you doing?!” Marinette’s frustrated voice registers in your ears.

A stammering follows. “Oh- I, uh–”

And it’s a different voice. It isn’t a high, almost squeaky voice of a little boy anymore. Instead it sounded nasal and warm, almost like rich honey.

Chloe and Sabrina laugh in the background, but you could barely hear them from the amount of thumping your heart is doing in your chest. It even reached up to your ears, louder than your own adrenaline rush, but you try to shake it off and step towards Alya by the doorway.

“What’s happening?”

She turns your way and frowns. “Chloe.” 

A simple explanation. She doesn’t even need to elaborate on that, since you already know what this scene is.

“Okay, I get it you three,” Marinette frowns, glowering down at the blond boy that is kneeling right beside her chair. “Very funny.” 

The blond stands up immediately. “N-No! I was just- trying to take this off—” he tries.

“Oh really?” she challenges, glaring right at his face before turning away and kneeling in front of her chair. A stick of gum has been placed there, and when she’s about to scrunch her face and pick at it with her fingers—

“Marinette, wait!”

You lunge forward without thinking, slipping past Alya and ducking to Marinette’s side in one fluid movement. She blinks at you, surprised, but you don’t wait for her to speak.

“Let me,” you say simply, pulling out tissues from your bag and pressing it against the mess of chewed gum on top of her chair. “Don’t touch things with your hands like that. That’s unsanitary.”

Behind you, Chloe lets out a scandalized noise. “(Y/n)! What are you doing?!”

"Wait-" someone's voice hitches. "(Y/n)?"

You ignore them. Instead, you’re busying yourself by peeling off the gum, the tissue in your hand shielding you from the fateful encounter you have no choice but to have. 

You always knew this was going to happen. You’ve met the main character himself at a younger age and accepted it already. But now that you're here, and now that you’re sensing the way his feet seems to be stumbling on the floor, why do you feel so awkward? Why do you feel so many eyes on you? And why are you not enjoying the attention that you always seemed to enjoy back then?

“I’ll toss it,” Alya offers, taking the wad from your tissue with only slightly less disgust.

Marinette straightens up, flustered. “Oh—uh—thanks, you guys... you didn't have to do that...”

“I know,” you interrupt, standing up too and meeting her bluebell eyes. “But I didn’t want you to get it on your hands or clothes either. That would be annoying, wouldn’t it?”

She gives you a small smile, and for a moment, the tension breaks.

Then you turn.

And there he is.

Blond, face smooth and unblemished, the kind of handsome that you know wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t being taken care of so meticulously.

But it’s his eyes that never changed at all. Green like springtime, wide like he’s just seen a ghost. His mouth is slightly open, as if he's meant to breathe but forgot how. His hands are frozen at his sides, and his eyebrows are ever so slightly knit in disbelief.

Then you catch the little crinkle at the corner of his eyes. And the tiniest—just the tiniest—shine of glassiness in his stare.

Your heart does something weird. Like it trips over itself. You try to speak but the moment feels too fragile, like any sudden movement might scare him off.

“…Hey,” you manage.

Adrien lets out a creaking, almost broken sound from his throat. He doesn’t even register that he did that until you tilt your head and try to smile at him.

“I think he’s telling the truth,” you say to Marinette, not removing your gaze on your childhood friend.

She turns her head toward you slowly, blinking in surprise. “You do?”

“Yep,” you are fighting the urge to either cry or smile wide at the wave of emotions that are coming through the blond's face. “He was already trying to peel it off before we got here. I don’t think he meant any harm.”

It’s strange. You already know what the boy looks like, after literally seeing him everywhere on billboards and magazines. He's taller than what you remember of him now. Broader. His voice has changed. His posture has changed.

But none of that matters, not when he still looks at you like you have the stars in your eyes.

“Is that really you?” Adrien finally says, and it’s so quiet, you almost don’t catch it. His voice is hoarse, like it scraped against something on the way out of his throat. “Are you really...”

"(Y/n)?" you finish, giving him a wolfish grin. "In the flesh." 

The moment he sees that smile of yours, you could literally glimpse all the air that gets sucked out of his lungs. If you didn't know any better, you would have thought he got punched in the solar plexus, his diaphragm not able to catch its breath.

You step forward, hesitant at first, before giving in to the overwhelming urge to just do it. 

You're already here, why not just make it worse?

Without thinking any further, you reach out with both hands, one finding his shoulder, the other brushing the soft strands of blond from the side of his face. And then you lean in, pressing your cheek onto his, then the other.

La bise.

The kind of cheek kissing reserved for close friends. For family. For someone you haven’t seen in forever but never forgot.

“Salut, Adrien.” You pull away, still smiling as he turns incredibly still in your hands. “It’s been a while.”

There’s a pause. A long one.

Then—

The sound that escapes him is some strange mix of a hiccup and a sob, and your eyes widen as Adrien physically jolts.

“Oh no,” someone mutters behind Adrien. Definitely Nino.

“Adrikins and (Y/n)?” Chloe gasps, her voice laced with some kind of realization. “Wait- you two know each other?!” Her previous betrayal of you stepping in her prank for Marinette disappears as she claps her hands together and stands up. “Oh, this is so great! Two of my bestest of friends know each other already like we’re meant to be! In fact, this is the real reason why I even reserved you seats with me—?”

Alya steps in immediately, raising her arm and blocking the blonde from walking further. 

“Hey!” Chloe exclaims, annoyed. “What gives?” 

“Read the room, Chloe,” Alya says bluntly, her eyes darting between you and Adrien. Her eyes glint in mischief. “I so want to see what this is all about.” 

Adrien is still standing there stiffly even when you step back to give him his space. He lifts a hand to touch his cheek, mouth parted. Then it darts towards his mouth, his knuckles white from pressing it against his lips, and he stammers.

“I- sorry- um-” he looks around the room, the heat of his face pulling up to his cheek and making his eyes water.

"Are you... okay?" you try to offer.

His voice cracks halfway. “No.”

“Oh."

Adrien takes a few steps backward, then the back of his knees hit his chair and he falls down into it with a soft, surprised grunt. You instinctively try to reach for him but his face is redder than you've ever seen it, and his eyes are blown wide, like he's about to combust any second.

You pull back, not knowing what else to do, cause Nino is over there already placing a worried hand on Adrien's shoulder.

"Dude, that's rough," Nino says. He looks like he's stuck being amused by what's happening or be concerned at how flustered the blond was.

“Ugh,” Adrien mutters, turning away and burying his face in his folded arms. He groans something incoherent, then, for the first time since entering the classroom, a bright grin tugs at your lips.

Adrien still acts the same way when he’s overwhelmed by you. How cute.

“But like, are you really okay? Maybe you should go to the nurse's office for now,” Nino says beside the blond, brows furrowed in concern and confusion.

Adrien waves his hand in a jittery motion that isn’t convincing anyone. His head rises from his arms. “I’m fine, I’m- I just- I thought I was hallucinating. Cause I’ve had dreams about this happening for so long and when I do–”

Nino’s gaze slides your way. “Um.”

The blond realizes what he said too late. He doesn't look your way, but he ducks his face down his folded arms again, and a muffled ‘nevermind’ leaves his lips, his shoulders trembling.

You want to say more to the boy, maybe offer some consolation, but you haven’t even been talking to him for five minutes, and he’s already fallen apart.

Maybe you should save him the embarrassment for now. 

From behind you, you hear Marinette and Alya catching up on each other. The brown-haired girl is telling her how you’re the child of an artist, word for word from when you told her about it inside the stadium. Then it leads to them talking about Adrien Agreste being the son of Gabriel Agreste—Marinette’s favorite fashion designer. You don’t catch the rest of their conversation, but you do know they’ve now hypothesized your life and Adrien’s relationship with you, and for now, you’ll let them have that thrill of gossip. For now, that is.

Maybe giving Adrien a la bise is far too much, but you thought he’ll be able to handle it. Wasn’t he acting all high and mighty when he was Chat Noir and he met you as Phantom? 

Your superhero persona was his childhood hero, and he loved you even back then. So if he was able to be snarky with that identity, you thought he’d be the same with your real self too.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m his friend. Probably the only friend he had which isn’t Chloe herself. Of course he'll be flustered when he talks to me again.

Speaking of the girl, she’s now turning around to lean towards you when you sit down on your table.

“How long have you two know each other?” 

Sabrina does the same too. She nods, her gaze knit in pure astonishment and especially curiosity. “You were so close with him too, and wow, you two also looked pretty together like- like two models—”

“Sabrina!” Chloe reprimands.

“Sorry!” 

You sigh, smiling at Chloe and Sabrina. “That’s not something I can answer alone, can I?”

Chloe’s face brightens in realization. “I’ll have to ask Adrikins later too! Ugh, he’s not even looking my way even when I’m clearly tapping his shoulder. This is the worst.”

She drops her head on the edge of your table, and you look amused, before your lips pursed as you remember something. “Chloe.” 

She lifts her head and bats her eyelashes at you. “Yes, (Y/n)?” 

“I really didn’t like it when you placed that gum on Marinette’s chair.” 

Chloe blinks, her usual playful smirk faltering for a second, but then she scrunches her face in faux confusion. “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything like that.”

“Oh really?” You glance over at Sabrina, who’s suddenly very interested in her pencil case, not meeting anyone’s gaze. “Then why were you guys giggling loudly right in front of Marinette’s face when it happened?”

Chloe’s face tightens. “Ugh, fine, maybe I did it. But she deserves it. You should know by now that everyone needs to stay in their lane, and clearly, she isn’t.”

You shake your head, a soft sigh escaping your lips. “I like you, Chloe,” you say sincerely. She opens her mouth, probably to say of course you do, but you continue. “But I won’t stand by and let you mess with people just for the fun of it. I don’t like being friends with people who are being mean and petty on purpose.”

For a split second, the smile slips from her face, and her entire face drops. The usual fiery spark in her eyes dimmed, replaced with something close to... hesitation? 

But after a beat, she turns back around and crosses her arms, her lips still pursed like she’s pouting.

That’s that, then. Whether she thinks about your words or not, you’ll leave it up to her.

You try to get a glimpse of Adrien in his seat, but he’s talking to Nino with his head only turned sideways from his arms. And when you do catch him glancing from the corner of his eyes, he immediately turns away, covering his face away from you even more.

Chapter Text

Ms. Bustier skims through her list, “(L/n), (Y/n)?” 

You raise a hand, chin leaning on your propped palms. “Here.” 

When you drop it back on the table, your gaze automatically slides to the front row seat. It isn’t even on purpose, but your timing is perfect enough to catch Adrien glance past his shoulder, head raising up toward you. 

The moment his green eyes meet yours, he darts his head in front again, and you fight the urge to smile. 

“Agreste, Adrien?”

Silence.

Nino leans close to Adrien, whispering something. 

Adrien suddenly stands up with his hand raised, “Here—wait, no—present!”

The class laughs rambunctiously. Who the hell stands up when they’re doing casual roll calls with Ms. Bustier anyway? 

The boy obviously becomes more embarrassed, but at least he’s a good sport about it, brushing the laughter off with a shy chuckle as he sits back down. He even fist bumps Nino like he just did a great job, and well; he tried his best. That’s a good job on its own. 

You catch him stealing another glance at you, but this time, he stays looking. 

With a grin, you mouth teasingly, ‘Present’, making sure to elongate the ‘pre’ part of the word.

Adrien’s cheeks burst into a rosy color. He shows you an endeared smile, raising a hand into a timid wave.

Then the door explodes open and suddenly you remember that you can’t ever have a good time in this world at all. Never.

“PRESENT!” 

Stoneheart roars. He’s smaller than before, but he’s still taller than the entire room. He throws a couple of desks upside down, shouting “MYLENE!” at the top of his full-toned voice, looking for the girl in his own golem-y way.

Everyone starts screaming. Some of them runs out of the room, like Nino and Adrien who are the closest to it. While some stay at the back of the room in fear. 

You don’t need to do that though; the others might think the golem will hurt them, and maybe he will. But with the girl, whose dreadlock blond and rainbow colored hair are tucked under a pink bandana, in his hand, he doesn’t have any other target for now. 

“Let go of me, Ivan!” Mylene shouts in distress. 

“I’m not Ivan anymore; I’m Stoneheart!”

Someone tugs at your sleeves roughly, almost sending you flying out of your seat. “Hide!” 

You only get a glimpse of orange before you are tucked under a table in the back rows, crouched and away from Stoneheart’s gaze. 

In the background, you can hear Mylene ask why he’s doing this, and Stoneheart simply shouts: “So you and I can be together. Forever!”

How romantic… not. 

You feel your entire skeleton and nervous system shudder. If it were possible, you also would have gagged until Stoneheart himself gets distracted by your mockery, but someone else distracts him.

“Daddy! The monster is back!”

“Oh no,” you murmur. The person that tugged you here shushes you again as he peeks out of the table. No fair that he gets to look at the scene while you’re staying hiding here—

The sound of Chloe screaming in her delicate way, and Mylene’s sobs too, gets buried as you hear Stoneheart kick the wall and jump off with the two hostages in his hands.

You were not prepared to see your supposed ‘savior’ and his pair of turquoise eyes. 

“Nathaniel,” you breathe, surprised. 

He stands up from crouching in front of the table. Checking one more time around him, he holds out a hand to you. “Here,” he murmurs. 

You take his hand, and he helps pull you out from under the table—his grip surprisingly steady despite the panic still coursing through the classroom like a livewire.

“Thanks,” you say, brushing the dust from your clothes. He doesn’t let go right away. Instead, he stares at your face for a beat too long, eyes searching for something. You don't know what; you won't get hurt by Stoneheart anyway, not when he only has eyes on Mylene... and inevitably, Chloe.

Damnit. If only I wasn't late to class, maybe I could have distracted Chloe enough to not make fun of Ivan until she becomes a target for him as Stoneheart.

You’re glad that Chloe has a thick-head though. Even if all the possible akumatization that will happen this month is due to her personality, at least she doesn’t get utterly traumatized; that’s a good thing, but that doesn’t mean you still aren’t worried.

You only realize that Nathaniel is still holding your hand when everyone who stayed at the back of the room suddenly rushes to the huge hole by the wall. 

He also notices, so he pulls back immediately like your touch is fire. “S-sorry.” He rubs his palm against his jeans. “Didn’t mean to—uh—keep holding on.”

“It’s okay,” you smile, maybe a bit too friendly because he averts his gaze instantaneously. Ugh. Come on, (Y/n), no more charming people who clearly do not want to be charmed. “You helped me. Thank you.”

His eyes widen, gaze still staying down at the floor, but raising just enough to peek at you. “I’m… not sure if that counts as helping. I just panicked and dragged the closest person I saw.”

“Makes sense,” you say. No it doesn’t. He already ran to the back and he could have kept being there just like the others, but nah— 

“Marinette! (Y/n)!” 

You turn to see Alya standing right in front of the rupture on the wall, her eyes gleaming and her phone ready in her hand. 

“Come on!” she gestures, “Let’s follow ‘em!” 

Marinette, who is also hiding under a table, shakes her head vigorously. “Oh no! You go—you and (Y/n) can do whatever you want to do. I’m finding a safe place to hide.”

Alya purses her lips in indignation. “Girl, you’re going to miss Ladybug and Phantom in action!” 

“And also Chat Noir,” you add, stepping towards the brown-haired girl whose face lights up like she just remembered dessert was still on the table. 

“Right! Chat Noir too! Triple hero action—we have to go!”

Marinette gawks at you two, but from your point of view, she only seems to be staring at you, her eyes lighting up in realization. Before you can observe what exactly it is, she suddenly stands up and offers you Alya’s bag. “(Y/n)! Yes! You- you of all people and Ladybug would be better off without me!” 

Alya doesn’t even listen as she shrugs. “Your loss.” Then she runs out of the classroom, with some others in tow.

You blink at the blue-haired girl who shuts her eyes tight, awaiting for you to grab the bag.

So she’s still giving up her Ladybug Miraculous, huh? 

A small smile decorates your lips as you shake your head. “I don’t think so.”

Marinette lets out a confused sound. She opens her eyes to find you grabbing your bag on  your seat and getting ready to go outside. “C-can you at least take this to Alya? It’s her bag—” 

“Alya trusts you,” you interrupt. “And I do too. Maybe you should trust yourself a little more.”

Her eyes widen.

You don’t push. You can’t. You know if you say too much, she’ll suspect. And if she suspects—well, she’s not ready to know that you know. She’s barely holding on as it is.

“I’ll meet you after this chaos!” you add, swinging your bag over your shoulder. Then your gaze slides towards Nathaniel and nod. “You too. Get to safety when you can—”

“Are you really going – going out there? It’s dangerous,” he fusses. 

“Who says it isn’t dangerous here too?” You grin when his shoulders droop in realization. “Just get to safety, Nathan. If worse comes to worse, a superhero will save the day. Three might even do it. And then–” you pause, gaze softening. “Then… we can talk later?” 

Nathaniel meets your soft stare before averting it, unsure, but also convinced by something at the same time.

You give them one last look and finally step away.

Behind you, Marinette stares at the bag in her hands like it might burst into flames.

You didn’t lie. Alya does trust her. And so do you.

You trust her to stand up, even when she’s trembling. You trust her to pick the Miraculous back up, even when she’s convinced she’s not worthy of it. Most of all, you trust her to make the choice on her own—not because someone else took the weight from her, but because she decided to keep carrying it.

Still, you drag your feet slower as you exit, in case she follows. And she does—after a heartbeat, after a breath that sounds almost like a sob swallowed down. 

You pretend not to notice when she slips Alya’s bag back onto her shoulder and walks slower than usual.

“Master! Do not forget to tell Tikki’s holder to de… de-aku..”

“De-akumatize,” you finish for your kwami. He nods vigorously. “Yeah, yeah. I know what to do now.”

“Also to fix the mess!” He motions to the hole by your classroom’s wall. You open your mouth to reply the same reassurance again, but then Chloe’s cries cuts through the air.

“Maaaaybe we should talk later instead.” 

Hiding yourself in one of the alleyways between tall buildings, you hold your amulet to your chest and exclaim:

“Anpu, lead on!” 

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with,” Chloe huffs. She’s tired of screaming like a damsel in distress, so now she’s all huffing and puffing, making herself comfortable on her spot. “My daddy, the mayor, will bring in the police, the army, the entire cavalry!” 

“And don’t forget the superhero!” 

From behind them, a familiar catboy superhero jumps into the air and slams his weapon down the stone golem.

Chat Noir’s smile freezes when the stone golem absorbs that hit, turning itself bigger than before. “Oh no. My bad!” 

Chloe scoffs. “Super-incompetent, you mean.” 

Stoneheart lets out a sound that’s either a laugh or a huff of annoyance. “You wanted the cavalry? Well here—” then he pauses. Long enough for Chat Noir to notice the frustrated growl that the stone golem lets out.

“What’s it doing?” Chat Noir muses, suspicious.

“Talking to its owner, that is!” 

He turns to the side where you suddenly jump down into, rolling on the ground and standing upright beside him. “Good to see you didn’t chicken out for today too,” he says.

“The existence of your word ‘too’ implies I chickened out before.” You twirl your scythes in your hands and place one of them over your shoulder, glancing at him. “Can you give me a single instance where that’s ever happened?”

Chat Noir straightens up and tucks his chin between his gloved fingers. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe seven years ago,” he spits out, “when you suddenly disappeared from Paris?”

You open your mouth to retort, but Chloe’s familiar cry stops you. “Phantom! Oh please be more competent than the mangy alleycat! Even if you have the tendency to be a ghost, at least you’re not completely useless!”

You glance her way, blinking under your mask. “She does remember we're here to save her even if she doesn’t scream that, right?”

Chat Noir shrugs. “Selective memory. Comes and goes.”

“Like your charm,” you say dryly, and his offended gasp almost makes you laugh.

“I’ll have you know—!”

Stoneheart stomps forward again. “Phantom!” 

You and Chat Noir both instinctively brace, stepping back in sync. “Yes?” you tut, blinking when the stone golem suddenly focuses on you. 

“Prepare to meet the cavalry!” 

The ground trembles.

You feel it before you hear it—distant thuds, steady and growing, like the heartbeat of something ancient coming awake. 

Both you and Chat Noir turn to the side, and suddenly you can see, one after another, towering stone golems running from every direction. From the edges of buildings, from the streets, even from the Seine's embankment.

You spin one of your scythes in your hand, eyes narrowing. “Oh. That cavalry with the stonefied people.”

“Uh…” Chat Noir shifts beside you, posture tense. “This isn’t looking like a fair fight anymore.”

“Nope,” you agree, your gaze sweeping everywhere to check for civilians. And there were some, hiding behind cars, screaming as they dart inside their own houses. 

Chat grips his baton tighter. “I’ll take left, you take right—”

“No!” Stoneheart’s voice booms across the clearing. His massive arm slams down between the two of you, cracking the pavement and sending you both flying in opposite directions.

You land in a rough skid but recover quickly. Chat, however, crashes into a broken wall across the plaza.

“Chat!” you call, turning to rush to him—

Only to be cut off by another stone golem slamming down in front of you. Then another behind. Then three more, boxing you in like an animal in a cage.

“I said…” Stoneheart growls as he steps forward, taller than a city bus and thrumming with energy, “…Phantom meets the cavalry! Only Phantom!”

Your brows shoot up at that. “What? What’s this?” you murmur, heart pounding but voice steady. “Revenge? A welcoming party?”

“An invitation,” Stoneheart replies. You have a feeling it isn’t him who’s talking anymore. “To despair. Be hurt!”

The golems start to circle you, stone hands slamming down from all the places you’ve been standing before. If you aren’t agile in your feet, you would have been a crushed human body underneath all that strength. You can’t even fight back, lest they absorb your scythe’s strength and turn even bigger than what they currently are.

“And you said I’m his target before!” Chat Noir shouts from behind all the stone giants. “Then why is he isolating you, huh?!”

You can see him through the gaps—he’s trying to leap toward you, but more golems cut him off, so he flips backward and tries another angle, but each time, they block him.

“Is this the time to be petty, kittycat?!” You slide under one of the golem’s legs, watching two of them collide with each other at your movement. “Take all the civilians to safety and then go to the Eiffel Tower to follow Stoneheart! I’ll redirect all of these golems and lead them that way too!”

Chat Noir hesitates, and that moment of hesitation nearly costs him. One of the stone golems swings a massive arm, but he vaults over it with practiced agility, teeth gritted.

“You better not get flattened!” he yells back, forced to retreat as more golems continue to pour in from the streets.

“I won’t!” you shout, ducking behind a lamppost that’s immediately snapped in half by a golem’s fist. You huff, darting out just as the rubble crashes beside you. “At least he’s concerned about me.”

From where you stand, the entire street looks like something out of a myth—an army of stone giants, stomping with singular purpose, every one of them with their glowing yellow eyes fixed solely on you. Not a single one chases Chat Noir. Not a single one turns to civilians. It’s all you.

Your hands tighten around your scythes, knuckles going white. 

So Gabriel really remembers you, huh? How terribly sweet of him to greet you again with this rocky situation.

You spin your scythes again, flinging one into a golem’s shoulder—but not with enough strength to get absorbed. It ricochets off, and you catch it mid-air as you twist into a wall run, using momentum to parkour onto a rooftop. The golems follow, crawling like grotesque spiders up buildings, jumping over rooftops to keep pace.

Below, civilians scream, but you can hear Chat’s voice echoing out, directing them. Guiding them to safety. He’s got it handled.

Good.

Because now you can focus.

Jumping off the rooftop, one golem lunges after you a bit too far. You duck, and its own momentum sends it crashing into another one. For a moment, it gives you just enough time to vault through the gap and sprint across a narrow steel beam above the street.

But the sound follows you: the rhythmic boom-boom-boom of their pursuit.

Then you jump again—one rooftop to another—and lead the army of stone away from the city center, away from civilians, but towards the place where you know Ladybug and Chat Noir would be waiting.

Before you turn the corner, another stone golem leaps in front of you, blocking your path.

You don’t have time to react before something whips through the air—faster than the eye can follow. A rope-like thread tightens around your ankle, and with a surprised shout from your throat, it tugs you upside down away from the golems that jumped on your previous location like they’re all preparing to dogpile.

“Sorry I’m late!” 

Crouching atop a streetlight is Ladybug. Her yo-yo string tightens on your ankle as she skillfully pulls you upward, letting you swing like a pendulum right beneath her.

A half-smile crosses your face despite the danger. "Better late than never, I suppose."

Ladybug’s lips twitch upward in a small, determined smile. "Just hold on, Phantom. We’re getting you out of here."

Your eyes widen. “Wait wait wait—!”

But she already leaps away from the streetlight and towards the nearby rooftop. And with your ankle still caught by her string, you are unfortunately swinging into the air. 

But right before the rooftop greets your body, Ladybug’s yo-yo string unwraps itself from you. You take that as the chance to land yourself properly on the ground, and with barely a stumble or two, you continue running beside her.

“Chat Noir’s evacuating the civilians,” you notify her as she opens one side of her yo-yo like it’s a flip phone. “I told him to go straight to Stoneheart in—”

“The Eiffel Tower, I know.” She closes her yo-yo again and pulls her arm back before throwing it forward. “I’ll try to go there fast! You should follow suit so we can get Stoneheart’s akuma together!” 

“No.” 

Ladybug stumbles on her feet, snapping her head your way in confusion.

You slow down beside her, jogging until you can meet her eyes underneath that red and black mask. “Hawk Moth told all the stone golems to either hurt me or capture me. If I have to go to the Eiffel Tower, it’ll be to group them all up while I leave you guys to do your thing.”

“Hawk Moth?” Ladybug repeats. 

You almost winced. What a rookie mistake, damnit.

Every time—every time you are Phantom, you just end up making blatant and inexperienced mistakes as if you haven’t been doing this for years already. 

“The guy who controls Stoneheart.” But you already said it. Doubling back can only make you more suspicious. “He’s definitely after yours and Chat Noir’s miraculous, and you cannot let him get that. Ever.” 

Ladybug snaps her hand to her earrings, eyes widening.

“Now go!” You split away from her, running full speed to another rooftop. “Save Paris for me, Ladybug!” 

You’re gone before Ladybug can say anything else.

Save Paris for me, Ladybug! 

“Phantom…” she murmurs, clutching her chest as a fluttering ache pulls at her heart. 

She wants to chase after you. Ask why you have so much trust in her, when she’s just a rookie. When clearly, you are more capable than she could ever be, and she could never surmount to the expectations you have of her.

But she can’t ask that now, not when you just disappear from her sight.

“Save Paris…” she stays still only for a heartbeat longer, her yo-yo slack in her hand.

Ladybug remembers the posters on her childhood bedroom wall; the blurry street photo captures that people sell on the streets, the magazine covers her parents entertained her by buying it for her. The evidence that you, Paris first mysterious protector, existed—

To a young girl who felt small and awkward and full of mistakes, you were a ghostly figure of hope.

And now you're here. Real. Standing beside her. Fighting in the same battle.

Trusting her.

“Alright, Phantom,” she whispers under her breath, straightening with resolve. “I’ll save Paris. For you. For everyone.”

You are not having a great time.

Sure, these stone golems are actually so easy to dodge, especially when they’re all stupid and slower than Stoneheart. But their massive numbers and huge intake of space makes them all annoying. 

You even almost stepped on dog poop trying to escape them. (Why the hell is there  poop on somebody’s rooftop anyway?!)

Thankfully, you had the messiest idea of using the awnings to your advantage.

With a running leap, you launch yourself over to a line of striped canvas awnings stretched out beneath a row of apartment windows. The fabric groans beneath your weight, but it does the trick when you kick it down the ground. 

The fabric flaps free just as the golems lunge after you.

Three of them tumble into each other and collapse like bowling pins, slamming into the alley below and piling into a tangled heap of limbs and stone shards.

“Not so tough when you’re tripping over each other, huh?” you mutter, vaulting off the end of the awning and landing with a clatter on a nearby fire escape. You scale the ladder in two bounds and spring to the rooftop just as a golem’s arm smashes the railing behind you.

One leaps after you, and with a swing of your scythe, you hook a broken antenna and pull it down in front of the golem’s path. It crashes face-first into the rusted metal, stumbles, and falls backward into another golem trying to climb up behind it.

Two down.

“C’mon, c’mon,” you mutter, weaving through chimneys and satellite dishes. You spot your target: a narrow alleyway between two buildings, just wide enough for one golem at a time. Perfect.

You dive into it like a bat out of hell, knowing the rest will follow.

And they do.

Loud. Predictable. Stupid.

One by one, they funnel into the narrow passage behind you. You twist and turn through it like you know every corner (you kinda do), leaving behind traps: tossed trash bins, a clothesline you slice and tangle, a loose metal pipe you jam between two dumpsters that catches at least two golems in a domino stumble.

You reach the end of the alley and pull yourself onto another rooftop with your scythe’s handle, sweat dripping down your neck.

Then you hear it—the crunching, grumbling chaos of all those stone giants crammed into one tight space, limbs jamming into each other, heads smacking walls, too wide to move properly, too strong to care that they’re crushing each other in the process.

It’s the stupidest thing you’ve ever seen.

You kind of love it.

“Okay,” you huff, brushing dust off your coat, “I think this is a sign for me to join the main characters now.”

Without hesitation, you throw one of your scythe and let it pull you upward, towards the heart of the action: under the Eiffel Tower.

“I demand my daughter’s safe return!” The mayor shouts through a megaphone angrily.

The line of police cars and helicopter blades whirring above only add to the chaos echoing through the Parisian skyline.

Crowds have gathered behind the barricades. The camera crews are already rolling. Reporters huddle somewhere near the Eiffel Tower, whispering too loud into their microphones as they filmed the appearance of Ladybug and Chat Noir, two of the supposed-heroes who should have finished this off yesterday, but there they are, watching the chaos alongside everyone else too.

Stoneheart, gripping Chloe and Mylene on both hands, stands on the first floor of the Eiffel Tower.

“Daddy!” Chloe cries. But that only makes Stoneheart raise her to his eyes.

“You know what?” Stoneheart pulls his arm back. “You’re welcome to her!”

Then he throws her as hard as he could, sending her flying like a ragdoll into the air. The mayor drops the megaphone and screams in horror, just like how his daughter is screaming too.

Chloe clasps her hands together hastily. “Help! I promise I’ll be nice to everyone I’ll say please and thank you and I’ll—”

Ladybug slides in her knees and grabs Chloe just in time before she splatters into the ground.

Silence.

Chloe stares. The superhero also stares back. 

Then after a moment or two, the blonde says, “I didn’t promise.” 

Ladybug blinks. “What?” 

“My little princess!” 

Just like that, the reunion between father and daughter happens just the same as it did in the series. You could almost sit back and watch it all happen again, but the stupid police trope also seems to happen at the same time, because Sabrina’s father points towards Stoneheart and shouts,

“We’re clear to attack!” 

“Really?” Your voice makes him yelp. When he turns to the side, you are standing right beside him on top of the police car, your arms crossed, foot tapping irritatedly. “Might I remind you that there is still another hostage between the enemy’s hand, and you still want to attack?”

Lieutenant Roger clears his throat with his non-injured hand. He has a splint on the other, but he uses it anyway to point at you accusingly. “All the important hostages has been secured. So now, you better not interrupt us like you did in the past, Phantom, and leave it to—”

“Hostage,” you correct.

He blinks. 

“Only one hostage has been secured.”

“That—”

“Stop it! Don’t point your firearms at Stoneheart!” you hear Ladybug try to placate the other officers and soldiers nearby. “You’ll only make it worse!” 

Roger looks at you then at Ladybug, and he seems to have decided who’s worth more his time to scold since he turns towards the red and black superhero and points at her instead. “Move aside! Unlike you three, I have a new plan worthy of being a professional!” 

If professional means being stupid enough to shoot at a stone golem that absorbs all force and impact, then sure. You’ll have to agree with him there.

Resisting to roll your eyes, you leap off the police car and jog towards Ladybug and Chat Noir.

“He’s right, you know,” Ladybug murmurs to Chat Noir. She’s trying her best to face away from you. “If I’d captured Stoneheart’s akuma the first time around, none of this would have ever happened.” She covers her eyes and sighs. “I knew I wasn’t the right one for this job.” 

You glance at Chat Noir, watching the way emotions shift across his face. 

Okay, this part is your favorite in this episode. Chat Noir places a hand on Ladybug’s shoulder, he says ‘No, he’s wrong,’ and then brings her back the confidence she needs to save the day because yeah, she saved Chloe. And yes, she will save Paris too. 

It’s such an endearing scene that you really don’t want to interrupt when it happens, at all.

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

You blink when Chat Noir places a hand on Ladybug’s hair instead. He looks at her surprised gaze, smiles in a soft way, then gently pats her head with a hum.

“Making mistakes is how we grow, Bug. We can still save the day even after making one,” he says, voice smooth but reassuring. His eyes linger on Ladybug, but there’s something deeper there—something that almost feels familiar to you.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "I messed up a little."

"Nothing's wrong about that." You push one finger into a random black key, which makes a terrible sound while Adrien slows his playing to glance at you, startled. “See? You can still play something even after making one mistake.”

Your heart flutters at the memory. He still remembers that?

Right beside you, Ladybug’s shoulders slump. For the briefest moment, she looks like a teenager just as lost as anyone else. But she doesn’t let it linger, forcing a smile and looking at you two with more resolve.

“Yeah, you’re right. We’ll just have to fix this.” She pauses. “Together.”

Before any of you can give her the same smile back, Stoneheart suddenly retches. You all turn, watching him cough and choke on air, until he falls back with a groan, and a swarm of dark purple butterflies comes out of his mouth. 

The butterflies compress together until they form a face, swirling into the grim visage of a man. 

“People of Paris. Listen carefully.”

His voice booms unnaturally loud, echoing through the air like the toll of a cathedral bell.

“I am Hawk Moth.”

“Hawk Moth?” Chat Noir repeats, confused. While Ladybug turns your way with her mouth parted wide.

You place a finger on top of your lips. She clamps her own shut, turning to look back at the butterfly message.

“Ladybug. Chat Noir. Give me the ladybug earrings and the cat ring now. You’ve done enough damage to these innocent people.”

He pauses—for dramatic effect, of course. You can practically hear the self-satisfaction behind his words. But just when you think he's done posturing, the cloud of butterflies stirs again.

“And Phantom.”

You tense up. Another special mention?!

“You’ve made a mistake returning to Paris.” He sounds angry now. No more mockery. Just fury beneath tight control. “You should have stayed gone,” he hisses. “Because now, I will not rest until I pry the truth from you—who you are, what you’re hiding, and why you, of all people, keep getting in my way.”

A dark pause.

“By the time I’m done, Phantom… you’ll wish I only wanted your Miraculous.”

“Goddamn,” you breathe, shuddering. Turning to Ladybug who should have already interrupted the villain by now, you say,  “Is nobody going to stop him? Should I go up there and do it myself?”

“He’s a butterfly,” Chat Noir points out with a shrug. 

“That’s the point. We can just swat him away and then his threats will be gone.” 

Before Chat Noir could respond, Ladybug steps forward with a determined frown. “Nice try, Hawk Moth! But we know who the real bad guy is."

All eyes swing to her—reporters, officers, citizens, and most specifically yours and Chat Noir’s. The swirling purple cloud of butterflies flickers as if affronted by her defiance.

"You say we've done enough damage?" Ladybug continues, stepping forward again. "You're the one who started this! You're the one who turned people into these villains. And you dare call us the problem?"

Her words land with weight. Even the wind seems to hush as she stares up at the Eiffel Tower.

"These people aren’t your pawns, neither are we. And no matter how long it takes, we will find you.” She points at him and smiles smugly. “And you will hand us your miraculous instead!"

And with that, she runs.

Her yo-yo whips out with a zing, catching one of the iron railings near the midsection of the Eiffel Tower. The moment it catches, she launches herself up with a speed that makes the watching crowd gasp.

Like a red comet, Ladybug descends towards the Hawk Moth visage and starts swinging her yo-yo back and forth. 

The cloud of butterflies begins to ripple, spiraling tighter. At the same time, Hawk Moth shouts in pain; now that you think about it, does he have some kind of telepathic connection to the butterflies? Or is he just a melodramatic bit—

“Let me make this promise to you!” 

Ladybug turns toward the shocked civilians who are watching her below. With her arms spreading wide, she breathes in and declares, “No matter who wants to harm you, Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Phantom—all three of your superheroes of Paris will do everything in our powers to keep you safe!"

The helicopters try to fly closer to her, but Ladybug opens her yo-yo right at the same time and throws it up in the air, releasing a swarm of white butterflies that sends out a huge gust of fresh wind.

Everyone cheered at her speech, even the police who were against her earlier, and the mayor who carries Chloe behind his back in happiness. 

The amount of joy in the air softens your heart. It’s so easy to discard this moment if you are just watching it in front of a screen, but with you standing at the heart of it, you can almost understand everyone’s reaction. Especially Chat Noir, who stares up at Ladybug with wide eyes and parted mouth.

“Huh,” he murmurs. 

You nudge him out of his reverie. “In love, loverboy?”

Instead of giving you a snarky reply like usual, he stares at you, then back at Ladybug. You could see his pupils dilate into big circles as a droopy smile decorates his lips. “Only for someone special.” 

Now that familiar smile is definitely for her, which you already knew will happen someday.  

But for some reason it burns in your chest. You don’t name it. You don’t even allow yourself to acknowledge it, but God, do you feel it sitting like stone in your stomach, heavy and awful, as you watch him stare up at Ladybug like she painted the sky just for him. 

Chat Noir is soft in a way you’ve never seen before. The kind of soft people write poetry about. And you, you’re just standing there—

“You coming?” Chat Noir prompts. He’s already ahead of you a couple of steps forward. 

—And you’re here to help them save the day. Not to feel whatever this is. 

“Of course,” you step on your churning emotions again, grinning brightly. “I can’t have you two taking all of the spotlight now, can I?”

Maybe you’re just possessive. After seven years of not seeing your childhood friend anymore, of course you’d feel a sense of longing to keep your arms around him. 

But that kind of thinking was the reason why you left in the first place. You can’t do that to Adrien, to Chat Noir.

And if everything goes the way it was supposed to, then you’ll do exactly what you’ve always done in the past: keep things simple, and only interfere when things become worse.

“Race you there!” Chat Noir calls before running up the Eiffel Tower.

Like clockwork, you brush off your thoughts and throw your scythe forward.

Chapter Text

“Help me!”

You hear Mylene shout right as you jump in front of Stoneheart on the first floor of the Eiffel Tower. Chat Noir leaps beside you, then Ladybug on the other side. 

Stoneheart raises the hand with Mylene in it and growls. “You will never take Mylene away from me!” 

He leaps to the steel of the tower. The strength of his jump causes you and the other two to fall on the floor.

“Come to me, my stone beings!” Stoneheart roars before climbing higher. And he only did that using one available arm. You know he's technically magic and he's a supervillain now, but doing something like that with only one arm is pretty impressive, especially for a stone golem who should be heavier than a simple boulder.

From beside you, Chat Noir runs to the edge of the steel fence, looks down, and gawks. “We’re surrounded!” He turns to you and Ladybug. “What do we do now? We can’t attack him recklessly!” 

“We can’t,” you repeat. “But if you guys need one more distraction, I can do what I did earlier and let the stone golems come after me—”

“No,” Ladybug says hastily. “We already know where the akuma is. If we could just get Stoneheart himself, then we don’t need to worry about the stone golems anymore.” 

That’s pretty much the plan in the original series. You only suggested the decoy tactic since you know Hawk Moth must have ordered Stoneheart to overwhelm and isolate you with the stone golems, and it would have been a waste of opportunity to not take advantage of that information. But with how adamant Ladybug is, you have a feeling she doesn't want to use that kind of opportunity at all. 

“It’s in his clenched fist again, right?” Chat Noir looks at the climbing Stoneheart. “The one he’s holding Mylene with. So…”

“So we know he’s in love with her,” Ladybug murmurs. Then her eyes widen in realization. “That’s it! We don’t separate Stoneheart and Mylene; we bring them closer together! They’re made for one another- it’s just that they don’t know it yet!”

“I don’t think that’s how things work—” but before you could finish, Ladybug is already running and swinging her yo-yo upwards, pulling herself to the top of the tower. 

Chat Noir turns to you with a resigned smile. “If that’s what the leader says, then guess it’s what we’ll do now.”

“The leader,” you repeat. You don’t know whether to feel amused or exasperated. “You actually want to be the follower this time around?”

He smirks, resting his baton across his shoulders as he leans back dramatically. “Well, technically I still think you two would make excellent sidekicks—”

A loud clang echoes above as Stoneheart scales another level, and Ladybug continues her way up the tower

“—but I’m not above letting the spotlight shine elsewhere once in a while!” he adds before quickly jumping on the steel and following the chaos on the top.

You let out a tired sigh, your entire body drooping. You’ve been running around for a long time already, and it seems like you have no choice but to do another round of chicken and mouse today.

“Alright,” you mutter under your breath, “last lap.”

With a leap of courage, you jump out of the Eiffel Tower and throw your scythes behind you. They catch on a nearby steel, locking tight with a loud metallic clang. You let your body magnetize back to your scythes handles, swinging upwards until you arch up in the air, sheathing your weapons on your back and backflipping off a stone golem that had reached the top floor of the tower. 

“Any time now!” Chat Noir shouts, kicking a stone golem’s fist away from him. You jump down beside him, grabbing one scythe behind you and hooking the blade onto his belt. He yelps as you pull him back just in time before the golem’s second punch lands. The impact shakes the floor, a loud boom echoing through the tower’s frame.

Chat Noir stumbles against you, barely catching his footing. “Huh." He stares for a moment, before glancing behind him. "For someone who’s always been alone for years, you seem to be pretty good at working on teams.”

You release his belt by rotating your scythe in your hands. “Is that a compliment—”

He steps away with a hand raised.  “Ask before you grab me next time though. I know I’m charming, but try to resist.”

Your brows twitch.

This guy can’t be serious. “You were literally about to get smashed into the ground.”

“Still. I have boundaries!” Then he grabs over a protruding steel and swings himself away from the other stone golems.

You don’t even know whether to be proud of him remembering his boundaries or utterly annoyed at how he suddenly sprang that up here. Who in the world asks to touch someone before helping them out in a life or death situation anyway? That’s like asking for permission to CPR when the other person is already choking to death or something.

But there’s no time to dwell on it. You vault over the middle beam of the tower, pulling yourself to the top. Ladybug is standing right at the summit. You grasp onto the edge, hanging back just underneath the peak while she tosses her lucky charm into the air. 

“A parachute?” She whirls around until she glances down at you, seeing you looking up at her with a tilt of your head. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

You smile in response. "I think only you will know the answer to that."

“Would it be possible to hurry up a bit, Ladybug?!” you hear Chat Noir below. “I’m kinda in a pinch here!” 

Ladybug looks around in thought, but you clear your throat and ready your fingers to let go of the beams. “Alright, I'm just here to remind you that once you break Stoneheart’s akumatized item, he’ll turn back to normal. Which means, he and Mylene-” you motion down to the climbing stone golem, with Mylene still waving her arms in panic, “will end up de-transforming into their normal selves again. That means they'll inevitably be falling down the ground, and we need to save them from that.”

Ladybug’s eyes widen. “Right. Right!”

You aren’t going to make the same mistake twice; you already failed to tell her what will happen if she forgot to de-akumatize the butterfly, so now that you’ve finished telling her what happens after breaking the akumatized item, then it’s time for you to come back down. Chat Noir looks like he needs help from those other stone golems anyway, and as much as he is unbearable when he’s talking to you, he needs your help too.

Without warning, Ladybug spins around, flinging the parachute in your direction.

“Catch, Phantom!”

You barely have time to lift your hands when the bundle slams into your head, and instinct kicks in—you grab it before it falls, right at the same time as your fingers loosen on the tower’s bars.

“What?!” you blink, holding the parachute in disbelief. “Wait—!”

Too late. Ladybug is already gone, swinging herself at the highest peak of the tower with no hesitation, no explanation. You barely have time to yell after her, let alone argue, so you're just looking up at her with your mouth wide open, holding a parachute you didn’t ask for while she’s already setting the craziest part of her plan into motion.

“Ugh!" Your entire body wants to give up already. "I’m not supposed to be the one doing this!” Still, you climb up on the summit where Ladybug once stood. You perch on your ankles, tying the parachute around your torso.

Above you, Ladybug lashes her yo-yo outward, the wire snapping around Stoneheart’s wrist, specifically, the one clutching Mylene. 

“His hand!” Ladybug instructs both you and Chat Noir. “Get ready!”

Then with multiple strong yanks, she pulls his hand directly to his face, until Mylene crashes lips-first into Stoneheart’s lips.

Stoneheart jolts, confusion rippling across his stone features. A spark of emotion. Recognition. Embarrassed clarity.

Then his grip opens.

“Now!” Ladybug shouts.

You dive off the beam without hesitation, angling yourself toward Mylene as she plummets. You catch her mid-fall with a grunt, yanking the parachute cord just in time. The wind roars in your ears as the canopy bursts open above you, jerking your descent into a controlled glide.

Above, you catch a glimpse of Chat Noir jumping down to follow the falling crumpled paper, swinging his entire body to hit it with his baton until it's thrown up to the peak where Ladybug grasps it in her hand. 

“Home run!” She cheers. With a clench of her fist, the butterfly flies out of the paper, but she opens her yo-yo this time around and swings it like a glowing pendulum. “No more evil-doing for you, little akuma.”

Right at the same time, Stoneheart’s form disintegrates, until the real Ivan is stuck suspended in the air. He yells in fear before falling to his demise, but Chat Noir slides down the edge of the tower and uses his Cataclysm to disturb the structure, letting a steel pole extend far enough for him to catch Ivan’s shirt before he could plummet further.

“Time to de-evilize!”

You land softly on the ground, Mylene still in your arms, her shocked expression slowly softening. She blinks up at you, her confusion turning into relief. "Th-thank you!" she stammers, cheeks pink with embarrassment.

Lowering her to the ground, you smile. "It’s nothing much," you say, shrugging off the parachute from your body. 

You look up, spotting Chat Noir who is helping Ivan balance his way towards the first floor of the Eiffel Tower, and Ladybug who leaps down beside you with a clumsy yelp.

When she turns your way, you hold out the parachute and smile. “I think you know what to do, right?”

Ladybug blinks before giggling. She reaches for the red and black dotted parachute, and with the widest triumphant smile, she throws it in the air. 

“Miraculous Ladybug!”

Just like that, swirls of pink and red sparkles fly across the air. Everything that had been broken by the stone golems reforms with a soft shimmer; the buildings from yesterday’s fiasco, the cars that had been blocking off the roads, the people who had been transformed into stone golems, and especially the chaos you caused in the streets with your awnings and fabric ideas.

You already expected this power, but seeing it in real life feels different. You can’t help but feel a sense of awe as everything repairs itself in the blink of an eye. It’s as though the world itself is taking a deep breath and resetting. As if Ladybug’s power had the ability to rewrite reality itself.

“Well isn’t that overpowered?” you joke, but Ladybug is also gawking at her own powers. 

“Woah,” you hear Chat Noir come up behind you, carrying Ivan on his shoulder as he looks around the place. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yeah,” Ladybug breathes, her eyes sparkling in the same way as her powers are. “It’s beautiful. It’s amazing. It’s…” 

She spreads her arms and grins.

“It’s a miraculous!” 

‘Overpowered’ is such an understatement to describe Ladybug’s power. She literally brought everything back to the same way it did before the attack, which meant the people who had injuries because of Stoneheart had their wounds healed already. 

That sounds nice and all, but this kind of peace almost makes everything feel like nothing happened. 

The victim, Ivan himself, doesn’t seem to remember things either. Ladybug gave him enough push to confess to Mylene properly this time—and by proper, you mean having the ability to express his feelings without Mylene running away and causing misunderstandings because of it. Cause almost everyone knows how much this show loves those misunderstandings.

“Aww, they’re so made for each other,” Ladybug coos when Mylene hugs Ivan.

“I’m not sure relationships can be that simple,” you say, voice light. “But if they can make it work, then maybe they’re really meant to be.”

“Such a cynic, aren’t you?” Chat Noir huffs. 

Before you could retort, he’s already pivoting behind and inserting himself between you and Ladybug. 

“What I think, though,” Chat Noir says, leaning toward Ladybug with a smirk, “is that we make a pretty good team. Don’t you think so too, Bugaboo?” 

When he offers her a hand, she grasps his wrist and gasps mockingly. “Oh no! Do you hear that?”

There’s a sudden beeping sound from his ring and her earrings.

“Time’s split. Sorry, Chat Noir. I’ll leave you two to work things out here in the meantime!”

Before Chat Noir can even process the sudden shift, Ladybug dashes off, her form leaping into the air with her yo-yo. 

Chat Noir stares at the space where she was a moment ago, his eyes wide with surprise.

You pivot on your heels and lean to Chat Noir, “What I think, though," you purr mockingly, "is that we make a pretty good team. Don’t you think so too, Bugaboo~?” 

Then you burst out in loud laughter.

Chat Noir is unamused. “You think you’re so funny, huh?” 

"I don’t think it,” you wipe your teary eyes and grin. “I know it.” 

Then you let out another laugh until Chat Noir rolls his eyes, spins on his heel, and leaps away from you.

“What- hey!” You straighten up in surprise. “Don’t leave me alone! Unlike you two, I didn’t use my powers just yet!” 

“Then enjoy your unlimited time by making fun of me in front of the cameras!”

“The cameras?” You repeat incredulously, watching Chat Noir leave.

You soon find out what exactly he’s talking about when a bright flash of light blinds you for a split second, followed by the unmistakable sound of somebody shouting your name.

“Oh hell no.”

Before anyone can catch up to you, you throw your scythe as far away as you could and pull yourself out of the forming crowd.

It’ll be fine; the perks of being Phantom is that: Paris already knows you as their hero who’s shy from the cameras anyway. You won’t mind keeping that reputation still, especially now when there’s two other heroes who will be able to take the attention away from you too.

Remember how Ladybug’s power is strong enough to cause an entire city to be rebuilt again?

Well, apparently everyone also noticed that fact, which is why the Mayor announced that everything should be able to go back to normal too. 

By everything, he meant going back to work and finishing the rest of the school for students.

“This is a terrible world we live in, Anpu,” you grumble under your scarf. 

Your entire body is so tired from all the running around. You are even hungry, which doesn’t help in making you ignore the scent of a croque monsieur wafting on your scarf as Anpu devours your sandwich inside in two bites.

“I think it’s a wonderful world, master,” Anpu contradicts.

“You think that because you took my sandwich from me.” 

Anpu fixes the inside of your scarf so he has a pillow. “Because you know that a kwami like me needs to recharge!” 

He doesn’t need to recharge. You didn’t even use up his entire power today, unlike the way you did yesterday.

But when your kwami lies down by your neck, he is already snoring. You can’t go back home after a chaotic day, can’t eat your food, and now you can’t even rant to your flying friend about the injustices of this world. Great! You really have a wonderful day today!

You feel a vibration in your pocket, and when you take it out—

“Are you okay? We saw the news!” your mom says, her voice shrill with panic. “There was another attack! Again! Honestly, what is going on with Paris? Right after we came back, supervillains suddenly flood the streets and–”

“—and multiple superheroes made sure everything is alright,” your dad cuts in, his tone less panicky than your moms. “Sweets, let’s focus on our starchild instead. Andre already told us that everything’s alright.”

“Still—”

Your father clears his throat, and you have a feeling he took the phone from your mom since his voice becomes closer than before. “Hey, dear! We tried calling earlier but it went straight to voicemail. You weren’t anywhere near the Eiffel Tower, were you?”

“I’m fine,” you smile softly. “I wasn’t that close to the center of it.”

“That doesn’t tell us enough, sweetheart,” your mom huffs. 

“It tells you that I’m safe, though,’ you say lightly. “But I’ll talk to you guys later. I hid somewhere far away, so I have to run to school before I miss the next class—”

“School?!” your mom shrieks. “Leave school for today! I’m sure we can set something up, ask Andre again for a favor. Maybe he can make our starchild an exemption just for today or something?”

Oh, how you’d love that idea. In fact, you are already turning on your heels and trying to walk farther away from the school-

“Hey hey,” your father groans. “I already made too many requests to the mayor before all of this happened. Besides, his own daughter isn’t exempted from this either. What makes you think he’ll exempt his artist’s child when the mayor’s daughter is forced to go to school anyway?”

Ugh. What a stupid father. 

His daughter just got held hostage by a supervillain, almost died too if not for Ladybug, and he still isn't making her rest for a while? For someone who's supposed to spoil his daughter a lot, he sure does act contrary about it.

After placating both of your parents (and lamenting your failed chance of ditching school), you trudge up the stairs with exhaustion weighing upon your shoulders. 

Superhero duties have never been as tiring as it did today. Those stupid stone golems being sent after you really messed up your entire day. If only you didn’t run around for so long, maybe you’ll even have the energy to jump three steps up on the stairs or something.

“(Y/n)! Wait!”

You turn around, blinking in surprise as Adrien rushes toward you, a huge grin on his face. 

He slows down when he's right beside you in front of Francois Dupont’s entrance, catching his breath for a moment. 

“Adrien,” you greet him with a smile. The sleek gray car in front of the school finally pulls away, and before you could use that as your topic with the blond, he steps forward and leans to you.

His cheek brushes against yours in a quick, friendly cheek kiss, and for a moment, you freeze in place. When he did both sides, he pulls back, still smiling with a bit of that innocent excitement in his eyes. “It’s a good day to be happy, isn’t it?”

You blink, hand raising to the side of your cheek. “Uh…” Did he just- 

Adrien sees the confused look on your face, and his entire face turns red. “Uh-” he repeats too, clearing his throat. “I- I just thought I’d greet you the same way you did earlier in class. You know- for a friendly gesture? Yeah!”

He’s acting so flustered, you almost forgot he has a crush on Ladybug now. 

You chuckle to ignore your own thoughts. “Well, alright then.” Fixing the straps of your bag, you give him a tilted glance. “Do you want to walk to class with me?”

“Of course,” he says breathlessly. 

When he falls into step beside you, an awkward silence comes. You don’t know what to say to him, and you have an idea he’s probably struggling with a topic too. So many things could happen after seven years, so many things could change, so of course both of you would be a little out of sync when it comes to talking with each other. 

“So…” Adrien trails off, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. “Have you been hiding the whole time the chaos happened?”

“So," you copy his tone. "That’s how you’ll start our conversation?” you poke fun. His cheeks bloom red instantly, it’s hilarious. “To answer your question, no. I was actually one of the people who ran to see Stoneheart closer. You know, like a stupid main character in a slasher movie.” 

The red on his cheeks die down, but the smile tugging the corner of his lips don’t. You have a feeling he’s looking at you oddly, and you do not appreciate him singling you out like that.

“How about you?” so you ask instead. 

He blinks. “What about me?”

“Where were you hiding the entire time Stoneheart rampaged through the city?”

Maybe you’re a bit cruel, but you enjoyed it a lot when Adrien’s face pales. Seriously-how did these guys keep their secret for a long time when they wear their hearts right on their sleeves?

“A-actually,” he clears his throat and looks away. “I also did the same. It’s my first time going somewhere else that isn’t a part of my schedule. I didn’t want to waste it by hiding in an enclosed space, even if it's a bit dangerous.”

Huh.

Nevermind your doubts; he does have a pretty good reason ready for it. A somehow-believable one, if only you didn’t have the overpowered knowledge of the series. 

“So your father didn’t let you go out much?” you ask softly. Even after we left?

Adrien looks down at his feet and hums. “You know how it is."

You really can’t influence anything in this series, huh? 

Even if you remembered being persuasive enough to Emilie, perhaps some things aren’t just meant to be changed. Some things involving Adrien's life, and even his own feelings.

“Well,” you bump your shoulder on his, “try not to get too overwhelmed by how school works. It's real tough even for veterans, I’ll have you know.”

“And what counts as a veteran at school?” Adrien asks, eyes crinkling when you grin at him.

“Someone who gets through an entire class.”

He groans at that. You laugh, knowing full well he never got past roll call today.

By the time you two got to class, everyone else was in their seats already. There’s also a switcheroo that happened, with Marinette and Alya waving at you as they sat on the spot in front of your seat.

“Finally talked back to Chloe?” you say, loud enough for Marinette to hear while you slide on your seats.

She turns around and shows you a bright smile. “It’s my seat,” she declares. “I’m not going to let Chloe ruin my day anymore.”

You flash her a proud grin. Good for her, really. 

Chloe can handle sulking on the front row seats for now. She can’t have everything she wants after all.

Then, as if the world wants to confuse you even more at your ability to change everything in this series, Adrien turns around on his seat and tries to wave at Marinette and Alya. Originally, the girls would have snubbed him but this time, they wave back instead. Adrien’s eyes brighten. He looks at you, as if he’s a kid showing you an artwork that he wants you to compliment on. And you do compliment him, giving a thumbs up just long enough before he turns to Nino and whispers something to him.

You can change things like Adrien and Marinette being amicable on their first day, you can influence things enough for the Lucky Charm to acknowledge your existence. But you also can’t stop Chat Noir from having a crush on Ladybug, nor can you always be a part of the Lucky Charm’s calculation?

You sink to your arms, sighing.

I don’t understand anything here anymore.

When class ends, you stretch your arms up and lean back on your seat, looking up at  Nathaniel at the back row.

“Nathan?” you try to call out.

The orange-haired boy ducks his head down, stuffing his items as quickly as he can on his bag, and rushing out of the class faster than anyone else did.

That makes you sigh for the fifth time already. 

He’s giving you so many mixed signals already. From caring about you during Stoneheart’s entrance, to not even giving you a glance at the end of classes. Maybe you’re just tired but it’s annoying you, now that you have time to wallow in your own presence inside the empty classroom.

Adrien has his bodyguard waiting outside already, so he just gives you a wave before leaving. Chloe was personally fetched by her own father; you almost wanted to walk back home with them too, but you couldn’t resist the temptation of staying on your seat, until it led you to watch both her and Sabrina walk off together.

The rest of the class exits too, which leads you here: alone in your seat, the sun setting outside.

Letting out your sixth sigh of the day, you drag your unwilling body off your seat and snatch your bag from the floor. As you step out of the classroom, you catch sight of the rain streaking gently down the windows. You’d expected it—the news did say a downpour will happen at the end of the day. Thankfully, you brought an umbrella for yourself.

You make your way down the campus stairs, ready to head home, when a scene at the school’s front entrance catches your eye.

Blue and yellow, just beneath the overhang of the school's entrance.

No way.

Your entire body jolts into a newfound energy when you see Marinette's side profile, with Adrien standing in front of her, carrying his own umbrella.

Is this-

Oh my God is this the actual scene?

Trailing a hand on the rails, you soften your steps, eyes locked on the pair like some background extra in a romance drama who accidentally stumbled into the main plot. 

Adrien says something that’s too soft for you to hear, but the way Marinette’s face lights up, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked, tells you everything you need to know.

Then, he hands her his umbrella.

And you didn’t know whether to squeal in delight or feel that painful pang of possessiveness again.

Seriously, why can’t you just enjoy this entire show instead? Marinette and Adrien are clearly having their moment. When she accepts the umbrella, her hesitating hand brushing up against his fingers, and Adrien smiles—warm and boyish. The kind of smile that would probably make even the angels blush. 

And an angel did blush. In true Marinette fashion, she accidentally closes the umbrella right over her own head and yelps.

Adrien blinks, surprised, and then lets out the sweetest laugh. It’s barely audible over the sound of rain, but the laugh lines on his crinkled eyes makes the rain seem insignificant for a moment.

Marinette fumbles, struggling to open the umbrella again. But even after fixing it, she doesn’t look away from him, not once.  She's absolutely spellbound. Just like how she's supposed to be.

After a gentle goodbye, Adrien turns toward the street, walking off with the ease of someone completely unaware of the emotional storm he just caused. While Marinette stays where she is. Completely entranced.

You finally make your way down the stairs. 

If anyone ever reincarnates into this world just like you did, you’ll be able to brag about seeing the infamous falling-in-love scene now. Thinking of it that way, that makes everything about this situation feel a little better than before.

Your shoes scuff lightly against the stone, but Marinette doesn’t even flinch. She’s somewhere else—probably floating ten feet above the pavement. You come to stand beside her and wait.

No reaction.

Not even a glance.

You raise a brow. “Well would you look at that–”

“Wah!” 

Marinette whirls around, nearly smacking you in the face with the very umbrella that she just received. “Woah! Calm down! It’s just me, Marinette! Me!” 

Her eyes are frantically wide. “Oh my gosh—I’m so sorry!” she gasps, clutching the umbrella to her chest. “I didn’t see you there!”

You hold your hands up in mock surrender. “Yeah, I figured. You looked a little…” Pausing, you grin, “-preoccupied by something.”

Marinette’s cheeks is already pink, but it flares up to an impressive shade of red at your words. “I– I wasn’t! I mean– I was just–” 

“Or should I say, preoccupied by ‘someone’ instead?” you interrupt devilishly.

She squeaks. “What are you talking about?! It's nothing like that!” Clearing her throat, she turns away from you and tuts, “A-Anyway! What are you still doing here? I thought you went out with Chloe earlier.”

“I was too lazy to get up from my seat earlier, Marinette.”

“T-then Sabrina?” You deadpan. You just said you were lazy to get up earlier. It should be obvious that you'll still be lazy even if the person inviting you to leave the room changes, but Marinette doesn’t seem to understand as she begins rambling, “Sabrina’s always going to Chloe, and you’re friends with Chloe, so of course you’ll be with Sabrina if Chloe is not around and yet you’re here instead of walking home with either of them—”

“You are very much correct,” you interrupt the girl with an exasperated smile. “That just means I gotta ask somebody else to walk home instead.”

Marinette’s lips part slightly, caught off guard, and you swear you can hear the tiny static of her brain short-circuiting.

“M-me?” she points to herself, eyes blinking rapidly. “You want to walk with me?”

Your smile softens into something more genuine. “Well… I remembered how nervous you were earlier when Stoneheart broke the wall to our classroom. Which is a normal reaction, really, but that just made me want to walk you home because…” you trail off, meeting her eyes. “Why not?”

For a second, she doesn’t speak—just clutches that umbrella like it’s the only thing keeping her tethered to Earth.

And then, her voice drops into a whisper. “You’re… really nice, you know that?”

You scratch the back of your neck, pretending that doesn’t make your chest flutter a bit. “I suppose I’ll take that compliment for today.” You flash her a lazy grin. “I’m too exhausted to start a back-and-forth compliment session after all.”

She chuckles, looking down at the ground. “Okay… But—wait—what if you get caught in the rain?”

You lift your umbrella. “Already got that covered." You prop it open with ease, taking a step beside her and smiling. "Fortunately, you won’t be responsible for my tragic, rain-soaked demise today.”

A flash of amusement swirls in her eyes. “That’s comforting.”

You nudge her gently with your elbow. “So? May I walk you home, mademoiselle?”

Marinette lets out a tiny, startled laugh at the formal title, clearly unused to being spoken to like that. She looks up at you, her lips curved in the shyest little smile, one she tries to hide by turning her face away—but it’s there. And it’s sweet.

“Okay. But only if you don’t bring up… whatever you saw.”

You make a dramatic show of zipping your lips shut. “Not a word, I assure you.”

The two of you step out together into the soft drizzle. Marinette's umbrella is a little crooked—probably from the earlier mishap—but she adjusts it so it covers herself fully as you walk side by side.

“Still,” you hum after a beat, eyes watching the misty horizon, “from my point of view, the mood was pretty romantic.”

“(Y/n)!”

“Zip, zip! Not a word. Totally forgot already.” You chuckle, dodging the playful jab of her elbow as the two of you disappear down the sidewalk.

After a while, Marinette seems like she does actually want to talk about it. It’s the only explanation you have as to why she peeks at you and asks, “You and Adrien are close friends, right?” 

When you look at her with a raised brow, she hurriedly adds, “I-I mean. You and him looked very close when you two talked in class earlier. And I was curious because he’s a new student, you’re a new student, and you two are also Chloe’s close- I mean, close to Close- to Chloe– ugh. I am terrible at this.”

You don’t answer immediately, don’t even laugh as she calms herself down. When you think she’s finished breathing deeply to herself, you smile at her.

“I met him when I was four years old,” you admit. She whips her head at you, eyes widening in intrigue. “His father commissioned mine, who is a renowned artist, which I’m assuming Alya already told you. So we got along together for a long time. I guess you could even say we were kinda inseparable?”

Marinette nods, not knowing what to say. 

Your smile becomes despondent. “But I suppose we were inseparable, since something happened, and our families ended up having a fallout. We left their house for years. I went back to the countryside, Adrien stayed in the city. It’s exactly as you expect it to be. It took me seven years before we’re back here in Paris, and by then, Adrien was already living a different life than what I’ve known him before.”

You say it casually, like it’s just some old memory you dusted off for. But there’s something quiet in your tone that makes Marinette’s expression soften.

"Today was our first time meeting again after all those years passed," you show her a grin. "Now you can understand why he's so flustered earlier, can't you?"

Marinette slows her step, her eyes fixed on you now. There’s a silence between you, but it’s a different one, not awkward, just thoughtful. 

“That’s… that’s a lot to carry around,” she says instead. She didn’t grab onto your joking tone at all. “I mean… I can’t imagine how weird it must be to reconnect with someone you care so much about after a long time has passed.”

You give her a quiet shrug. "It’s just how things went. Not much to say about it now." You follow her pace and hum. "Except for one thing.”

“What is it?” she prompts.

You glance at her from the corner of your eye, then shift your gaze ahead, watching the raindrops trickling down a nearby awning. 

“I hope,” you begin, “you'll treat Adrien well." 

Marinette stops. Her head turns toward you with a startled expression.

“I don’t like speaking for other people, especially not for Adrien." He already had his entire life thought out for him, with others speaking up for things that he should be voicing out instead. You don't want to be like the others who dictate his life, too. “But," you continue, "I hope you’ll treat him like he’s just... normal. Like he’s not the son of a famous fashion designer you like or some kind of celebrity you ended up adoring. He’s been through a lot, and I don’t think many people really get to see him for who he is, without all those layers of expectation hanging over him.”

You don't mind Marinette developing a crush on Adrien. If the world is trying their best to push them together, like they’re truly meant to be, then you want to accept it as it is. But you don’t want to sit back and watch her idolize him, see her put him on some unreachable pedestal until she can’t just be herself anymore.

Adrien deserves real connections, the kind that are grounded and genuine, where he’s not just a figure to be admired from afar. 

And Marinette deserves that too. She shouldn’t have to tiptoe around him, unsure of how to approach someone so seemingly untouchable. She deserves to experience her emotions freely like the young girl she is, experiencing love for the first time.

Marinette furrows her brows as she looks away from you. "You're saying that like I- like I-," she stammers, "Like I like him or something."

You tilt your head. "Don't you?"

“What?! No!” she exclaims, her entire face now red. “I don’t like him!” Her expression twists. “Do I like him? No, that can’t be. He just gave me his umbrella earlier because he's actually nice and he said he doesn't have any experience in making friends, and I understand that too- I never really had much friends before- but hearing that from someone like him makes my chest somehow feel a bit—" She pales. "No way. Is- is this what it means to like someone? Oh no. Oh no. Oh, what do I do if I do like him? I can’t like him at all! Not because he's unlikeable, but because he’s Chloe’s friend and–”

“He’s my friend too,” you interrupt, “And I say there’s nothing wrong with you liking him. Unless you want me to act like Chloe and tell you that you shouldn't have a crush on him or something?”

“No!?!”

You can’t help but laugh, watching her scramble for words, her cheeks as red as a tomato. 

“You’re so funny,” you tease, shaking your head with a smile. “It’s not a crime to have feelings, Marinette. Trust me, no one’s gonna call you out for it.”

“But Chloe will,” she sighs, her entire body sagging with her.

“The Chloe whom you finally had the courage to tell her off on your seats earlier?” 

“I- well, okay. But that was only about a seating arrangement! If it’s something like this, I don’t think she’ll let it go…” She peeks at you, before turning away with her umbrella blocking your view of her face. “You already helped me out earlier by going against Chloe with the bubblegum… if I have a crush on Adrien, she might think I’m stealing everyone she likes away from her or something. She’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

You hum. “I get it. Chloe must have been real terrible to you for a long time, huh?” 

Marinette doesn’t answer, but you already know anyway.

The two of you reach Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie, and Marinette slows her steps, a small sigh escaping her as she glances toward the warm glow of the bakery. 

“This is where I live,” she says shyly.

“What a dream,” you smile at her. “The scent of fresh bread all day long. Guess I’ll have to stop by next time to buy something from your family.”

Marinette is in the middle of shaking off the umbrella when she stops and stares. “You’re not coming?”

You tilt your head, and her face comes back into that familiar red shade.

“I- I was actually planning on introducing you to maman and papa,” she murmurs. “But you’re- well, I don’t want to pressure you- unless it's something you want to do, of course."

Your smile softens at her hesitation, and you can’t help but appreciate how much she’s trying to be considerate, even though it’s clear she’s nervous about the whole idea.

“I’d love to,” you say, pausing. “Maybe next time though. My parents are pretty anxious for me to come back home after what happened earlier.”

“Right! That makes sense,” she breathes out a nervous laugh. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then!” 

Then she turns around, but before she can take a full step, you call out.

"Marinette?"

She freezes, turning back with a hopeful look in her eyes.

You smile. “I like it when you show your emotions,” you say, making her blink. “So don’t be afraid to let them out. Nobody has the right to stop you from feeling a certain way. Not me, not Chloe, not anyone else. Alright?”

For a moment, Marinette just stands there, caught off guard. You wonder if you’ve overstepped, but then she laughs softly. It’s a genuine, light sound—like the clouds breaking just a little to let some sunlight peek through.

“Thanks, (Y/n),” she says quietly, her smile small but so real. “I’ll try.”

With that, she gives a little wave before turning back to her bakery, her figure slowly disappearing into the warmth and comfort of her home

Chapter Text

One thing that you despise about Miraculous Ladybug is their unclear timeline.

As an audience, you can excuse it. It’s the writers’ stylistic choice to make everyone theorize what episode goes first, and to be frank, this is a TV show where people sometimes miss an episode or two. Of course they’d want it to be easy to jump back in without feeling lost. And continuity isn't always a priority in shows made for younger audiences, which Miraculous Ladybug leans hard into.

But when you actually reincarnate into this world, suddenly, it’s not just a quirky writing choice anymore. 

It’s your life.

You will experience everything that will happen in the series, both the scenes in every episode and the things that happen in between.

And that realization is stirring a huge conflict inside your mind for the next following days.

Cause if you don’t know the exact timeline of every episode in real life—whether or not it will happen on a Monday morning or on a spring night—aren’t you just going to be unprepared for any fights, similarly to Ladybug and Chat Noir? 

Unlike them though, you’ll at least know the plot twists or the akuma location at your convenience, but who’s to say you’ll be in tip-top shape when it happens? Maybe you’ll be in the bathroom when Stormy Weather decides to show up out of the blue—or maybe you’ll just be asleep the entire time Animan happens.

It’s like you can’t even be at peace even if you already know what will happen in this world.

Now you understand why Marinette is so stressed out about everything. If even you know what’s coming but still feel like you're flailing in the dark, how much worse must it be for her—navigating everything with no script?

Worst part is, she’ll also be dealing with guardianship all alone. Without Chat Noir’s knowledge either because ‘oH tHe TwO HeRoEs MuSt NoT kNoW eAcH oThEr Or iT’ll bE tHe EnD oF tHe WoRLd’.

Is it too late to beg any divine beings for their mercy? Maybe you can ask them to transport you to a better world or something. Mob Psycho would be a good one, especially if you meet Reigen the trustworthy adult himself-

“Master!” Anpu whines as he pulls on the hem of your shirt. “Let’s go! We’re going to be late for your first class!”

“Oh no,” you place the back of your hand on your forehead, leaning your weight on the strong kwami who’s barely keeping you up. “I’m suddenly so tired. My limbs feel so heavy, and the world is tumbling out of my eyes. I think I have no choice but to skip school and sleep instead—”

“That’s not a good reason at all!” 

Anpu lets out an indignant squeak as you dramatically collapse, your entire weight pressing into his tiny frame. “You crushed me!” he gasps, his golden eyes squished into flat little crescents. “You’re not even trying to be subtle about it!”

You laugh when he pushes you away, your face buried in the rug now. “Come on, Anpu. We got enough time to mess around some more.” You sit up and grin at him. “Want to help me pick out my perfume for today?”

“Perfume isn’t more important than education!” he says with the conviction of someone who has never once skipped class in his entire mythical existence. “But…” His serious tone tapers into a soft hum, and his ears perk slightly. “I do like it when you smell like oranges. The scarf I’m hiding in always becomes breezy and cold when you pick that perfume.”

You reach for the little tray of bottles on your vanity, tilting them one by one until Anpu tiptoes over and points proudly to the perfume he wants you to spray on your outfit.

While you are getting ready, a knock raps on your door. Twice.

“Come in!” you call out, urging Anpu to hide in your scarf before the door swings open.

It’s your father. He’s looking around your room, smiling amusedly at the sight of thrown pants and clothes everywhere.

You grab a couple of the thrown clothes and push it back to a nearby cabinet. He chuckles. “You’re as messy as I am when I’m too focused on one of my projects.”

That teasing tone makes you roll your eyes, smiling. “Yeah, but I’ll fold them later when I get home. You know how it is.” 

“Yes, yes. Do you need me to drive you to school?”

You turn his way, blinking. “You’ll drive me? Not mom?”

“I gave your mother some money to treat herself this morning,” your father says, stepping into the room fully now. “Told her to go get her nails done or sit somewhere pretty and drink overpriced coffee.” He shrugs. “I figured I’d take over the chauffeuring today since I’m not too busy.”

You squint at him. He suddenly starts sweating, avoiding your eyes too.

“Okay,” you drawl out, crossing your arms. “Now I’m getting suspicious.”

“It’s nothing bad,” he rushes out. Then with a sigh, because he knows he can’t ever escape that criticizing squint of yours, he asks, “Does my little starchild have some free time in between classes today?”

“Using my nickname won’t absolve you of the crime you’ll ask me afterward,” you deadpan. “But to answer your question, I’ve got about an hour between each one. Why?”

“That’s perfect!” He claps his hands and smiles. “My afternoon class today is working on figure studies later at twelve; sculpting and painting. And I thought, since you’re already good at sitting around doing nothing—”

“Wow,” you say, mock-offended.

“—you could come by and model for the class?”

Now that catches your attention even more. “Model? Like… sit in the middle while they stare at me and draw?”

“And sculpt,” he adds helpfully. “You don’t have to do anything fancy. Just sit still for a bit. Wear something you’re comfortable in. It’d help them get used to drawing someone natural, you know? Someone who isn’t… all professionally posed and stiff.”

Under your scarf, you can hear Anpu try not to squeal loud. “You’d be like a work of art! That’s so cool, Master!”

You try not to grimace at the idea. “Wouldn’t it be weird for your students? I mean. They’ll be drawing someone younger than them, since you teach high schoolers and I’m still at my last middle school grade level.”

“Please, they’re not that much older than you. Besides, art is art. Once you’re up there and they’re focused, you stop being you and start becoming lines and shapes. They’ll be too caught up in proportions and shading to think about anything else.”

You frown a little, clasping a watch on while Anpu snuggles further into your scarf like he's preparing to whisper encouragement directly into your soul.

"Alright," you let out an exaggerated sigh. "If my father really wants to show the world how secretly beautiful his child is, then I guess I have no choice but to help you with that reveal."

Your father dramatically clutches his chest. “Ack. Such a lifesaver.” He chuckles and shakes his head. “I promise it won’t take long. Just an hour, tops. I’ll tell the principal about you being late, if things get too slow. I’ll also make sure you’re well taken care of afterward—you can ask me anything and I’ll buy it for you. Deal?”

“Will you buy me a violin, then?”

His smile falters. And that makes you laugh.

No violins were given to you as a deal. But you did receive your father’s promise to let you buy vinyl records instead, which, in your opinion, was a much more reasonable trade-off. Maybe you’ll sell it to other collectors for a huge profit too—no, that’s not illegal. (You hope)

After you finish finding the right outfit, he drives you to school using your mother’s car. Speaking of her, she sent lots of pictures of getting a massage while drinking chocolate smoothie. The mayor must be paying your father a lot since this is just your first week of being in Paris but your mother is experiencing a queen-like treatment already.

You’re kinda jealous. Maybe you’ll have to ask your father to let you have that kind of break too. Superhero work is making your back ache like crazy. It would be heavenly if you get a chance to rest your body while you drink some smoothie too.

When you walk inside your class, you are still far too early, even though you spent all of your time finding the right clothes for today.

Hey. You might be stressed out by the lack of direction you’ll have on akuma attacks from now on, but you made sure you won’t look like a fashion mess throughout it all. 

“Everyone’s going to immortalize you, master! Isn’t that so cool?!” 

“Yes, yes, Anpu. I’ll be in class now, so I’ll talk to you later.”

As you hush your kwami to stay in your scarf, Ivan sits beside you. He looks just as weirded out the first time he saw you talking to your scarf, but today, you don’t show him that typical forced smile of yours.

“How are you feeling, Ivan?” you ask, brows furrowed in worry. 

You don’t understand the logic of this world; this little guy here (even if he’s towering over the adults right now) just got akumatized yesterday. Twice. The least they should do is give him a short time to recuperate. 

But Ladybug’s superpower of restoring things seemed to make everyone more uncaring about the emotional drawback of these villain attacks or something, since here he is, going back to school like everything’s normal.

“I’m okay." Ivan sounds like he means it too. "Mylene... she- uh, she didn't reject me. We're going to try it out. You know. Being a couple and all."

The red on his cheek is actually adorable. You almost want to squish both him and Mylene together, especially when you caught them looking at each other across their seats with those shy eyes, but you hold yourself back. Barely.

“That’s great. I’m really happy for you, man,” you say instead, grinning widely as you lean a little closer. “Just a couple advice: don’t forget to communicate, even when you think it’s embarrassing or dumb. No, you should do it especially when it’s embarrassing or dumb. That’s the best way to prolong a happy relationship after all. Trust me.”

He nods, his eyes averted from yours. “Thanks. Uh, I mean it."

He’s not entirely giving you a warm smile, but for someone as quiet as Ivan, being able to sound soft to an acquaintance like you is already enough to make you feel fuzzy and happy.

“G-go- Morn- good morning!” 

You immediately know that’s Marinette, with how her words tangled themselves into one flustered explosion before she even walked up to her desk.

“Good morning, mademoiselle,” you greet, calm and even as always, but your lips pull into a small, genuine smile as you turn her way. “How has your morning been?”

You almost wanted to ask if she got home safely, but it’s a good thing you remembered that you walked her home. That would be so awkward if you made the worst social mistake ever.

Speaking of awkward…

Marinette quite literally stares from your face then down to your outfit, and like she’s melting on her spot, she says dreamily, “So fine.”

You blink. “What?”

Marinette's eyes shoot wide open. “I mean I’m fine. I’m fine, not you– Not that you’re not fine yourself, because you are definitely fine. But I wasn’t thinking about that! Not in that way at least! In fact- wow, now that I think about it, I wasn’t actually talking about you and how fine you look today, I was talking about me! My morning! A fine morning! That’s what I’m saying!”

She lets out a nervous laugh, averting her eyes from your gaze, before murmuring to herself. “This sucks.” 

You don’t know whether to burst out laughing at what just happened or wince from the cringe instead.

“Oh, Marinette,” you wheeze out, barely hiding your wide grin. 

She’s too… obvious, it makes you feel some second-hand embarrassment for her and also be endeared at the same time. Just the typical Marinette effect, you guess.

You shake your head off those thoughts. “No need to be so stiff around me. And what’s up with you today anyway? Adrien’s not here yet, you know.” 

Marinette’s cheek is still rosy as she blinks. “A-Adrien? What do you mean?”

“What do I mean?” You tilt your head. “I thought we just talked about it yesterday when I walked you home…” Or maybe you dreamt about that and your hazy mind is just thinking it’s real. Probably- you aren’t a stranger to your brain making things up on the fly.

“Talked about…?” She really looks confused. 

“About…” You glance at Ivan subtly from the corner of your eyes before leaning close to the reddening Marinette and whispering, “About you liking Adrien?”

“I like Adrien!?” she repeats, her voice climbing higher in pitch. You wince at that. You leaned close so she doesn’t get put on the spot, but why in the world did she say it so loudly anyway?

“You like Adrien?” Alya suddenly appears.

“Wah!” 

She slides beside Marinette’s seat, eyes sparkling in mischief as she leans into the trembling girl’s personal space. “No way, girl! Did you actually fall in love with him in just one day? I thought you were wary about Mr. Popular because he’s Chloe’s friend, but what gives? What did you two talk about that just made you suddenly declare you like him?”

“And what did you do for you to suddenly pop out like that?” You lean on the seat and chop a hand in between the two, pushing Alya away from the trembling Marinette. “Give her some space, girl. Tell us about your blog first and foremost—don’t you dare deflect here. I saw the news with mine own eyes, and your blog was featured on it.”

“‘Mine own eyes’? Who are you suddenly, Shakespeare?” Alya laughs, leaning back slightly with her hands raised in playful surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll talk about myself for now. But don’t you think you’re off the hook, Marinette—I’m gonna pry this out of you eventually, girl.”

Marinette makes a choked noise. Her head thunks lightly onto her desk while Alya shrugs at it and turns your way.

“Anyway, thank you very much for paying attention,” Alya says with a proud smile, opening her phone and showing it your way. “The Ladyblog is blowing up even if it’s just the third day of making it. I’ve even been getting messages from all over the city too! Someone even asked if I wanted to start a podcast. A podcast! Can you imagine me talking for a full hour?”

You smile kindly. “Yes.”

She deadpans. “You said you’ll stop doing that smile when you’re around me.”

“What do you want me to do? I want to soften the blow of my truth one way or another. And smiling like this is quite literally my only way of doing that.”

Alya grins, unbothered. “Okay, fine. But still, how cool is that? My blog might actually become something real. And—get this—I got so much footage of Phantom running away from the golems on the street, I can’t even be mad that I missed Ladybug and Chat Noir on the Eiffel Tower!”

You almost choke on air. “You were there when that happened?”

“Duh?” 

What the? You didn’t even sense Alya anywhere; the streets were all perfectly empty since everyone evacuated before it all escalated fast. So what kind of skill does this girl have that you didn’t even notice her when you were using your superhero identity?

“Phantom?” Marinette sits up swiftly and brings out her phone, eyes sparkling. “Can I get some close-up picture of them, Alya? I’ve always wanted to sketch them properly!” she says, bouncing excitedly in her seat. 

“How about Ladybug and Chat Noir?” Alya says, smirking teasingly. “You don’t want to sketch them too?”

“Well- uh, Ladybug and Chat Noir are great and all, but there’s something about Phantom that’s just…”

You resist the urge to melt on your spot in embarrassment. 

Can you cover your ears right now without making it obvious that you’re Phantom? Gosh. The indirect compliments are great and all, but not when you are unprepared for it.

“Just so cool! Like, they’re obviously kind of shy—I mean, have you seen the way they keep avoiding reporters and the public? But even with all that, they’re still brave enough to go into dangerous situations, all quiet and calm, like they don’t even need to say anything. They just do it. That’s amazing—” she sighs. “I wish I could be like that too.”

You? Shy and brave? 

You cough into your scarf, disguising a laugh as Anpu wiggles in triumph beneath the fabric.

Both Alya and Marinette continue talking to each other, their energy bouncing off as they talked about everything that happened. You didn’t think much of it before—in fact, you hadn’t expected anyone to really care about Phantom after seven years had passed without your presence here. You’d always imagined the people of Paris would be more receptive in Ladybug and Chat Noir’s presence.

But seeing Marinette this excited?

It makes your ears feel warmer than usual.

After a few more minutes, Adrien walks into the classroom—and it doesn’t escape you that Marinette visibly startles. You glance at her, amused as she stiffens up and tries to act normal again.

"Good morning," Adrien waves to her and Alya, smiling like the sunshine incarnate.

“Morning!” Alya grins. She slides in a not-at-all-subtle glance at Marinette, whose face is now a shade too pink to pass as anything casual.

“Morning!” Marinette squeaks back, voice cracking slightly before she clears her throat. “I mean—good morning!”

You bite down another laugh and bury your face further into your scarf, pretending to be very interested in your watch.

Adrien doesn't seem to notice the awkwardness—or maybe he's just used to it by now. He walks toward his desk, still smiling pleasantly. “Good morning, (Y/n).”

“Hey,” you wave back. The smile he gives you is even warmer than usual. He’s really in a good mood. 

And then he turns back to Nino who’s now talking to him about something you couldn’t hear. Probably about a music band, since Nino offers him his earbuds and the two fall back into their own world.

Ms. Bustier comes in right after that, and roll call finally begins.

“Oh (Y/n)~!” 

Marinette barely stops herself from groaning when Chloe loops her arms around your own. You smile down at her, arching a brow.

“Chloe,” you say amusedly. “What’s up?”

She pushes her face your way, making you lean back instinctively. “Come with me and Sabrina. We’re going to have a snack break together in the mall!”

You can’t help but suppress a chuckle.

“Maybe next time,” you say, patting her hands on your arm. “I have to help out my dad later—”

Chloe pulls away, her face scrunched. “What? What gives? Why does your father need your help specifically?” 

To other people, she might sound rude. You can even hear two grumbling voices behind you. But you learn to brush off Chloe’s tone and see the confusion in her expression as something more innocent than most would give credit for. 

“He wants me to model for his class later,” you say.

She gasps. “Modeling?! Then why didn’t he ask me?! I thought I told him before that I am a far better muse than anyone else in this place!”

“I think he just wanted someone who could actually sit still,” you tease lightly.

Chloe narrows her eyes at you for a moment, but then her expression shifts as she gives you a quick smile. “Fine, whatever. I’ll just have to wait until next time.” Then she scowls as she takes a step back. “But you better not leave me hanging. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity of spending time with me, but of course I’ll give you a couple more chances, since I’m nice to you and all that. So you better hold up on your promise.”

“Yes, I will,” you reassure her. “Enjoy your outing together then, Chloe. Sabrina!” 

The ginger-haired girl shyly waves at you before following Chloe who starts walking away, talking about the reservation she did somewhere.

As she disappears down the hall, you sense the atmosphere shift around you. 

“Every time,” Alya breathes, “I just can’t get used to seeing you treat Chloe like she’s a… normal person.”

“She’s not that bad,” you chuckle, looking back at your classmates. “If you get past her snarky tone and sarcasm, I think she’s pretty fun to be around.”

Marinette stares at you for a second too long before quickly glancing away. You get why she has that sharp, uneasy look on her face; Marinette hasn’t always been receptive when it comes to Chloe. And you don’t really have the right to tell her to just look at the blonde in a brighter way. It’s different with you and Chloe, who only know each other amicably for a few days. But Marinette herself has always been tormented by the girl for reasons she can’t understand. Of course she’d be hesitant to look at her in a new light just because you said so.

“You model?” Adrien asks, hastily stuffing his own bag when he notices you’re already standing up from your seat. “I didn’t know that. I mean, I would have seen you in magazines too if that’s the case, but–”

“Oh, no.” You snort. “I do not model at all. Trust me on that. My dad just decided to do this today, so I’m humoring him.” 

“Oh…”

You check your phone, seeing your father’s message of him being outside the school, and you turn towards the others. “I’ll get going for now. Hopefully I’ll be back before Ms. Mendeleieve starts her classes later.” 

“You definitely should, dude,” you hear another voice join in, your eyes meeting brown ones from Nino’s. He adjusts his red cap and grins at you. “Ms. Mendeleieve doesn’t give out mercy to anyone, not even Chloe with her usual Chloe-ness.” 

You brighten up. “Nino, right?” When he shoots you a finger gun, you copy him and smile. “I’ll take note of that. Wouldn’t want to get on her bad side if she can handle Chloe with a strict attitude too.” 

“We’ll reserve a seat for you in class!” Alya calls out right as you walk to the classroom door.

“Merci beaucoup!” you reply past your shoulder, waving one last time before jogging your way to where your father is waiting.

Like he said, the modeling part actually takes you forty-five minutes max. He said it’s normally longer than that, but he made sure that it’s only a warm-up session for today. That way, you’ll be back to your class as soon as possible.

You don’t think anyone in his class was prepared for that time-limit, but there was one guy who actually was able to sculpt a perfect likeness of your expression in that short time, you became impressed. 

Your father said his name was Theo or something. Before you left, you offered him your best smile.

“Your work is actually so amazing,” you told him, honestly. “You really made that sculpture look real.”

Theo—slightly red in the face from the compliment—had scratched his neck and smiled back at you. He thanked you for it, and told you all about his process and how he usually never gets it right on the first try, but something about your expression just “clicked.”

You didn’t really know how to respond to that, other than giving him a quiet laugh and another small nod of gratitude before heading out. You made a mental note to tell your dad to keep an eye on Theo. Talented people deserve chances after all.

When you get back to school, Ms. Mendeleieve is still not in the class laboratory. And Alya really did reserve a seat for you right behind her and Marinette’s seat…

Which doesn’t mean that much, considering this is literally the seat arrangement even in your normal classes. But it’s the thought that counts, you guess.

Chapter Text

Your father lied.

The ‘art modeling’ gig you did for his class? It isn’t a one-time thing at all. 

In fact, it has become an integral part of your morning now. You can’t imagine not leaving your first class after Ms. Bustier’s to go and get sketched by people who seemed to be getting more exhausted as days passed. 

It’s almost ridiculous, but you can’t also be mad. You’re getting paid by your father to sit still in the middle of a room while scrolling on your phone or reading a book—for a lazy person like you, that’s the best job you could possibly have. You don’t even need to fix yourself unlike in other modeling gigs. 

The students themselves are also pretty fun to talk to. Sometimes, they invite you to chat with them after every class, and sometimes, you talk back like you’re one of them. You’re not supposed to, but it’s suddenly easy to slip into it..

They’re sixteen, seventeen—only a few years ahead of your current self. But in your head, you’re almost the same age. You remember being sixteen like them. Being as excited and dreadful for the future like they are. But the more you talk with them, the more you realize that the gap between sixteen and fourteen isn’t supposed to be this big.

“Again,” you whistle, stepping right behind a specific student you've gotten close to lately. “How in the world can you even do this? This looks insane to me. In like a good way, of course, ‘cause everything looks so real already and you haven’t even started putting the little details yet.”

Theo is always pleased and embarrassed when you praise his talent like that. But you can't help it; he really knows how to make things realistic, and he's not even a professional sculptor just yet.

“You’re always saying that,” Theo says bashfully.

“Duh. Cause you’re obviously magic.” You lean back and squint at him. “Or possessed by Michelangelo himself. Either way, I approve.”

You give him a thumbs up. Theo smiles. His hands, still dusted with clay, stills midair. You catch the faint flicker of hesitation cross his face, but you get called by your father which tears your gaze away from him. 

Just as you prepare to say goodbye to everyone in class, Theo reaches for a nearby poster that had a clipped image of the three Parisian heroes and stands up hastily. “Wait a second. (Y/n)-?”

You glance at him, raising a brow. "Yes?"

Theo bites on his swirly lollipop stick, the one that he always seemed to buy when he’s sculpting something. “Are you…” 

“(Y/n)! Catch!” Someone throws you an unopened soda can, and you react just in time to catch it mid-air.

“Hey!” you chastise. “If you're gonna gift me something again, make sure it's not a thrown-soda. You know this will burst on me later!” 

They all just laugh at your exasperation. Some of them are nice enough to exchange a different, unshaken soda from you, which you had no problem taking. As much as you enjoy being a part of their banter, you also have a class to go to later, and being all sticky from a burst soda isn’t going to help you get through the day comfortably. 

You turn back to Theo who had been silent at the interruption. “What were you about to say again?”

The boy is staring at the clipped paper in his hand, and all of his hesitation disappears as he looks back at you and smiles. “Nevermind. I think I’ll just surprise you with it next time.”

Doesn't that kinda ruin the essence of a surprise?

Theo looks determined about this though. If he really does want to surprise you, then you don’t want to be the one dousing his passion by poking fun at him. "Alright," so you smile instead. "Can't wait to see what it is, then. Knowing you, it'll probably be amazing as always."

Out of all the people you've gotten to know in your father’s class, something about Theo feels familiar. It feels like you really should know something about him, about his determined smile, but you can’t put a finger on it no matter how much you thought about it. 

But hey, you also felt that way when you talked to the stationery shop’s cashier a few days ago. And also to that old lady who you always see watching the sky with a reminiscent smile in the park from the school.

Maybe your senses are just going haywire lately. Yeah, that should be it.

Two weeks passed, and there's still no akumatized villain terrorizing Paris.

It's terrible trying to wait for something you already know will happen, but unlike a week ago, you have a lead now on who will be the next victim for Hawk Moth.

The Kidz+ channel suddenly announced a new Weather Girl competition at the end of the month. The participants haven’t been picked yet, but once they do, you’ll make sure to vote Aurore, the future Stormy Weather in this series. Maybe that won’t change her being akumatized since you’re only one vote among the millions that will ignore her, but at least you can feel like you tried to do something before the inevitable came.

From beside your night lamp, you hear your kwami stir awake.

“Master?”

You blink your stinging eyes. You hadn’t mean to stare at the ceiling for too long, but with Anpu floating groggily up on your sight, and with the moonlight pooling like silver over your bed sheets, it’s clear you’ve spent hours awake without realizing it.

“You’re still up,” Anpu rubs his golden eyes that are dim in the low light. “Are you thinking of-”

“No, I am not,” you interrupt, smiling tiredly. “I don’t need to go on a late night patrol tonight. Chat Noir said he got it this time, so you can go back to sleep if you want to.”

Assigning the patrol duty was something the three of you, Ladybug, and Chat Noir discussed right after catching each other at the same night on a random rooftop in Montmartre last week. 

It was a sharp evening. You remembered missing the night air of Paris as Phantom, which is why you decided to come out and do your usual patrol like the old days. You didn’t expect to find two other heroes having the same thought as you did—except, maybe a bit more clumsily since you found them sprawled on a rooftop, wrapped up in yo-yo strings.

Seeing them tangled like that brings you to another realization. You already had your fun of being a night hero when you were once a kid. It’s not as freeing as you could be right now, with your parents letting you stay up later than 9pm, but it’s still a liberating experience that made you love the city. The freedom of being a hero.

Ladybug and Chat Noir deserves that chance too, to fall in love with the night like you once did. That’s why you let the two decide the patrol schedule on their own.

In the end, Chat Noir volunteered to take the first round of patrols with a grin so wide it practically glowed in the dark. Ladybug might be a bit rigid with him, but even she knows not to argue with someone who looks as excited as the blond was about staying up later than everyone else.

“Then why aren’t you sleeping too?” Anpu suddenly asks, and now you’re back to reality, where you’re looking up at the ceiling of your spacious but empty hotel room. 

You sit up from your bed. “I don’t think I can sleep right now. I have too much in my mind.” You pat the spot on your bed, watching your kwami drift to it until he’s lying right beside your thighs. 

“Do you want to talk about it?" he murmurs. "I can listen to anything that worries you. You know that, right, master?”

"I do," you whisper softly. Out of everyone in the world, Anpu knows every secret you have. The things that normal reincarnated people wouldn’t be able to say to anyone if they experienced the same thing as you did. 

“But I’m fine, Anpu. I just need to get some fresh air to help me feel sleepy. I’ll be back here in a minute.” 

Still, you don’t know what exactly you are feeling, so how can you confide with anyone if you're uncertain about your emotions?

Anpu eyes you for a moment. His tiny paws rest against the soft ripple of your sheets, but he doesn't follow you when you stand and shuffle over to the window. He knows when to let you have space.

As you push the glass doors open, the hush of Paris brushes against your skin, ruffling your pajamas while you approach the railings. 

It’s almost 1 in the midnight but you can see some people are still wide awake through the lights on their windows. While some are just on their way home, the flashing red of their vehicles looking like stars down the street.

You rest your elbows on the iron railing, eyes lifting toward the sky.

“It’s a full moon tonight,” you murmur. That’s a sign of good luck for jackals… at least, that’s what Anpu would always say whenever you stargaze with him. 

The kwami might not be knowledgeable in technology and modern stuff (he’s learning. He knows how to use the MP3 now, and he loves it), but sometimes, you love listening to his stories of the past. They might not make any sense now that society knows a lot more about the world, but at least their way of thinking feels like comfort to you.

Like how it feels right now. Anpu said one passing time that under the full moon, as the Jackal Miraculous holder, you’ll be able to let go of your worries even just for a little while. And since this world is filled with magic, you don’t have to hesitate in believing that.

You close your eyes, letting the breeze tickle the tips of your nose. 

"Look out! Cat falling from the sky!”

Your eyes fly open at the sound of somebody landing on your balcony railing, the iron beneath him creaking just the slightest beneath the weight.

“Sorry for barging through.” A boy of all black perches himself on your railing. He glances once to wink at you under his mask. “I’ll just take a paws here and– wait a second.” 

You blink as he whirls your way again, mouth dropping open.

"(Y/n)?"

Now that makes your brows twitch. 

Is subtlety not in this guy’s blood or something?

But you don't have the liberty to entertain that question, because the hero in front of you double takes far too fast, his feet accidentally slips on the railing. He yelps, flailing his arms widely.

When he starts falling, you dart forward and catch him by the wrist. You expect him to weigh like a normal human body would, but something must be in that suit because you nearly get dragged over the railing yourself if you didn't clasp both your hands on his wrist.

What in the world is he made up of?! Bricks?!

Unlike your struggling self though, Chat Noir looks up at you with wide, stunned eyes. He doesn't feel any urgency at all as if he’s not dangling over the edge of your balcony up on the eighth floor of a hotel.

“Help me out here already,” you grunt, meeting his eyes with your furrowed ones. “Please?” 

Chat Noir finally seems to snap out of his daze. “R-right!” 

You tug. He pulls. And between both your efforts, also maybe the full moon lending you the tiniest sprinkle of luck, he finally stumbles inside your balcony. 

His belt had to get stuck on the railings though, so you had to watch him yank it as hard as he can until his entire body snaps forward like a rubber band and he staggers. Again. 

His gaze sweeps your way, and as if he can recognize that silent judgment in your eyes, he straightens quickly. He brushes a nonexistent dust from his suit, then flashes you a grin. It’s crooked. A little bit stupid after the fumbling he did earlier, but at least he looked endearing while doing it.

“Are you…" You furrow your brows to hide your growing amusement. "Are you alright?” 

“Me? Pfft. Pawsitively great, of course.” 

He leans back on his baton, but he forgot he needs to extend it first so he’s staggering again. This time, almost falling face-first on the potted fern by your balcony. 

"Uh-" He regains his balance, tucking his baton back to his belt. "As great as a hero who definitely meant to do that,” he finishes, voice pitching up with false cheer. 

“Okay?" you say, amused.

His knees are wobbling. He’s definitely wincing at himself.

“Okay,” he repeats. His gaze flickers everywhere to find a change of topic, until it lands into the glass doors leading to your room. “You live here, of all places?” 

“What’s wrong with that?” You lean your weight back against the railing, arms folded loosely over your chest. “Is it really unexpected for a normal civilian to live in Le Grand Paris Hotel or something?”

“No- not really.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I just, well, didn’t think you would be here, but now that I think about it, I guess this kinda makes sense...”

Again. He has no subtlety at all.

If you were one of those people who know nothing about him, you’d probably be suspicious by the way Chat Noir is acting right now. He’s being so obvious, staring intently at you now that silence has fallen over you two. And not in a weird way either; just… in the way that shows he might be more familiar with you than what he’s supposed to be.

Then a hint of mischief suddenly flashes in your mind. 

Oh boy.

“That’s weird,” you begin nonchalantly. “You sound like you know me.”

Chat Noir chokes.

If his mask wasn’t in his face, you have a feeling his eyes would pop out from how wide it is. 

You clear your throat, hiding your cheeky smile behind your fist. “Let me guess: you spy on civilians like me in your free time or what?”

That jolts him out of his shock. “What? No! I’m not a stalker!” He throws his hands up, voice climbing an octave. "It's just- I know that- well..." His eyes dart around before an idea comes to him. "Your father!"

Your deadpan comes faster on your face. "You know my father.” 

Out of all the excuses he could have had, that’s what he chose?

"Yes. He's the famous artist who got commissioned by the mayor of Paris himself, isn't he?"

Seems like he’s sticking with it.

“He is.” You raise your hand, examining your nails in faux interest. “I didn’t think the new hero of Paris would be updated about contemporary artists.”

“What can I say? I’m a cat of many tastes,” he replies, wrapping his gloved hand on his belt-tail and flicking it around. He shows you a grin that he’s probably hoping would look as suave as he imagines it to be. “Besides, your father is popular in almost all of France now. It would be weird of me if I didn’t know anything about him.”

“And it’s not weird for you to know about his child, who is supposedly less famous than him?” 

Chat Noir winces.

You finally let one chuckle out. Alright, it's time to stop making fun of him. He looks like he'd rather fall down on your balcony than have this tense (on his part) conversation with you again.

“I’m just joking.” Relief washes over his entire body. He must think he did great at making excuses, but you'll let him have that win for now. “You’re out on patrol tonight, right?” 

He hums, standing right beside you and leaning on the railing. “Yeah. A cat is more active at night than ladybugs and jackals are. I figured I should do the patrols this evening, you know, to make sure everything is safe.” He glances your way and smiles. “But I wasn’t exactly expecting to fall for somebody under the stars while I’m at it.”

That makes you whistle. “Woooh. I can’t believe Chat Noir is flirting with me, of all people.” You prop a hand and lean your cheek, grinning. “You know that a hero and a civilian shouldn’t ever cross paths like this, right? The problem of power imbalance between the two, and all that.” 

"And you know that forbidden love and chivalrous encounters,” he purrs, “are the most exciting trope in hero love stories, right?"

You snort. Even after almost a decade, the blond is still a sucker for problematic romance tropes.

Well. You can’t really blame him; hero x civilian stories are amazing. And compare to other romance tropes, it's not exactly as problematic unlike a boss and a worker pairing.

Chat Noir's eyes flicker at your smile before he leans his chin on his folded arms, looking up at you through his mask. You suddenly feel a deja vu, because he's looking at you with the same gaze he had when he stared at Ladybug above the Eiffel Tower. Big pupils, soft stare. 

But that doesn’t make any sense. You aren’t Ladybug. And you definitely did not bring up Ladybug in your conversation either, so you don't know exactly what made him start looking like that again.

“Mind if I hang around a bit?” he whispers on his tightskin sleeve. “Just until you’re ready to go back in.”

He sounds almost tired. Maybe that’s why he’s looking at you like that; because he’s exhausted. That makes sense. “I thought you’re patrolling for tonight?”

He pauses. “Nobody is turning into supervillains right now.”

“Even you’re not sure about that,” you point out. 

He grins, eyes crinkling shut before glancing back at the skyline. “I’ll hear them if they do,” he says confidently, tapping the pointed tip of his ear with one finger. “I’ve got the best ears in all of Paris after all.”

Without realizing, you ask, "Are they real?" 

Your own suit has its ears too, but you’ve never once touched it, nor have you let it twitch on command. You also don’t notice any changes in your hearing when you’re transformed as Phantom, but maybe it’s an innate thing instead? 

Or maybe I’m just stupid. I guess I gotta ask Anpu about it later.

Well. Who’s to say your kwami isn’t as clueless as you too? You are two different species but sometimes it feels like you two share one braincell all the time. 

Chat Noir straightens up, arms still on the railing. “Do you want to find out?” 

You hold his gaze for what seems like a second too long. "Can I?"

He tips his head down, the rustle of his blond curls swaying along with the night breeze. It looks almost soft and cool to touch, but you reach out to his dark, leather ears instead. Letting your fingertip hover for a moment before touching.

It twitches. He shudders along with it.

“Did you feel that?” you ask, blinking at the way he clamps his lips shut.

Surprise, maybe a hint of embarrassment too, flickers over his face. “…Maybe,” he admits.

Your brow lifts. “Maybe?”

“I mean—yes, obviously. I’m not just twitching for dramatic effect.” He clears his throat and angles his head up again, though the pink just barely dusting his cheeks is visible even under the mask’s shadow. “They’re real. Sensitive too.”

You couldn’t stop yourself from chuckling. "That's so weird.”

You have to try touching your own ears as Phantom too.

“Excuse me,” Chat Noir doesn't know what you're thinking though. “They’re not weird. They’re advanced magical gear for a cat superhero. Advanced and impressive.”

“Mmhm.” You look away with a teasing smile. “I’m sure Ladybug is very impressed about it.”

There’s a pause, and when you glance at him again in curiosity, his expression has softened even more under the moonlight. 

“Are you?” he asks.

"Well," you blink. "Yes, I suppose. It’s not everyday I can meet a superhero in an actual magical cat suit instead of just being in a random furry costume, you know.”

“A furr—?!” He looks scandalized. “I’m not a furry!” 

“You are a cat.” 

“A cat concept,” he defends. 

“You have a tail,” you point out.

“Which I can use for balance and combat. Besides, the ears and tail are a part of my skills in fighting. It’s also function, not just fashion.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyes trailing down to his neck before looking back at his offended gaze. “So, you’re telling me the bell is also a combat feature?”

There’s a beat of silence.

His hand snaps to his golden bell on his neck, shielding it from you. “Decoy tactic,” he croaks. 

"Pfft!" A bubble of laughter finally bursts out of your throat.  “Alright, alright, I believe you,” says the grinning kid who doesn’t believe him at all.

Chat Noir gives you a mock-offended look, but as you stifle another laugh behind your fist, a soft smile tugs on the corners of his mouth. It’s warm, and it makes him look a little less like the hero he should be and a little more like someone his age. Your age. 

But you also felt that way when you talked with high schoolers a few days ago. With Theo and his classmates. It’s the same warmth and belonging as the last time, so what is it, really? What are you supposed to be?

Chat Noir hauls himself up on the railings, sitting on the edge with his legs dangling. “Is something bothering you tonight?”

“What?” His eyes are still focused on you, which is making it harder for you to think. “What do you mean?” 

He looks forward again. “People don’t usually step out at this hour unless they’ve got something weighing on them.” His eyes flick to the moon. “If something is bothering you, then maybe I can listen. One sorrow shared is one sorrow halved after all.” 

You stare at the soft lines of his side profile before looking up at the moon. “What makes you so sure I’m feeling sorrowful? Maybe I’m just appreciating the beautiful moon in front of me tonight.”

“A hunch.” He pauses. “A cat’s instinct, you can say.”

“You never skip out on your cat references, do you?” 

“Of course. It’ll be my brand from now on,” he says with a playful grin, stretching his arms above his head. 

“I guess you'd love to be known as the purr-fectly punny hero of Paris, huh?" 

"I'd rather be the paw-some knight in shining armor of Paris, but I’ll make do with that.”

“Paw-some?” you repeat, scrunching your face in fake disgust. “That’s a terrible pun.”

“And that,” he intertwines his fingers behind his neck and leans toward you, “is a terrible diversion, sweetheart. You can’t expect me to let my question slip easily just like that, can you?”

The smile on your face falters. Suddenly, your throat almost feels like it’s caught a storm in it. A painful cloud storm that hurts when you swallow it down. 

“Maybe next time,” you drag out. It’s the only statement you could do without your voice cracking.

People aren’t exaggerating when they say it’s dangerous to ask someone how they’re feeling when they're already in the midst of their breakdown. Cause even if you aren’t entirely sure about how you feel, sometimes just being asked can crack open something that’s been sealed away for a while.

“Next time implies that you're giving me permission to ask again," he adds, "I can wait for years. For as long as it takes, if you’ll let me."

The wind stirs again, brushing strands of your hair across your face. “Over a check-up question?”

He meets your gaze, honest and soft, “Over everything.”

You fall quiet.

Maybe this is karma for making fun of him earlier. In just a single moment, it's as if you’re back to being an emotionally constipated teenager you were once before. The type that cannot even bring themselves to speak up because they've been astounded by something so simple yet impactful. 

It isn't like you at all; you might be bottling some emotions to yourself, but you pride yourself in being capable enough to respond to other people’s sincerity without feeling like a stiff robot about it. So the fact that you're hesitant about this is making you feel so uncomfortable. Strange.

You lean away from the railings. "Good night, Chat Noir.”

Chat Noir’s ears droop, but he gives you a defeated smile.  “Good night, starlight.”

He says it so casually, so effortlessly, like it’s a name he’s called you a thousand times before.

Then, with a swift leap, he’s standing on the railings, legs pressed together and a clawed hand on his chest. He bows politely, raising only his head to show you a catty grin.

“But I’ll only leave after you go back to your room first, of course.”  

You chuckle, shaking your head before bowing back. “I’ll take my leave, then.” Tipping an imaginary hat at him, you turn back to open the doorway to your room. 

Maybe the wind compelled you to do it, or maybe it’s the full moon itself. But you glance back to see the hero still perched on the edge, watching you with a quiet intensity.

“Black suits you well, by the way.”

Without waiting for a response, you step in your room, drawing the curtains in.

Through the silhouette, you can see the boy freeze for a moment. He’s staying still as an undisturbed river, you almost thought he'll be outside your balcony for a long time.

Then he pumps both fists in the air with a silent, exaggerated cheer. He nearly slips on the edge trying to twirl on the railings, but he recovers enough to glance back at your window, and that’s when you decide to leave. 

You have a feeling you’ll burst out smiling again if you see more of his dorky antics outside.

“Good morning!”

“Wah!” 

“Good morning,” Alya greets you back, shaking her head amusedly at Marinette who suddenly sprawls herself onto the table. “That’s weird. You’re a bit later than usual.”

You smile, sliding into your seat easily. “Almost three weeks have already passed by. I think that’s enough time for the teachers to normally assume I’m punctual even if I go to class late.”  

Alya snorts. “Not us though. You’re always, like thirty minutes earlier than any of us here. It feels weird to not see you when we come to our seats.”

“What can I say?” you drawl, leaning your chin on your palm and showing a toothy grin. “I’m just that noticeable, I guess.” 

The laugh you received from that statement was varied; one sounded absolutely forced and awkward, courtesy to Marinette who says she definitely agrees, while Alya is just amused by everything the blue-haired girl does. It’s becoming a norm for you two to witness Marinette be like this after all, so you’re also as amused as Alya about it.

One by one, more students walk into class. Some of them greet you with a fist bump, like Kim and Alix who totally glared at each other when they almost did it at the same time. But one specific student with his backwards red cap and big orange headphones actually makes you stand up from your seat in happiness.

“Nino!” You exclaim. The boy jolts right as he plops down on his seat. “Oops. Sorry- I guess I was being too loud with that.”

He waves dismissively as you approach his seat. “It’s chill, dude. What’s got you so excited this early in the morning anyway?”

“You,” you say cheerfully. Nino blinks, and you resist the urge to just burst at how weird you must have sounded. “Well—kind of. What I meant to say is: I saw you at that record shop down on Rue du Bac a few days ago. You know? The one with the Bob Marley posters? I was there picking up a couple of vinyls and I thought I recognized you, but you were in the zone so I didn’t wanna interrupt.”

Nino perks up. “Wait—seriously? That place is my go-to spot. I’m there like, every weekend.”

“I could tell,” you say with a grin, sliding into the desk beside him.

Adrien wouldn’t mind you taking his seat for a few minutes, right? He’s not here yet anyway. He’s probably dead tired after being up all night patrolling as Chat Noir (Hah. Noob.)

“Man, you should’ve said hi,” Nino laughs. “If you did, I’d have been hyped to talk tunes with you.”

“I’ll bother you next time then.” You grin, resting your arms on the desk. “What were you listening to, anyway?”

“Probably some old school Jamiroquai or Daft Punk. They had this limited repress of Discovery, and I almost cried when I saw it.”

“Ooh, I know about that.” You let out a low whistle. “I was there for that indie label drop—they were stocking some local stuff in my place, which was kind of cool to see.”

“You’ve seriously got some good taste,” Nino says, looking at you a bit more impressed now. “We should go record digging sometime.”

Score!

You resist the urge to grin brightly. “I was hoping you’d say that."

Nino has been in your radar for a while now. Specifically because he’s one of the people who will be the close friends of the main characters themselves. But if you ignore that thought, the main reason you want to be his friend is because you dig his vibes—the boy has that cool, nonchalant aura in him, which you believe is perfect for a friend. If friend shaped, why not friend them, right?

“I didn’t know you were into vinyls,” Alya notes.

“Only recently,” you say, glancing back at the girls. “I tend to like a lot of things before moving on with other stuff. Right now, vinyls are kind of addicting to me. I figured Nino might have good recs, since he looked like he knew what he was doing.”

“Because of the headphones?” Alya says, grinning.

“Because of the vibes,” Nino corrects with a grin of his own. He leans a bit closer to you. “What kinda stuff do you listen to anyway? I might be able to give you better recommendations if I know what fits your groove.”

You’re about to answer when Marinette suddenly knocks her pen off the table with a loud clatter. All of you turn her way in confusion as she scrambles to grab it, only to end up slamming her head under the table and groaning. 

You try not to wince. “Uh- you good there, Marinette?”

“I’m fine!” she says way too fast and way too high-pitched. “Totally good. Yep. Pen. Just—pen fell. See?” 

She shows the pen with the most awkward, twitching smile possible. 

Oh, Marinette. You want to say she should never change from being her socially awkward self since it’s endearing to see, but you also want her to be comfortable enough to be herself around others without feeling so shy all the time.

Still. It's cute. You'll just enjoy that sight for now. She'll warm up to you in no time anyway.

You smile at her reassuringly before turning back to Nino. “Anyway. My taste’s kinda all over the place, but I’ve been really into older funk and soul lately. My dad just got me a secondhand Songs in the Key of Life and it’s so good—”

“You,” Nino interrupts, placing a hand on your shoulder with faux seriousness. “You might be my favorite person right now.”

Now that shocked you in the best way possible.

Sorry, Adrien. I’m stealing your friends left and right, and I can’t even feel a hint of guilt about it—

“I’m so flattered,” you joke. “I might just put that on my résumé or something.”

“If you’re gonna do that, then you should also put ‘musical soulmate of Nino Lahiffe’ somewhere there too,” the boy adds. “Lovers of funk, destroyer of awkward silences, wearer of good vibes—”

“Stealer of Adrien Agreste’s seat,” somebody pipes up.

You glance up at the voice, and sure enough, Adrien is walking up to your table. Or maybe the proper term is ‘his’ table instead. 

Contrary to your expectations, the boy doesn’t look exhausted for someone who stayed up until sunrise came. You could even say he looks energetic, if not for the slight dampening of his smile when he looks between you and Nino.

“You guys look comfortable,” Adrien notes.

Nino raises his hands in surrender. “I know how to back off,” he says. 

Adrien looks at him in confusion. “What?”

"Well would you look at that? I’m the same as you too, musical soulmate.” You push yourself up from the chair, giving the blond a casual smile. "Here you go. I’m just warming your seat up for you, but it’s all yours now. You’re welcome, by the way."

"Thanks?" Adrien soon slides on his seat, exchanging another round of confused looks with Nino who just shakes his head at him. Just as you walk up the stairs to sit back on yours, the blond suddenly turns around and shows a bright, innocent smile at Alya. “So, Alya. You’re the one with the Ladybug and Chat Noir news as of lately, right?”

“And Phantom,” she corrects. “Don’t forget Paris’ original hero, because I’ve been a longtime journalist of theirs since I could barely even hold a phone without my mom snatching it away from me.” 

His smile twitches. “Right. Phantom. Um-” he clears his throat and leans closer. “Well, I was just about to ask… have you heard about the latest news with Chat Noir? I saw some people talking about him going up on late night patrols this entire week, and most of them said he’s doing great at it.”

Alya snaps her fingers. “Right! I heard that too. I’ve been trying to get a sighting of him but he’s always very far from where I’d speculate him to be, but—”

“What do you guys think of him?” Adrien blurts.

You stifle a snort, hiding the lower half of your face with your hand. 

“Chat Noir?” Marinette makes a confused sound. “Uh- he… does his job well?” 

“And…?”

“And he’s a pretty cool dude,” Nino adds. “Well, as cool as you’d expect a superhero would be.”

“Personally, I think Phantom is cooler in terms of being mysterious. And Ladybug, if we’re talking about being magical,” Alya says. “But I guess Chat Noir has his charm too.”

Adrien doesn’t seem satisfied by any of the answers he’s receiving. His eyes flick toward you—bright, hopeful, a little too keen. And once again, you’re fighting the urge to laugh cause why is he so damn obvious? 

Well. You supposed he’s always been obvious when he’s fishing for compliments. Even when you two were kids, he’s always looking at you with that fake innocent smile of his that people fall for, but not you. You enjoy it more when you don’t give him what he wants.

“Chat Noir?” you repeat, humming. “He’s alright. I think he’s kinda goofy though.”

Adrien visibly deflates. Nino chokes on a laugh. Marinette snorts like she’s been waiting for someone to say it out loud.

“Oh my God, (Y/n),” Alya wheezes.

“Being goofy is not that bad,” Adrien defends. 

You grin wider. “I never said it’s a bad thing.”

Adrien’s ears go a little pink at that. “You think he’s funny then?” he tries again, testing the waters.

You just smile at him, and right on cue, Ms. Bustier enters the classroom. 

It’s the perfect timing to see Adrien’s face dropping like his entire world just shattered in front of him. Poor guy; if he’d directly asked for compliments, perhaps you’ll satisfy his ego. But trying to be subtle like that and failing? 

It’s during your transitional period in Science class when you receive a notification from your phone. 

Kidz+ Weather Girl competition: 5,000 Contestants are chosen to battle it up with each other! Vote now for the title of the new Kidz+ Weathergirl of all of Paris!

Among the list provided in the article, you only see two names that will be the finalist of this competition.

Mireille Caquet, the sweet-looking blue haired girl whom everyone will end up loving.

And Aurore Beaureal, the beautiful blonde girl who will bring forth a storm from her future loss.

You hum, looking around the classroom before whispering to your scarf. “Anpu?” 

You hear your kwami snoring. He hates staying awake during science, out of all your subjects.

But he doesn’t have to stay asleep for too long, not when you know your words are enough to snap him wide awake.

“Why don’t we finally visit Master Fu today?” 

Chapter Text

When you said you’ll vote for Aurore only, you didn’t consider the fact that maybe her competition would actually be greater than her.

Don’t get it wrong; compared to the other 4,998 competitors, the best contender had to be Aurore and her endless charm. Her only flaw was the exaggerated personality she gives to the camera, which looks unnatural to the TV, but she was better than the others! She isn’t stuttering and crying mid-way into the recording session because the cameras are surrounding them, and that’s the lowest standard you can give to a supposed weathergirl occupation, right? 

But then Mireille Caquet came in. And Mireille…

Well. Let’s just say you totally understand why Mireille won by a landslide now. With her being as natural as she can be, even if she’s camera shy, versus Aurore’s saccharine “TV-ready” persona, it’s obvious who will win the hearts of the viewers behind the screen.

Sighing, you close your locker as you take off your scarf that’s now drenched in sweat after the PE lessons in the courtyard.  “Maybe I’m becoming a background character too, Anpu. A background character who likes whatever this world says I have to like.” 

First point: you are enjoying Jagged Stone’s music. The guitar solo in every part of his song reminded you of a couple bands you’ve listened to in the past, which doesn’t help because that means, unironically, you love listening to him now? To Jagged Stone? The most strikingly stereotypical rock artist in the entire series?

Second point: you like Mireille instead of Aurore. You just said why, and you aren’t going to rehash the reasons in your head again as you did earlier.

What’s next? You’ll like Clara Nightingale too, the annoying pop star who speaks in rhymes even when she’s not in front of the camera? 

“Is that a problem, master?” Anpu says, genuinely confused.

“Oh, no. It’s not that much of a problem.” You swap out your sweaty scarf with another fresh one. A bright yellow one, because Anpu of course had to pick this color out of all the normal scarves available in your closet. “The only problem is that I have to reconcile with the fact that I’m becoming everything I made fun of myself in the past.”

Imagine being all like ‘Hah! Why in the world is Jagged Stone, this cringe guy, so popular here?’ when you first watched his debut episode, only to end up being one of his unironic fans when you get reincarnated. It feels like a cosmic joke.

Anpu tilts his head. "What does that mean?”

“It means,” you begin with an exaggerated sigh, “I’m liking what everyone likes. And that’s terrible.” 

“Why’s that terrible? I don’t understand, master. You don’t need to be different to be happy about something."

You chuckle at his words. “I know, mister quotable quotes. I’m just joking around.” You boop his head, which makes him giggle as always. “Get in my scarf already. We have a master to visit.” 

If there’s a competition for a new sun of the earth, you have a feeling Anpu will win from how bright he’s beaming at your words. 

Unlike before, you don’t need to escape your mother’s clutches to find the same place again: that one, non-moving massage shop in Seine. You also don’t need to make excuses since your parents trust you enough to manage your time by yourself.

So with a deep breath, you open the door to the massage shop and step inside, pressing your back against it as you look around.

Everything is the same as before. Incense everywhere, more plants than usual, and a couple of bags that haven’t been unpacked yet for some reason. 

You look in front of you, seeing a man lying on his stomach by the massage table. Your gaze slides to an old man beside him, and an amused smile decorates your lips when he snaps his head your way, his eyes widening. 

“Hi,” you breathe. “Is this shop accepting part-timers?” 

The shock in Master Fu’s face is more than gratifying to see. 

The customer doesn’t think the same though. “Ugh, why did you stop? I was just feeling relaxed a couple of seconds ago,” he grumbles. But he ends up yelping when Master Fu yanks him off the massage table. “Hey! What gives!”

“Oh, I am so sorry dear customer, but I forgot that I am supposed to close up right about— now.” Master Fu hurriedly grabs a couple of bills from a nearby table and places it into the befuddled customer’s palms. “That’s exactly as much as you gave me earlier for your selected service. Consider it a refund for our short meeting. Come again next time, bye!”

You suppress a grin as Master Fu quickly ushers the customer toward the door. The man seems too bewildered to put up much of a protest, but he takes the money and stumbles out, casting one last confused look at the old man before he disappears into the street.

“I thought you didn't do refunds,” you muse, stepping inside and looking around for a certain green-shell kwami. 

Master Fu, now free of any distractions, closes the door behind him with a soft click before turning his full attention to you.

“You!” He exclaims in thick disbelief and was that a touch of joy too? 

“Me!” You clap your hands together and grin. “What’s up with me, huh? Is it your first time seeing someone as charming as this jackal right here?” 

He is about to answer but a blur of green suddenly comes barreling over your cheek. “(Y/n)! You’re back! Oh my kwami you are back!” 

You stagger from the sudden impact, but you can't help but laugh.  "Wayzz!" you exclaim, reaching up to gently pat the small kwami who looks like he’s on the verge of tears. "It’s good to see you too, buddy."

Wayzz sniffles, fighting back his happy tears. You always know he’s one of the most emotional kwami between his brethren, but there’s someone else who beats him to the number one of crying at every emotional moment. Somebody who pops out of your scarf with big drops of tears already falling on his obsidian skin.

“WAYZZZ!!!!!”

Wayzz chortles. “Anpu?!”  

Just like that, Wayzz is sent hurtling as Anpu zooms to hug him. You don’t know whether to laugh again or actually check up on the two’s well-being; they almost hit the wall from their strong hugs, but you guess they’re crying loudly for a different reason instead. 

“It’s only been seven years,” you point out, amused. “I thought you guys live for eternity or something. Especially you—wow, Master Fu. You are still as young as I last saw you. And you’re supposed to be, what, seven years closer to two centuries old?”

Master Fu still looks utterly flabbergasted. His hands hover in the air, as if he's not sure whether to greet you with a hug or a slap for startling him so badly. The shock on his face quickly shifts to a grin though, the lines around his eyes crinkling as he lets out a breathless chuckle. 

“You’ve changed a lot,” he admits. “But you still don’t know how to be subtle and patient, do you?” 

“I’m already subtle and patient, thank you very much.” You walk over to the door leading to his storage room. “Are the teapots still in the same place as last time? I can make us tea while you close the shop.”

You’ll also let Anpu and Wayzz cry to each other like two long lost brothers. You don’t know what exactly they’re on right now, but you will not be the one breaking their tender moment together.

Master Fu lets out a soft chuckle at the scene. “I can see you’ve not changed either, Anpu.” He turns your way and stiffens when you open the door to his storage room. “Wait a second, (Y/n)! There are a lot of—”

He doesn’t even finish the warning when you open the door and a bunch of boxes fall right in front of you. A lot of weird looking vegetable and mushrooms roll down the floor. You swear you also saw a purple egg with spikes on it too, almost like a dragon egg or something.

“... ingredients for the potions, behind there,” Master Fu says defeatedly.

“You didn’t clean it up yet?” you say, baffled.

“There’s only so much an old man can do with cleaning,” Master Fu says sheepishly. But when he sees your disbelieving gaze, he sighs. “I’m assuming you know about Hawk Moth now. Phantom came back right at the same time he appeared after all. But did you know about his future schemes? Is that why you timed your appearance as a hero once the Butterfly Miraculous’ holder finally made his move?” 

You pick up everything that had fallen out of the box, placing them anywhere you could. There’s no sorting signs on the boxes anyway; if these are important, then you just hope Master Fu would be able to forgive you for messing his arrangement up.

“Yes and no,” you answer his questions. 

“Yes and no?” 

Pushing the boxes to the side, you look behind your shoulder to glance at the old man. His brows are furrowed. He’s confused and possibly overwhelmed by everything about you again. Now don’t you feel a bit of deja vu from this situation?

“Come on, Master Fu,” you tease, grabbing the teapot that he kept on the same spot as before. “I guess we got a lot of catching up to do after all.”

When you finish telling Master Fu everything that you did seven years ago, changing up the names of the Agrestes and the Fathoms while you’re at it, he looks absolutely enthralled by what you said. Well, both him and Wayzz. Anpu is just copying the turtle-kwami as always, even if he already knows what went down these past few years. 

“I didn’t disappear on purpose,” you continue, watching the steam dance over the teacups. “But I did calculate it in my plan back then. I just couldn’t tell you about it because… well, I already did my part between the two of us. I got you the Peacock Miraculous and the Grimoire spellbook back. I was sure you’ll be fine even if my existence just brushed yours for a few days or two.”

Master Fu shakes his head. “Oh no, young one. You underestimate the changes your presence brought to my life.”

You blink, the steam curling into your nose as you pause with your teacup halfway to your lips.

“You say you brushed through my life like a passing wind, but to someone like me, who had spent an entire century alone, burdened by a duty no one else could understand… you were a tempest. A good one.” He chuckles, though there’s something wistful about it. “A tempest that shook everything up. Brought hope. And then disappeared before I could even ask why.”

Master Fu stands up and walks over to the phonograph on the shelf. He pushes his fingers on the dragon markings of the sides, but instead of bringing up the Miracle Box, another compartment slides open. It holds the spellbook, and he brings it over to the table with a thud.

“Have you finished translating it?” you ask.

“Yes. For seven years.” He sighs, sitting across you again. “There are so many pages I still don’t understand. Potions, yes, and rituals. But the ingredients… I only need one more to finish it, but I cannot find it even after draining all my unique ingredients all over the world. I need to travel again. Search ancient places. But—” he hesitates, his voice lowering. “I cannot leave. The Miracle Box must be protected. If I go, there would be no one left to guard them.”

“Sounds tough,” you drawl, sipping on your cup while staring at the spellbook. “What’s the last ingredient you needed to decode anyway? I think I’ll be able to help.”

You definitely know about it, but no matter how much you dig into your mind, you just can’t remember what exactly it is. Wasn’t it just a teardrop or something salty? 

As if struck by lightning, Master Fu straightens.

“You!”

You blink. “Me?”

“You’re back. You’re back!” He slams his hands down on the table and stands, much more agile than you expect from someone with back problems. “You know almost everything about the miraculouses. You know the weight of it all. You’re balancing your life as Phantom. You understand secrecy, duty, balance. And—”

He holds the grimoire close before sliding it your way, his face serious now. “You’ve always had the heart of a Guardian.”

For a moment, your mind blanks.

“What?”

“I can’t travel and protect the box,” he insists, but your mind isn’t catching up with the reality yet. “But with you here, it’ll be different. Even without decades of training, you already know what a guardian needs to know. You’re more than qualified for it, (Y/n).”

Is this some kind of huge joke?

Master Fu has always been a bit goofy from what you remembered. That's why you wait for a second or two, anticipating that smile on his face while he tells you that this is just a prank; that he’s just giving you payback after surprising the life out of him two times in less than a decade. 

Cause you are not guardian material. You are not even supposed to be a candidate, nor are you supposed to be here. This world likes to push you down by letting everything go the same as it did in the script, so why is it trying to deviate now? Why is Master Fu giving you a role that Marinette should have in the first place?

Master Fu doesn’t seem to notice your inner conflict. “With Hawk Moth finally using the Butterfly Miraculous for evil, I don’t have the luxury of waiting anymore. Once he masters Nooroo’s power, once he creates the most complicated supervillain in the future, the heroes I’ve chosen won’t won’t have the potion that will upgrade their powers to fight against him. It could spell doom for humanity, do you hear?”

“Wait,” you stammer. “You- I- what? Just— if it’s just the potion, I can help you with it instead-”

“But the Miracle Box needs a new guardian too.”

“No, it doesn’t,” you cut him off. You don’t know if you’re even breathing. “Right now, it doesn’t. It’s too early, Master Fu.”

“I am 186 years old now. I cannot keep delaying this,” Master Fu says quietly, his eyes heavy. “The Miracle Box has already been compromised more than once. I’ve done everything I can, but there’s only so much I can bear alone. If I can’t leave to search for that last ingredient, I need—”

“Tears of joy!” 

He pauses. 

You let out a nervous laugh. “Tears of joy. That’s the last ingredient you needed, right?”

“... yes,” he says, befuddled. “That’s exactly it. I tried all combination, the water from a broken dam, the seasalt that I stored from twenty years ago—”

You turn to the two kwami who had been listening quietly to the side, motioning for them to cover their ears. No kwami should ever hear any of the ingredient to the potions, to make sure their future holders won’t know about it if they turn out to be bad people—like how Gabriel had turned out to be, with Nooroo as his miraculous.

Wayzz seems to understand your request so he urges Anpu to follow, until both of them are turned away with their hands over their ears.

You turn back to the rambling Master Fu and sweatdrop. “It’s literally tears of joy, Master Fu.”

“Yes, but what does the tears of joy symbolizes? What can it be hinting at that I can’t even decipher it for years–”

“Tears,” you say. “Like, full on tears? The one that your eyes drop when you are crying of happiness?”

“Impossible,” Master Fu shakes his head. “I’ve been taught that the translation process for the Grimoire is always encoded with a decipherable symbolic meaning.” 

Then your words finally sink in and he goes still.

“Yeah…” you drag out. “It’s also a good tactic to include both symbolic and literal meanings in your secret code, don’t you think so?”

He stares at you. Stares.

Then, slowly, so slowly it almost feels like you’re watching dry paint off the wall, the disbelief on his face melts into something incredulous. “No,” he breathes. “No, that can’t be…”

You sigh in relief. At least he’s not focused on the guardian thing now. Cause who knows if you’re ready to talk about that right on the same day you met him again? “Well, now that you found the last ingredient, how long do you think you’d be able to finish the potions?”

Master Fu doesn't answer right away.

Instead, he sinks into the chair across from you again, looking oddly dazed. 

“Tears of joy,” he murmurs. “I was looking for something too grand. I’ve spent years looking through my ancient relics, salt preserved in glaciers, rain from sacred temples, laughter in a bottle…” He chuckles helplessly, rubbing a hand over his face. “But it was right there all along.”

You tilt your cup toward him with a teasing smile. “Maybe next time, try crying from happiness first before flying across the world.”

He looks around the unpacked bags in his shop and laughs. “You may be right.”

Then he sobers, glancing down at the spellbook again. “If it really is what I think… then I can finish the potion in a matter of days. Weeks at most. The base is already done, stabilized years ago. Everything else was waiting for the catalyst. One drop, just one, and it will be ready.” He looks up at you. “The enhancement will give the Miraculous holders a significant edge. It could be what finally turns the tide.”

You nod slowly. That sounds… promising. Necessary, even.

And yet…

The other thing he said lingers like a mosquito buzz in your ear.

.

.

“You’ve always had the heart of a Guardian.”

.

.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I know you’re burdened about the Miracle Box now that Hawk Moth is terrorizing Paris for his own gain, but you know... it’s- it's too early to pass the mantle.” 

“Of course.” He closes his eyes gently. “I was just being too hasty. I told Wayzz that I am still strong and capable even if I may be a hundred years old, but translating with little to no knowledge about the Grimoire has made me feel more… stressed out than I’d usually be.”

“Mm. I know. You only took, what, seven years to finally translate the last ingredient of the spellbook, right?” 

He chuckles at your teasing tone. “But it would make me feel better if I could train somebody while I’m still the guardian, you know?”

You look to the side, meeting two little gazes that are looking at you expectantly. They already took their hands off their ears, and it’s Wayzz who speaks up first.

“Will you be our new guardian, (Y/n)?” he asks with that childlike gleam of hope in his green eyes.

“Is that really the question you should be asking me right now?” You force a happy grin and lean back. “Come on. I just reunited with you guys again after so long. At least let me breathe.”

“Right!” Anpu huffs. “If master doesn’t want to be a guardian, then they don’t need to! That’s the rule of the Jackal holder: they always choose their own fate, whether anyone likes it or not!” 

You shoot him an amused look before saying, “Thanks, Anpu,” under your breath.

He puffs his chest proudly, and Wayzz, though slightly flustered, bows his head in acknowledgment. “Of course. My apologies, (Y/n). I let my eagerness get ahead of me.”

Master Fu chuckles quietly. “If you ever change your mind, please know that I am willing to take you under my wing at any time. Even if you don't become the Guardian… I still believe you deserve the training.”

“You mean… you still want to train me even if I don’t accept the Miracle Box?”

He nods. “Think of it as preparation, not pressure. The world may change again. Hawk Moth might grow more powerful. The heroes may need someone who understands more than just how to fight. Even if you never take on the role of a guardian…"

You fall quiet.

"Someone should still be ready. Just in case things get worse.”

Weeks pass, and you don’t think you’ve gotten a good night’s rest ever since that day in Master Fu’s shop.

You try not to think much about it. He just wants to train you as another mentor, in case he doesn’t get the chance to protect the Miracle Box anymore. It’s nothing personal. 

Besides, you're not the one destined for this duty anyway. Once Master Fu meets Marinette and realizes her potential, like the main character she is, he won’t even have the chance to think about passing his responsibility to you anymore.

It’s Saturday morning, and you are lying on the velvety cushion of your bed. You aren’t doing anything special—just scrolling through your phone, reading everyone’s comments about the Kidz+ Weather Girl competition that’s about to end this afternoon. 

“Master!” Anpu calls out. “If you don’t get up from your bed, I’m going to eat your food by myself!” 

You sit up real quick. “Hey! You can take the sandwiches, but at least leave the meals for me!” It only takes you a while before you wince, Anpu grinning wider with that mischievous face of his. “Damnit. Not my sandwiches again.” 

Forget being innocent. Your kwami is devious when it comes to filling his stomach up with his favorite food. 

“Ever since I met you, I have never once eaten a sandwich properly again,” you say, walking over to the room service tray that had been delivered not ten minutes ago, still gleaming with condensation under the silver cloches. You lift one lid with a sigh, revealing a plate of artfully arranged fruit. The sandwiches? Gone. Again.

Maybe you should start ordering for three people or something. Your kwami counts as two people based on how much he eats in one go.

Anpu is now lounging on your bed, a triangle of toasted bread poking out from his tiny mouth. “Are we staying in today?”

“No,” you say, flicking a grape at him, which he opens his mouth to catch with the ease of someone far too used to being targeted with your food crimes. “We’re heading out. I want to see the place where they’re doing the Live Voting for the Weather Girl competition.”

Anpu stops chewing mid-bite. “The what?”

You gesture at your phone. The screen is still open to a livestream countdown and a buzzing comment section, full of emojis and usernames throwing their support behind the last two contestants. “They’re doing a live event today in front of the TVi Tower. Both Mireille and Aurore are gonna walk down the red carpet prepared there, and if…” 

You pause. “Once Aurore loses,” cause you can actually see her losing from the amount of supporters Mireille has, “I want us to be able to transform nearby before anyone gets hurt.” 

Anpu perks up immediately, abandoning the last crumbs of sandwich crust. “Okay! We’re going to be daytime heroes again!”

Your lips curl into a smile. “Ghosts like us should never go out in the morning,” you tease. Anpu pouts. You like saying that you’re the most attention seeking person of all time, but compared to your kwami, you are clearly just a beginner. “Oh well. Do you want more sandwiches? I’ll call for another room service if so.” 

After finishing an eventful breakfast with your glutton of a kwami, you begin your trek to the TVi Tower. It’s not that far from the hotel, but since it’s the weekends, people are already swarming the streets like bees to honey. 

It’s so hot outside. You’re actually going to melt. The scarf you’re wearing isn’t making you feel any better either. 

Maybe it’s time you rethink your choices for Anpu’s hiding spot. You don’t want to wear a button-down shirt like Adrien does, cause that’s still going to be as hot as your own layered outfit. 

Perhaps Marinette’s idea of having her purse as a kwami hiding spot would be good to copy? The only problem about that is the chances you’ll misplace the bag somewhere. You don’t want to end up having no Anpu nearby to help you transform into Phantom. Chances of that happening in this series? High, considering everyone is stupid and this heat is making you so much of a hater of everything in this world—

Your phone vibrates in your palms. It’s Alya. You’d given her your phone number ever since you’d shown her that you were also the type to run headfirst into danger. She doesn’t know you’re doing it to transform into Phantom, but at least she thinks highly of you compared to her first impression before. 

“Hello?” 

“I got a new scoop today!” 

You don’t even flinch at Alya’s exclamation. Not when your eardrums already broke from her first word. “Is it about Adrien’s photoshoot today?”

“It’s about— huh?” She pauses, making you chuckle as you cross the street. “Ookay, this one isn’t counted. I mean; you got Mr. Perfect as your childhood friend after all.”

“And?” You snort. Adjusting the phone on your ear. “Just because I’m his childhood friend doesn’t mean we’re still as close as we were before.”

“Then why’d you know that he’s doing a photoshoot today, huh?” she challenges. You can even see her smug face even if you’re only talking through the phone.

“Everyone by the park is posting about it on the internet, Alya. His fanbase is also posting. I’m assuming you saw the same posts I did.”

Alya groans on the other end. “I forgot you’re as obsessed as I am when it comes to browsing the internet.”

You smile faintly, ducking beneath a fluttering banner of Mireille's face as it swings above you. “Hey. At least you know you got one loyal Alya blog viewer right over here. Both for the superhero blogs and the everyday blogs you do too.”

“That’s the bare minimum payment for the troubles I promise I’ll help you get out of in the future,” she teases. 

You scoff amusedly. “As if I’ll ever get in trouble.” Does she not trust in your charms?

“Hey now. With how much you’ve been spending time with Chloe and with Marinette and I, it’s only a matter of time before trouble gets to you soon.” You hear her smile, warm and tickled, and undoubtedly Alya-like of her. “But anyway, the real scoop is that I’m gonna drag Marinette to the park and get her to talk to Adrien today.”

“Yep,” you say nonchalantly. “I expected that. You’re a menace to Marinette’s sanity, you know that?”

“A lovable menace, you mean,” she replies. “But seriously, I think she needs this. She just needs one push to get out of her comfort zone and—”

“And that should be at her pace, Alya. Marinette can barely even talk with me too, so what makes you think she’ll be able to talk to Adrien without freaking out?”

Alya scoffs through the phone, but you can hear the playful challenge in her voice. “You really underestimate the power of a little push, huh? Trust me, she’s got it in her.”

You shake your head as you glance up at the bustling scene around the TVi Tower. The crowd is growing, and if you didn’t know any better, you would think everyone is waiting for a concert to start judging by the banners and sign boards they have while they’re standing right behind the fences on the side of the red carpet area. 

“I’m not saying Marinette doesn’t have it in her,” you reply, walking right behind a couple of people who are busy talking about the winner for the weather girl competition. “I just think you should let her take the steps herself. She’ll get there. Just… not on your schedule.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it. I’ll give our girl the space she needs.” You find that hard to believe. “But I’m on my way to Marinette’s house already—” yep. You knew it. “Just for today! Wanna come with us too? The bakery isn’t that far away from your hotel anyway. We can go together and catch the shoot before Adrien gets dragged to whatever convoluted schedule he has right after this one.”

“I can come,” you begin. “But I’ll be a little late since I’m currently in TVi Tower right now—”

“What? Why?” 

“The Kidz+ Weather Girl competition, duh.”

“Seriously? You know the winner is going to be Mireille already, right?” 

You tilt your head and give a nonchalant shrug, even though Alya can’t see you. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to see the event for myself. The energy’s pretty wild down here—literally everyone is holding a Mireille balloon or banner. Plus, I like being in the thick of things.”

Alya laughs on the other end. “I guess I can’t blame you for wanting to be in the chaos. Like moths to a light.” There’s a jingle on the other side of the phone, and you hear Alya speak to two other people with warm voices. “Gotta go. I’m in Marinette’s home now. You better come later or else.”

You stifle a laugh at her threatening voice. “Yes, ma’am. I’ll be right where you need me to be.”

“Good.” 

Alya is the one who hangs up first. Goodbyes don’t seem to exist to her, not when she’s definitely expecting you to show up to the park. 

Well. They’ll still be there even after we defeat Stormy Weather anyway, so technically I’m not lying to her when I said I’ll be a little late.

From the corner of your eyes, the camera crew is now urging everyone to chant. It’s a lot more crowded here than what you’d expect to be, which is why the cheers are loud to your ears.

“Mireille, Mireille, Mireille!” 

You hear some people shout “Aurore, Aurore, Aurore!” too but you must have come to the wrong side of the venue since everyone around you is a Mireille supporter. 

“Let’s go Mireille!” even Anpu is her supporter. It’s a good thing you’re in the back of the line, because aside from the negatives where you literally can’t see the view of the red carpet in front, at least nobody can also see you pushing down a black magical creature down into your scarf. 

It takes only a few more minutes before the screaming becomes louder. A white limousine stops by the curb of the red carpet entrance. 

The door opens, and Aurore steps out with her pastel blue parasol. She’s donning the bright blue summer dress, the twin tails of her blonde hair tied with pastel blue rubber bands. Her makeup is striking and wonderful, and when she pops open her parasol, the yellow undertone completes her entire look with a flair.

Right behind her, Mireille steps out with a simple outfit. Just a fluffy pale green sweater and white jeans, but the way the crowd erupts makes it clear who the favorite is.

“Hey! I can’t see anything!” someone complains from behind, trying to peer over heads.

Mireille waves shyly as she walks down the red carpet. Aurore, on the other hand, blows kisses and waves everywhere she looks.

You look at the crowd briefly. Kids with foam fingers. Parents trying to take videos. Teenagers recording livestreams for their followers. It’s easy to get lost in this crowd, but it’s even easier to do something unnoticed.

“I need you ready,” you say to Anpu. “The moment she steps out here later, we need to be somewhere less public. Somewhere I can change.”

“There’s a maintenance alley near the billboard, master!” Anpu offers. “I saw it earlier when we walked through the pedestrian lane!”

You nod, already stepping back from the crowd. 

Now you gotta do the part that you hate. Not the fighting, not the saving—just the waiting. That brief, aching window where you do nothing but wait for the inevitable.

You seem to exaggerate a lot.

The ‘waiting’ you did? It’s just ten minutes of doing nothing but scrolling on your phone while everyone around you is chatting about voting for Mireille. 

If there are hardcore haters here like there were in your previous life, you’d probably be posted online with the caption ‘blud is trying too hard to be y/n on a One Direction concert 💀’. You just need a book to complete your nonchalant appearance, a popular celebrity who would look at you and say ‘interesting’ and then you’re done.

But you aren’t trying to recreate that cliche scene. You’re trying to wait for the storm.

Literally.

Your phone buzzes again with a breaking notification from Kidz+ confirming the obvious: 

“Yay! Mireille won!” the crowd erupts. Now they’re just waiting for the girl to walk down the red carpet, and it’ll be a happy tale of everyone’s favorite girl getting the spotlight.

The doors swing open. Everyone’s back to cheering. You can’t see through all the people in front of you, but the dampening voices and moods tells you that the one who is walking down the red carpet, giggling to herself, was not the winner everyone was expecting.

“Where’s Mireille?”

Oops. There’s my cue to go.

A frustrated huff comes from behind you, but you don’t look back. You find the right place to transform, whispering, “Anpu, lead on—” 

That’s when things become chaotic.

In your defense: you were moving fast. You were even ready to step out of your hiding spot, your transformation reaching to your gloves already. But the storm seems to be impatient, because before you even knew it, a gust of strong wind sends everyone hurtling into the air with a shriek.

Umbrellas snap inside out. Banners tear loose from hands. And steel fences get blown to the air.

You snap your head back just in time to see Aurore—now Stormy Weather—leap into the sky. She’s definitely on her way to find the two heroes per Hawk Moth’s request, but you don’t have the luxury to follow her.

Everyone is on the verge of crashing to the ground, and you can’t let that happen.

Your body moves before your mind catches up. The transformation’s already finished mid-step, and gold glints at your palms where your two scythes materialize, long and curved like crescent moons. 

With a firm snap of your wrists, you launch one of your scythe to the long rope of a banner fluttering wildly overhead. The blade catches the string mid-spin, so you pivot on your heel, releasing the second scythe toward another swaying banner pole, and clack—it latches on with a clean snap.

For a moment, the storm howls around you. Debris and signs whirl through the air, screams drowned under the shrill wail of wind. But then your empty hand pulls an imaginary line back. And both scythes boomerang back toward you—except now they’re trailing yards of connected banners like safety nets. 

You twist in the eye of the chaos, arms outstretched like a conductor. The scythes spin outward again, looping around the flying crowd. You don’t aim to hit anyone; instead, you maneuver them around the people, threading the ropes between lamp posts, fences, and any other grounded structures.

It’s messy. The wind rips at your coat and drags your ears backwards, and someone’s cardboard cutout of Mireille slams into your face. But you catch it—just barely—and shove it to the side before throwing your arm forward again, catching the scythes back into your hands and slamming it down on the ground.

One by one, people bounce against the banner instead of hitting the pavement, cradled midair by your makeshift web.

Someone shrieks as they dangle a foot above the ground. Another clutches a banner line like a lifeline. You’re pretty sure one guy is crying, but at least they’re all safe.

Damnit. That took way more effort than just throwing scythes and being all cool-like. Why couldn’t I get Ladybug’s magical yo-yo to save these people instead?

“Alright, everyone!” You call out to the people who look down at you in pure awe and gratitude. “I’ll lower you slowly, and you guys should be able to jump down on your own without getting hurt. I’ll focus on the children first!” 

While you’re doing exactly what you said, catching the children who jump into your arms with so much excitement, you almost forget they were supposed to crash on the ground earlier after that sudden wind. 

“That was amazing, Phantom! You just—fwoosh!—and then—zap! And then—”

You give him a gentle smile, setting him down on the ground and watching his mother run up to him with a teary face. But even if he’s already being fretted over by his mother, he still looks at you with stars practically twinkling in his eyes.

“—and then you caught us all! You’re such a cool hero!” the kid finishes.

“That, I did. And that,” you give him a small salute and a wink. “I am.”

When you finish getting everyone down, the scythes whir back to you, cutting through the ropes entangled in it as you hold it in your hands. You tap on the golden blades, opening your interface and messaging both Ladybug and Chat Noir. If one of them replies back, then they’ll be able to tell you where Stormy Weather is currently located. But if they’re still MIA, then at least you have your previous knowledge on where to go next.

“All of you get to safety, alright?” you say to everyone nearby, turning off your blade’s interface and walking backwards. “Ladybug and Chat Noir will be fixing this up soon enough. Just stay clear of the chaos and let the professionals handle this!”

You take off, throwing your scythes forward and letting it pull you to the park’s location as fast as you could. 

“Phantom!” You hear people shout, and you spare them a quick glance over your shoulder. “Thank you so much for saving us!” 

“Wow,” you blink, then you stumble as you fall on top of somebody’s balcony. 

People actually feel grateful when we save them? 

You know most of them do, but it’s still jarring to hear them say their gratitude right in front of your face.

“I’m on a roll today,” you muse, throwing your scythe forward and running again. “I guess it’s time for me to go rain on somebody’s parade for a change!”

He is beauty. He is grace. Chat Noir is airborne and is now going to land on his face.

Throughout his screams, one of your scythes hooks onto a nearby lamppost, the momentum swinging you in a wide arc, just in time to intercept his incoming crash. You snatch him out of the air, his weight slamming into you with an oomph loud enough to knock the wind out of your lungs.

“Gotcha!” you wheeze, feet skidding along the pavement before your ankles catch on a loose tile and the both of you tumble down into a clumsy, wheezing pile. 

You’re pretty sure your knee hit something important—possibly his ego, judging from the wounded sound he makes. You wince sympathetically. 

"Oops?" You try to say while he's curling himself in pain, his head still on your stomach.

“Ugh… Seriously?” Chat Noir groans, his body practically sprawled over yours as you both lay there, tangled in a mess of limbs. “You could have just let me crash. That would’ve been so much more graceful and less painful for my pride as a man.”

You squirm beneath him, trying to push yourself up without disturbing the awkward heap you’ve become. His weight isn’t exactly light, but the real problem is that you’ve just managed to land in a way that could make him hate you more than usual.

“Yeah, well, you were about to get tossed around like a ping pong ball to those parked cars before you landed on the ground,” you reply, your voice laced with dry sarcasm. “Pretty sure that would’ve bruised more than your pride, Chat.”

Chat Noir snorts, pushing himself up with an exaggerated grunt, and you’re struck by how… well, petty he looks when he does it. The prideful, usually smooth feline hero is now scowling at you like you’re the one who caused all this.

You open your mouth to say something.

“Don’t,” Chat Noir snaps, voice tight as he stands shakily. “Just– don’t.”

You stare as he holds his midsection in crippling pain. Then you look at his eyes and grin. “You’re welcome.”

He groans.

Knowing that you have some decency to let him stew in his disdain for a moment, you change the topic. “Did you see our new opponent?” 

“You mean the ice queen who’s clearly not updated on the wonderful weather earlier?”

“Funny,” you say dryly. “Out of all of us, I think she’s the most updated person when it comes to the weather of France.”

“What do you mean?”

The sound of yo-yo strings zipping down makes both of you look behind. “Ladybug!” you call out, relieved at the sight of the girl landing on the ground with an amused smile on her face. “Finally, you’re here. I actually have a plan that’ll make us catch the akuma faster.” 

“Right.” Ladybug looks between the two of you. You have a feeling she wants to ask something but she shakes her head and addresses you instead. “What’s the plan again, Phantom?”

Chat Noir pouts. “You’re seriously letting them lead this time?” 

You roll your eyes, about to ignore the sulking boy when Ladybug huffs. “Phantom is a veteran, Chat Noir. You should put aside your personal grudge to them for now. Compared to the two of us, I think they know more about how to deal with the akumas and how we can fight back against the supervillains it creates.”

That makes you blink in surprise. “Oh.”

Maybe you understand why Chat Noir likes her a lot. 

“You’re always so understanding, Bugaboo.” Chat Noir leans his chin on his baton and sighs dreamily. “It’s like you're always willing to see the good in people, even the ones who don’t deserve it.” 

He points a glare at you. You don’t pay him attention. Maybe your plan of ignoring the boy’s blatant hatred will work someday, if you try hard enough.

Ladybug gives him an exasperated look but doesn’t comment on it anymore. “So, what’s the plan?”

You open your mouth again, until a controlled gale of wind resounds behind you. 

Oh for God’s sake—why can’t these people just let me speak for once?!

Stormy Weather lowers herself a few feet ahead. Her previous blond twin tails are now drills of lavender and dark purple, swirling around each other until it reached the even parting on her head. Her eyes are covered in a black lightning mask, lips the same color as the lighter side of her purple hair.

Instead of an ice queen, she just looks like a pastel goth, especially with her mulberry swooping dress and pure white sleeves to accompany it. A goth with weather powers, that is. 

“Would you look at that?” She smirks, her lavender eyes boring holes to all three of you coldly. “We’re expecting lightning storms right about… now!” 

She points her dark purple parasol up in the sky. A bright pink light shoots out at the tip, crackling and bursting until the sky turns dark, and all the clouds begin to churn like an angry ocean. 

A flash of lightning streaks across the sky. Then it continues zipping downwards, following into a line of electricity that’s headed your way.

“RUN!” You shout. 

You don’t wait to see if either of them listens—your body’s already moving, one hand gripping your scythe while the other reaches back to yank Chat Noir by the collar. You might despise his petty attitude right now, but you are not about to let him fry just to prove a point.

Ladybug darts in the opposite direction, her yo-yo arcing through the air as she latches onto a nearby streetlamp.

Letting go of Chat Noir, you open your blade’s interface and hurriedly type a message to Ladybug while you’re running. “Let’s all meet up at the TVi Tower! The akumatized victim is Aurore Beauréal, so we’ll be able to deal with her easier if we’re up the news tower instead!”

You leap forward, not bothering to hear whatever Chat Noir has to say about you. He can sulk if he wants to get fried and iced in the same battlefield, while you? You’re out of here already.

“I’ll meet you guys there!” 

You hear Ladybug shout behind you, before everything turns into a blur as you burst forward again.

It doesn't take long for you to reach TVi Tower. Again.

Unlike earlier, there is no one around to become a casualty or liability, in case Stormy Weather decides to hurl a strong gust of wind again or freeze the entire land like she did while you were running away. 

Ladybug’s yo-yo zips into view moments later. She lands beside you, shaking off a couple of newspaper that smacked her body earlier before turning to you. “Is she really Aurore? I should have known already. Everybody was so busy giving love to Mireille that I didn’t even think about how Aurore would feel, going up against that.” 

“Most people wouldn’t think about that,” you reply, adjusting your grip on your scythe as you walk inside the building. Ladybug follows suit with a cautious glance. “Feelings like envy don’t always show on the surface, but that’s exactly what Hawk Moth needs. He needs something that’s simmering inside, something that he can take advantage of and mold into a weapon.” 

Another thud comes behind you, landing a couple of steps before rushing your way. “If you ask me, it feels like Hawk Moth is the real party pooper here.” 

You snort at Chat Noir’s words. “I bet a thousand grand that he’s a father.” 

I bet two thousand that he’s your father specifically—

Chat Noir stifles a laugh. “I bet a thousand and one grand that he’s a divorced father, that’s why he’s acting like he’s the only one allowed to ruin someone’s day.”

“Focus, you two,” Ladybug reprimands. “We’ve got a weather witch to wrangle.”

You and Chat Noir exchange a brief look—his still laced with mild disdain, yours with stubborn indifference.

Then you whisper, “Bet you two thousand grand that Ladybug’s father isn’t divorced and is a happy father unlike Hawk Moth.”

“Oh yeah?” Chat Noir leans in and grins. “I bet two thousand and one grand their dad makes better life choices and doesn’t wear a dumb mask while ruining people’s lives.”

You bite back a laugh, but a twitch at the corner of your mouth betrays you. Chat Noir’s grin widens smugly.

“I take it back,” Ladybug mutters, pinching the bridge of her nose as she walks faster toward the elevator. “You two are impossible when you’re not trying to kill each other.”

Chat Noir raises a brow and shrugs, baton resting against his shoulder. “Who says I’m not about to kill this dog right here?”

“I’m a jackal. Not a dog,” you deadpan, rushing to walk beside Ladybug who’s tired of your bullshits now. “But the lightning storm lady is our number one priority, so if anyone’s getting zapped today, I vote for Hawk Moth. Not me. Not even the cat.”

“Wow,” Chat Noir mutters, his eyes narrowing as he presses the elevator button. “Such compassion. You sure you’re not secretly in love with me or something?”

You stare at him blankly. “I just said I wouldn’t let you get electrocuted. That’s the nicest thing I’ve said to you in weeks.”

“The nicest thing you could ever say to me is just nothing, by the way.” He steps into the elevator first, sweeping an exaggerated bow. “After you, Phantom Menace.”

Ladybug hides a smile behind her hand as she follows in. You stare at Chat Noir just long enough to let the silence speak for itself, then walk in without sparing him a word.

He leans against the elevator wall, arms crossed, watching the floor number light up. “So what’s the brilliant plan now that we’re inside? Ice Queen is not exactly going to hand over her parasol because we asked nicely.”

“She’s not,” Ladybug replies. “But if we find a way to get to her first, then maybe we can use our powers and take her parasol before she controls the weather and attack us with that.” 

“Wait,” you pause. The two look at you expectantly. “Is it a parasol or an umbrella?”

“Really?” Chat Noir deadpans. 

“What? It’s raining outside right now,” you defend. “Calling it a parasol feels like the wrong term to use when she’s all about storms and all that crap.” 

Ladybug doesn’t even give you the satisfaction of a stare. To say you’re hurt would be an understatement—isn’t she supposed to be your number one supporter? Yet here she is, ignoring you right now like it’s an easy thing to do. Which doesn’t help in removing Chat Noir’s smug smirk that makes you want to punch him in the face.

“Fine.” You throw your hands up. “I’m okay with you guys not acknowledging my jokes but before we storm inside and fight the stormy girl here in this building, let's listen to my plan first.” 

Now that catches Ladybug’s attention. Really—when she’s at her superhero persona, she’s extremely focused on the task at hand. It’s admirable at times but you know how stressful that would be if all she does is just keep her eyes on the prize without ever allowing herself to loosen up a bit.

"Go on," Ladybug says. For once, Chat Noir seems to be holding back his usual interruptions too.

The elevator stops with a ding, and Ladybug leads the way out.

The closer you get to the recording studio, the more you feel the chill in your surroundings. It’s as if you’re walking inside a large refrigerator, with the walls and doors blowing cold wind on your skin. 

Ladybug looks terribly nervous ever since you proposed the plan, while Chat Noir is just a beacon of light and sun. Of course he would be; after disagreeing with you on some roles you’ve set, there’s no way the boy wouldn’t be as happy as he can be right now.

When you get close to the recording studio, Chat Noir motions to stop. He sneaks towards the red door, leaning his ear to listen to any sound. 

You meet his eyes, and when he gives you a nod, you push Ladybug to Chat Noir. 

She fights back a groan but holds out a hand anyway. 

‘You’re welcome,’ you mouth in annoyance as Chat Noir intertwines his hand with Ladybug. He grins at you, all toothy and big. You don’t even know if he’s grateful. All you know is that you stomp forward and kick the red door open, causing it to slam to the walls and jolt whoever is inside the main broadcast room.

Except, there is no one there but a recording of Stormy Weather, filmed by a hovering camera.

A laugh comes, not from the recording, but from somewhere behind you. 

You all turn to see Stormy Weather cackling right on the doorsteps. When you subtly snap a finger behind your back, two oddly done gasps ring out in the room.

Seriously, guys?

You want to groan outloud.

These two can’t even act shocked to save their lives.

It’s a good thing Stormy Weather doesn’t notice a thing. She just points her parasol on the lights overhead and shoots a bolt of lightning its way. The lights shatter and fall, glass and metal raining toward your position.

"Watch out!" Chat Noir yells, pulling Ladybug to the side while you dodge the falling lights barely.

Sparks erupt violently, followed by a loud pop—and then everything goes dark.

Complete, suffocating darkness.

One of the good things about your miraculous is that the jackals are hunters, meaning they have night vision, even if it’s not as bright and clear as a cat’s would. That last part is the only reason why Chat Noir was so adamant about not letting you hold onto Ladybug when you did tell them about the blackout. If you had enough time to bicker with him at that time, you would have told him to get his stick off his own a–

You hear the rush of Stormy Weather’s steps retreating, the sound of heels striking the tile. 

“Follow what I told you earlier!” you shout to the two before running outside first.

The two follow behind you, Chat Noir holding onto Ladybug’s hand and tugging her staggering self as you three turn the corner. You push open the emergency exit doors and run up the staircases. 

Your scythe is already out, your eyes squinting to see through the dark. Damnit–it’s not clear night vision but at least you can still see while you’re running up the stairs.

“Duck!” Chat Noir yells. You follow, barely seeing the fire extinguisher that Stormy Weather throws at you.

“Wow!” You straighten up and chase after her with a scowl. “What a douchebag!” 

You’re pretty sure she was supposed to throw it at Ladybug, who’s currently being dragged instead because ladybugs don’t have night vision. But she must have focused on you instead due to your slight struggle in the darkness. 

Clever. Too bad, she’s on the losing side of the fight.

You burst into the rooftop doors, Chat Noir and Ladybug right behind you. 

“Hah!” Stormy Weather floats into the murky sky, laughing to herself. “You airheads! You fell right into my trap!” 

“Ladybug, go!” you cut through her words, but Stormy Weather is already reaching her parasol into the air. 

The wind whips around the building, creating a tornado barrier that blocks off everything from the outside, and distracts everyone from the inside too. 

But you shout louder than the winds, “Don’t get overwhelmed by the storm—use your lucky charm so we can finish this already!” 

Ladybug stumbles forward, catching herself just before the wind drags her back. She squints up at the swirling sky above and yells, “Lucky Charm!”

In a burst of red and black, a glowing object lands in her hands. You hold your breath:

“A bath towel?”

Then you release it all in one relieved sigh. 

Finally, that Lucky Charm is something that’s actually similar to what appeared in the episode.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Ladybug asks, looking around in confusion.

Stormy Weather, on the other hand, looks triumphant. “There’s no way out! Party’s over, you fools!”

As much as you’d love to let Ladybug figure it out on her own, you’re also getting drenched by the strong winds the more you stand there. And for some awful reason, your current body despises the cold water, even if earlier you’re wishing you could take off your stupid scarf because it’s too damn hot.

“Look behind you, Ladybug!” You hint for the girl. She follows your order, and you hope seeing the air vent would be enough to jog up her ideas because even if you are impatient, you still have that small fear that Ladybug would forget her line of thoughts because you distracted her.

Thankfully, that’s not what happens. “Chat Noir, the billboard sign over there!” she calls out.

“On it!” Chat Noir grins, raising a hand up. “Cataclysm!”

With the familiar dark energy in his palms, he leaps onto the nearest structure and dodges every lightning strike with ease. He really looks like a cat now that you’re watching him down here.

“Phantom?” You turn to see Ladybug holding out a hand, smiling sheepishly. “Can I borrow your scythe?” 

You squint your eyes against the gust of wind and the rain, holding it out to her. She accepts it. “What for?” 

Don’t tell me she’s including me in her messy plan again…

“This is like a boomerang to you, right?” she asks, not answering your question. “When I say go, you should throw your scythe her way, with the spiky side of the blade facing the left side—your left side.”

“What?” It’s a bit hard to hear over the howling wind, but she doesn’t say anything more than that. She finishes tying one end of the bath towel at the tip of your scythe, letting the rest flutter into the air. 

“Let’s get up there!” she starts.

You still don’t know what’s with her plan now, but you leap on top of the air vents, readying your arm to throw any time soon. 

Chat Noir finishes grabbing Stormy Weather’s attention with his catlike dodging, so he slides underneath the billboard sign and trails his cataclysm over the railings that are keeping the sign up. It teeters for a moment before it starts to fall, heading down towards Stormy Weather, who has just now noticed what’s happening. Her eyes widen in disbelief.

At the last second, she raises her parasol, a crackling energy spiraling up it. A bolt of lightning shoots from the tip, hitting the massive billboard with enough force to create a gaping hole.

When Stormy Weather flies up to the hole, Ladybug shouts, “Go!”

You throw the scythe in the perfect angle, the way Ladybug asked you to. You’ve never felt intense pressure unlike what you feel right now, not even when you had to fence against your teacher right in front of the whole class. 

Why did she give me the most specific task anyway? What if I don’t do it correctly? I don’t have a stupid plot armor unlike her complicated plans that always finds a way to work out even if it’s the most stupidest and unrealistic sequence ever—

Turns out you don’t need plot armor when lady luck is literally beside you. When your scythe spins and spirals toward Stormy Weather, the curve of the blade catches exactly where it needs to: in the middle of the parasol, the cloth-end of the bath towel trailing like a comet’s tail behind it.

Stormy Weather lets out a shriek when the scythe yanks the parasol out of her grip. “What?!”

The moment the parasol is airborne and spinning with the force of your throw, Ladybug’s yo-yo snaps forward, the string spiraling around the fluttering towel. Both your scythe’s blade and the bath towel creates a U-shaped trap that she easily reels downward.

You help her out by drawing your scythe back to your hand. When it falls toward you, Ladybug grasps the parasol and looks toward the horrified villain.

“I told you the party was over,” Ladybug yells over the dying storm, raising the parasol above her head and breaking it on her knee. “We’re the ones throwing the afterparty now!”

The villain turns back into the familiar blond Aurore again, and before she hits the ground, Chat Noir catches her and places her gently on the floor.

You twirl your scythe once before tucking it on your back like the other one. “I cannot believe that worked.”

“A lot of things can become possible if you just try to believe in it,” Ladybug says, prepping the yo-yo again. “No more evil-doings for you, little akuma.”

She tosses it skyward, and the familiar swirl of red magic captures the flitting butterfly that escapes from the broken parasol. 

“Bye-bye, little butterfly.”

What follows is her usual line of Miraculous Ladybug, and everything—from the gray skies to the broken billboard signs and thrown metal shards around—fixes itself once again.

Both you and Ladybug jump down from the air vent, and when she stands beside Chat Noir, she holds out her fist. You meet it with yours, and Chat Noir does too.

“Pound it!” three of you exclaim, smiling at each other.

“Ugh… what am I doing here?” Aurore looks around the rooftop, utterly confused. 

“I can handle this last part,” you inform the two. “You guys used up your powers already so you’ll de-transform soon. I have something to say to her anyway.”

It seems like Ladybug’s Lucky Charm doesn’t just tell her what she needs to do. It also tells you what you need to do too. 

Ladybug nods, a gentle smile crossing her lips. Chat Noir looks like he wants to say something, but stops himself, giving you a simple, respectful two-finger salute.

They both leap off the rooftop, their silhouettes disappearing behind the building edge as the sky clears above.

You turn to Aurore, who’s still hugging herself, her parasol right beside her. She looks smaller like this—no longer a villain, just a girl who got swept up in something bigger than her.

“Hey.” You crouch beside her, your voice softer now.

Aurore blinks at you, a little dazed. “Did…” she swallows. “Did I lose again?”

“Yeah,” you admit gently. When you sit down cross-legged in front of her, she sighs to herself.

"I know; you’re superheroes. You save the world. I have to be happy you defeated me, but…” Her lips tremble. “Every time I try so hard to do something, it never feels like it matters. No matter how hard I tried, like now. I wanted to win the contest so bad. I trained every day, memorized everything and learned all I could about weather forecast, but like the rest of my efforts, it always goes to someone else. I can’t - can't even be angry without something turning me into a villain.”

The girl finishes with a broken voice, rubbing her nose as she tucks her face into her knees. 

You look at her, not with pity, but with the kind of understanding that only comes from having felt something similar before.

“…It sucks,” you say plainly. “And it’s okay to say that it sucks, that it hurts, and that sometimes it makes you want to give up. But losing doesn’t mean you’re worthless, or that the effort didn’t mean anything.”

Aurore sniffles, glancing at you through damp lashes.

“There’s this lie people like to tell, right? That if you try your best, you’ll always succeed. But the truth is… sometimes you try your best and you still fall short. That doesn’t make the work you did any less real, or you any less capable. It just means the world’s not always fair, but you—”

You gesture to her parasol, then to her still-trembling hands.

“You’re still someone who wakes up and chooses to try anyway. That takes more strength than most people have.”

She stays quiet for a moment. Then: “What if I’m just not meant to win anything?”

"Then maybe it’s not about winning everything," you murmur. "Maybe it’s about finding the thing worth sticking with even when you’re not winning, something you love enough to try again tomorrow, even if today didn’t work out. That’s how you build something real. And when the win finally comes, because it will, it’ll be yours. Not because it came easy, but because you earned it after so many trials and errors.”

Aurore nods slowly, her eyes dropping to her hands. “You sound like you know how it feels.”

You don’t say anything. You just reach and pat her shoulder gently.

“…Thanks. For saying all that.”

She sounds like she needed to hear that, so you make a sound of understanding and you stand up. You hold out a hand to her.

“Come on,” you say with a gentle half-smile. “Let’s get you back inside. The storm’s over.”

She hesitates, then reaches up and takes your hand. You can’t mistake it with the sun shining brightly, but there’s a small smile decorating her tear-stained face.

“Marinette! Alya!” 

The two girls turn just in time to see you nearly trip over a raised edge of the pavement, your bag swinging wildly from one shoulder and a sheen of sweat catching the sunlight on your forehead.

“(Y/n)?!” Marinette shrieks, her pigtails bouncing as she stands up straighter.

“I thought you would never come,” Alya says, placing a hand on her hip and arching a brow at you when you pant, hands on your knees like you just ran a marathon. “You missed an entire villain attack, you know.”

“I didn’t miss a villain attack,” you say, grinning as you stand up. “I was right in the heart of it all.” 

Alya gasps. “No way. I forgot you were in TVi Tower earlier!” 

“Wait- what?” Marinette looks at her, face paling. “Wait- does that mean—”

“You saw the supervillain up close, right!?” Alya interrupts, her voice laced with excitement.

"Not really,” you lie perfectly, looking despondent too. “I mean, I was caught in the middle of the whole mess since I was one of the people who were watching Mireille and Aurore come out of the building, and the supervillain decided to blow us all away—”

Marinette chokes on air. She’s clinging to Alya, her entire eyes so close to bulging out of its sockets and her legs are turning jelly under her.

“But don't worry, Phantom saved us so all of us made it out fine,” you finish with a grin. 

Alya and Marinette stand still. Staring at you with gaping mouths. 

“That’s so cool!” Then Alya grins and grabs her phone out. “Did you get some picture while you’re at it—?”

“Ugh!” You dramatically stagger, like you just got shot in the heart. “I forgot, darnit! I was so busy trying not to splat to the ground-” another shriek, “that I forgot to take a picture of everything that just happened. Sorry Alya.” 

Alya sighs, but she smiles nonetheless. “No sweat. I also got into a very cold situation earlier so I can’t really say I’ve been doing lots of journalism stuff too.”

Marinette is staring at you in disbelief, mouth opening and closing without any words coming out. You were almost feeling worried, but then someone tugs her hand, and when you look down you see the biggest brown eyes staring back at you with a hint of wonder and excitement.

“Who’s this?” Manon, cause you know only one little girl who would be staying right by Marinette’s side in this episode, asks. 

“This is (Y/n),” Alya introduces, since Marinette is far too paralyzed to answer. She seems to be stuck in her own head about something. “They’re another friend of ours in the world of Reespa, the magical unicorn land, so you better listen to them too, unless you don’t want to have any more of your wishes being granted to you.” 

Manon's eyes widen, her lips pressing together as she looks at you with newfound interest. “Really? You’re really a friend from Reespa?” 

You flash her a vague smile. “So you know about it already, huh?”

“Wow!” 

Alya chuckles as Manon abandons holding onto Marinette’s hand. She’s now pulling on yours, telling you to grant her wishes because she’s been good while she’s waiting with Alya inside the ice dome earlier.

You look over to Alya and Marinette, seeing the brown-haired girl push her friend to the fountain. Where a certain blond haired model is currently getting his pictures by a professional photographer.

“What’s this? I thought you’re only going to make her talk to him,” you say, holding onto Manon’s hand while you stand with the two.

Alya smirks at you, crossing her arms over her chest. "I was going to make Marinette go talk to him, but this is way more fun. Besides, the photographer needs a modeling partner for Adrien, and since Marinette is right over here—"

“I’m here!” Marinette repeats. 

“- I thought that maybe she’d be able to do it,” Alya finishes lamely.

“Will she?” you ask.

“Maybe…” 

Before any of you could even take a step further, the photographer suddenly snaps his head towards your group’s way. And with his eyes squinting as he looks at each and every one of you, he suddenly has an epiphany when your eyes meet his.

“This is perfect!” the photographer says in that thick Italian accent. He points at you dramatically. “You!” he declares. “You will be Adrien’s modeling partner!”

You blink. “Me?”

The photographer strides toward you, his excitement palpable as he continues, “You have the look! Yes, yes, perfect for the shot I have in mind!”

Marinette and Alya exchange startled glances. “Wait, what?” Alya sputters, still trying to process what just happened. “This isn’t supposed to be—”

But the photographer’s already moved closer to you, all but ignoring everyone’s presence. “You are a natural! Come, come,” he says, taking you by the arm before you can protest, leading you towards Adrien, who stands by the fountain, looking absolutely amused and also embarrassed as his eyes land on you.

When you’re forced to stand by his side, Adrien’s gaze flickers your way. “Uh, hi?”

You show him a barely concealed smirk. “Hi.” 

Adrien chuckles softly, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsure what to make of the sudden change in plans. “I wasn’t expecting this,” he admits under his breath, eyeing the bustling photographer as he circles around you both like a hawk with a camera.

“Neither was I,” you reply with a deadpan tone, though the amused twinkle in your eyes says otherwise.

“Stand closer!” the photographer orders, flailing his arms like an orchestra conductor. “More chemistry! Pretend you are in love!”

You shoot a quick glance at Adrien, and he nearly chokes on air.

“O-okay,” he stammers, shifting closer, his shoulder now brushing against yours.

Behind the scene, Marinette is still frozen in place. Alya waves a hand in front of her face. “Girl. Earth to Marinette.”

Marinette finally blinks, eyes locked on the sight in front of her—Adrien and you, standing side by side, the golden afternoon light casting a soft glow around the two of you like a painting. She clasps her hands together.

“…I’m okay with this,” she says dreamily.

Alya turns her head fast. “Huh?”

“I mean, it’s fine,” Marinette says again, shrugging, though her cheeks are pink. “They look good together. And it’s… it’s just a modeling gig. I can always talk to Adrien next time, right?”

Alya narrows her eyes. “You’re not freaking out?”

Marinette presses her hands to her warm cheeks and sighs, gazing at the scene. “Why would I? Adrien is amazing. And (Y/n)… they’re amazing too. It’s like... two beautiful people just being beautiful together.”

Alya squints harder. This doesn’t make any sense to her- at all. But judging by how Marinette is now swaying as she watches, it’s clear Alya wouldn’t get any explanation even if she tries to pry it from the girl. She shrugs and looks back at the scene in front.

At least her best friend isn’t jealous.

Chapter Text

“Oh for the love of-”

That’s the groan you hear before somebody skates beside you in the hallways. 

It’s Alix. You try to greet her, but the girl pushes her face near yours and your words stumble back to your throat in surprise. 

“You’re free today, right?” she asks while you’re trying not to choke and cough at the air you accidentally inhaled too fast-

"A-after class?” you say, but it sounds like a stupid wheeze instead. 

“Yep. Are you free or not?”

If only you weren't trying to burst coughing in her face, you would have jokingly asked ‘what would happen if I am not free?’ 

But maybe this was for the better. Something about Alix's pinched and scowling expression tells you she’s already at her last straw. You wouldn't want to test her when it's not even you who pushed her to the brink of anger anywat. 

You release your one last cough, hiding it as a clearing of your throat.  “If- if it’s after class, then I guess I am kinda free. I just need to grab my bag in the lockers and then—”

“Great!” Alix pulls back. All that annoyance on her face earlier? Gone in a splash. Replaced by a wide grin that wouldn’t have existed earlier if you answered otherwise. “We’ll see you near Canal Saint-Martin at five. Max is bringing snacks, Kim’s bringing the drinks, and Nathaniel,” she shoots you a smug look, “is going to bring his cowardly self whether he likes it or not.”

You don’t know what that meant, and your face must have shown that ‘cause Alix waves a dismissive hand.

“Don’t think too much about it,” she says, already skating backward. “Just show up later and– oh. Wear something you don’t mind getting wet or dirty. Sometimes Kim decides to become an idiot and push us down the river when we least expect it. So it’s better to be prepared than not. See you til then!”

With one last wave, Alix turns around and skates to the entrance—or in this case, exit of the school. The students yelp in horror when she jumps down the staircase with her rollerblades. She ignores the crowd that tries to stop her from breaking her own legs or from running over others in the street.

“She’s so cool,” you sigh amazedly to yourself. As usual. 

You don’t know what exactly happened, but this must be the world’s way of repenting for your stress of existing lately. Which isn't meant to be deprecating—it's just extremely stressful to exist 'cause you know the original plotline of every akumatized villain attacks, but just your presence alone ends up changing a lot of things, especially when it comes to getting your hero group out of a pinch. 

Seriously, who made the law that the Lucky Charm needs to consider my existence too? Now I can’t even think about the fight going exactly the way I planned it, because Marinette is the most confusing wildcard of all time, so now I am always on guard whenever fights happen because what the fu-

“Bye, (Y/n)!” You hear somebody say right as you open your locker. You look to the side and see a complete stranger and her friends. 

“Bye,” you say, a little confused but willing to smile and wave anyway. 

Who in the world are they again? You don’t get a chance to ask (nor do you want to, since it feels rude to flat out forget people you talk to) since they leave while smiling and gushing among themselves.

When the last person closes the door, your kwami finally flies beside your head.

“What’s up?” you ask, taking off your scarf. “You’ve been shaking since Alix talked to me earlier.” 

“Oh master…” you hear Anpu shudder. 

You pause. Why is he-

Then realization jolts through your spine. 

Oh no. 

Is it… Alix?

Is Anpu scared because of something related to the future?

You don’t know how the future would work now that you’re here, but if Anpu is terrified when you talked to Alix, wouldn’t that mean he sensed something about her existence? 

“Is… is something the matter?” you thread carefully. 

Maybe Anpu realized something about mini-Alix, something worth enough to feel terrified for- but if that’s how it is, that also means Anpu has a way to sense the future, and that’s another power that you don’t know about him yet. 

It’s possible though, isn’t it? Even if you’ve been using his miraculous for almost a decade now, you can’t expect to learn everything about Anpu’s power so fast, not when the worst enemy you’ve dealt with is a middle-aged man robbing a broken ATM machine in a small convenience store in the countryside. That kind of ‘enemy’ can’t help you bring out your miraculous’ true potential in the grand scheme of things. 

Fighting supervillains, however, could unlock memories that Anpu needs to know more about his own powers. And being surrounded by people who will have an impact on the future, like Alix maybe, could push him to unlock everything faster too–

“I’m scared of water,” Anpu whimpers, “Can we not drown together please, master?” 

All of your thoughts disappear right away. 

Seriously? You sigh, grabbing a hoodie inside your bag. “Now why in the world would you think I’ll let you drown?” 

Maybe overthinking isn’t the correct passion for you. It can work with Marinette, who’s definitely thinking faster than her body could respond. But you? 

“Just because!” Anpu answers.

“Just because doesn’t cut it. I’m not that mean of a master, you know.” Slipping your body inside the hoodie, you tug it down as you eye your reflection in the locker mirror. “Besides, I thought kwamis live forever. Can you guys drown if you can’t even die?”

"Unrelated; we can still suffer and feel the pain of drowning even if we don’t die.” Anpu shudders. “I know master will not drown me because you are a great and kind person-” you snort “- but if Kim accidentally pushes you in a body of water and I’m still in your scarf, what do I do if I sink? What do I do if I get swept away by the currents and I drown because of that?!”

“I’m wearing a hoodie today,” you deadpan. “You won’t be in my scarf-”

“Then what about the currents? The waves that will push your garments to the flowing water!” 

“You’re magic. You can just float away if it gets bad."

"That implies I have to leave you to save myself, and I do not want to do something as slimy as that, master! No I do not!"

Gosh dangit. Your kwami is the sweetest of all. You can’t even be mad at how he triggered your ability to overthink because here he is, shaking his head and tugging his jackal ears down to calm himself at his own thoughts. 

You poke his body as a reassuring pat. "Well, if it makes you feel better, I don’t plan on drowning even if Kim accidentally pushes me to a flowing river. In fact, if he does that after I asked him not to, I’ll make sure our friendship’s over.” 

His ears perk up. "Oh. Then that’s good!”

Do the holders suffer the same fear as their kwami’s? You vividly remember your entire body shuddering when you fought against Stormy Weather. Some of her vortex storm splashed on your suit, and the raindrops were unbearably cold, not in like an ‘Oh it’s cold water. How chilly!’ way, but in like a ‘Fuck what just touched me, this is so terrible and scary please get it away from me’ way instead.

Considering Anpu's reaction to the idea of water, you have an inkling of an idea that it's exactly as that. But Chat Noir and Ladybug didn’t seem that affected by Stormy Weather’s rain, unlike you. And Chat Noir is, well, a cat too. Between the two of you, he should be the one scared the most about being wet, yet he seems quite unbothered by it.

“Why don’t you like water anyway?” 

"What’s there to like about it?” Anpu answers, “Water is wet and cold, and I am not a fish. I’m a jackal—a powerful, desert-loving creature." He throws his paws up in the air, only for his small frame to flop back into your shoulder in defeat. "But if that will be a problem in the future, then I can endure it for you. I’ll endure... I can endure."

You can’t help but smile as he tugs his ears down again. “Well aren’t you such a brave kwami?” 

Alright. I have to buy some croque monsieur on the way to Canal Saint-Martin now. It’s what the brave, and definitely not trembling, Anpu deserves after all.

Closing the lockers, you slip on your bag and usher Anpu inside your hoodie’s pockets. “No drowning will happen today, I promise, so let’s just get this over with. Okay?”

“Okay!”

It seems like Alix and her group wants you and Nathaniel to get over your non-communicating barrier ASAP.

You’re not dumb. Almost everyone knows by now that you are an outgoing person. Not only did you make Ivan feel calm around you, but you even got the chance to make Juleka be comfortable when you were helping her stretch during PE lessons.

The only one whom you don’t talk with is Nathaniel himself, and it’s more of the other way around instead. Yeah, it stings, how he avoids you all the time even after that moment during Stoneheart’s appearance when he showed he still cared for you. But you didn’t want to corner him about it. If the boy doesn’t want to talk, then fine—you’ll wait. You’re not about forcing people to do anything they don’t want to do.

Still… if Alix is doing her best to get you two to talk again, that must be a sign for you to take the first step, right? This isn’t you breaking your own ethics; this is you, giving Nathaniel the space to still answer at his own pace while you’re bridging the invisible gap between the two of you.

It sure sounds like an excuse, but you can’t do anything in this life if you keep on being a passive audience in the background.

As you walk out of the lockers, a stray piece of paper smacks you in your face. You don’t even have the energy to be mad. Out of all the directions the wind was taking this paper, it decided that your face was worthy of being smacked instead.

Maybe the wind sensed you thinking too hard today. Maybe this is a sign for you to shut the hell up and just go on your day instead. 

You peel the paper off with one hand, ready to crumple it and toss it to a nearby trash bin— but you pause.

The paper isn’t blank. In fact, it’s covered, almost corner to corner, in tiny, rushed handwriting. You blink at it, recognizing the messy panic of someone trying to get a thousand ideas out before they disappeared.

When you glance around, the hallway is practically deserted. The school had been emptied out a while ago after class had ended, except maybe for you.

And maybe another person too, a black-haired boy running down the stairs with notebooks and pencils spilling out of his arms.

He almost trips over some of the falling papers, but he recovers and stuffs them back to his binder. 

Just when he’s reaching for the last paper, the wind decides to blow even harder, making it fly away from his grasp. A panicked sound escapes his throat, but he doesn’t move to get it. He just watches it drift into the air, swirl like some kind of dancing petal, only to soon get snatched in the air right before it flows out of the school’s exit.

You can see the moment his entire body sags in relief. His red hoodie wrinkles as he pushes himself up, ready to approach and thank whoever grabbed it before it met its doom.

Then his emerald eyes meet yours and suddenly his entire body halts and he almost stops breathing.

“Are both of these yours?”

His mouth drops open when you show him two different papers. You make sure you don’t combine them, just in case the other one isn’t from him. But judging by the way he raises his arm, reaching out with twitching hands, nails painted black just like his messy hair and choker, you have a feeling your assumptions are correct. 

“Here.” You step forward. 

He clamps his mouth shut and stumbles back. 

That halts you on your tracks. His arms try to tighten around him, but because of the items he’s clutching on his chest, he ends up only staggering, trying not to drop anything on the ground. 

He’s obviously looking everywhere but you. If you didn’t have something that’s from him, you think he would probably bolt away before you could even say anything else again.

Oh man. Did I dress up too scarily today? 

You knew it; this ugly hoodie of yours definitely makes everyone run away from you. But it’s the only outfit you have that you won’t mind getting soaked with! Even if it will get soggy and very heavy once it’s wet, but at least you’ll look good while you’re at it—

No, stay focused, self. 

This is not the right time to fret about your appearance.

You shake your head and step forward again. “Here you go. Sorry for wrinkling them. They kinda flew towards me so I had no choice but to grab them before they fly away again." You pause for a bit before giving another friendly smile, "I didn’t read anything on it, if that’s what you're worried about. You got my pledge on that.”

Sure, you took a glance at some lines, but it’s not like you were processing the words when you read them. All you know is that Ladybug is fighting against somebody in the notes, and that this guy in front of you suddenly snatches the papers out of your grasp using only one hand, the other still grasping at his items on his chest.

Your maintained smile twitches a bit. “Do you... need some help getting that on your bag?” 

He shakes his head vigorously. “Oh no- I’m not going to bother you. You’re like- (Y/n) from the other class and I can never bother someone like you-” he blurts out.

You blink. 

What? 

His cheeks turn redder than his hoodie. You know that stance; he’s getting ready to dash far away from you, but you aren’t going to let him. 

“What’s my name got to do with bothering me?” you say light-heartedly. Walking towards the staircase, you kneel and grab some of his other items that had fallen in his scramble. “If you were really bothering me, I wouldn’t be here helping you pick up your stuff, you know. I could just walk away without saying anything more."

When you stand up and hand him the pens and papers to his hand, he reaches for it tentatively.

“Um… thank you,” he murmurs. 

“You’re welcome,” you chirp. He goes extremely silent, looking everywhere else but you. 

That's a sign for you to leave. Yes, you know how to read silences.

But then, once again he speaks. “I'm... I’m sorry for stammering too much. For stumbling. I… I don’t really know how to talk to people like you.”

“What?” You don't even process his words anymore; you're just saying your thoughts aloud and your thoughts consist of: “That’s so sudden. What do you mean ‘people like me’?”

His face turns even redder at your blunt tone. "I mean—uh—you know... people who are..." He gestures vaguely around. "Popular?"

For the second time today, you choke on the damn air. This time, you aren’t even trying to hide it as you cough behind your fist. 

You hold up a hand to stop the black-haired boy from leaving, which he obediently does as he stares at you in worry and in shame—possibly shame to himself. If he's deprecating enough to apologize for stammering, you can expect him to be as deprecating too if he thinks he's the one who caused you to choke up like that.

“Excuse me?” you wheeze out, embarrassed. “I’m- I'm not sure I follow… What do you mean popular?”

Now who in the world is spreading that lie?

You have never—and you mean never— once gone out of your way to do anything that brings you into stardom. Being Phantom isn’t included because that’s a secret you’ll probably be with until you die. So what in the world caused this guy to think you're one of the popular kids in the school?

"Uh..." The boy looks for a way out. 

“I don’t bite,” you hurriedly say. “But if you don’t want to answer, that’s fine too. I’m just confused where that misunderstanding came from, if I'm being honest."

His dark brows knit, disbelieving. “You’re… friends with Chloe Bourgeois.” 

“Yes?”

He stares. You realize.

“Oh. Yes…” you trail off.

The wind whistles as the awkward silence settles.

Now you understand why the boy looks ready to run away. With how cringy this situation was, you would want to run away too if you could.

But you are a brave soldier. Braver than anyone else, so you stand straight, clear your throat, and force another picture perfect smile again. “Yeah, Chloe is my friend. That’s not a misunderstanding from everyone here.” 

His expression pinches into a combination of annoyance—probably from thinking of Chloe. People tend to do that instinctively when they hear Chloe's name—and also a slight fear. 

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he’s just awkward. But the way he’s standing there, tensed and expectant, it’s obvious he’s bracing for something bad.

“But I don’t agree with how she treats some people.”

The boy finally meets your eyes, blinking in surprise. 

"So don’t be too wary around me. I don’t go around insulting people just because I want to. In fact, I like making friends, whether they consider themselves popular or not. I suppose that’s where the confusion about my ‘popularity’ comes from?”

His eyes dart nervously. “You’re... making fun of me, right?”

“What?” You panic. “No, I’m not making fun of you. Why would I do that?” 

You really have no idea why he’d think that. If it’s because of Chloe, then it’s true- you do spend a lot of time with the girl in and out of your home because, one, she’s literally living in the same building as you, and two, she’s an overall fun person to be around.

But what if this 'fear' for you isn't just caused by Chloe’s influence? What if, while you were busy prioritizing other things like the main characters and your superhero life, you had accidentally hurt somebody without realizing it? It won't be entirely your fault alone, since you can't alwayd control the way everyone around you feels, but with Hawk Moth around, you can't afford to make mistakes like that, not when small emotions can cause people to get akumatized every now and then.

"Well- why are you still here, then?" The boy asks, defensive. "Some people… tend to be kind just to mess with them in the end."

You frown in frustration. "Hey. I'm just trying to help." 

He’s just being cautious, you tell yourself. You don’t need to feel frustrated by his misunderstanding because it’s literally just that: a misunderstanding. Something must have happened to him in the past and he’s now projecting his experience to every person he comes across. Which doesn’t make it right, but it’s understandable.

"Look,” you begin softly. “I'm not here to make anyone uncomfortable. I really just wanted to help. I’m sorry for pushing and startling you.” You step back a little, putting a comfortable distance between you both. “If you don’t want help, that’s okay too. You don’t have to explain yourself to me. I just saw you struggling and thought that, maybe, I could make your day a little easier. That’s all.”

You watch the storm of thoughts flash across his face — confusion, suspicion, doubt — before finally settling into something smaller.

"...You’re serious," he whispers.

"Yeah. I mean, it’s a Tuesday afternoon. I’m not exactly plotting world domination when I just finished a long day at school."

That earns the smallest, tiniest twitch of a smile from him. Barely there, like a ghost of an expression he immediately tries to swallow back down.

"Thanks," he mumbles, voice almost shy now. "For… not being mean. And for picking up my stuff. I’m not used to people wanting to help…”

Your heart aches a little at that.

“That’s okay. You don’t have to be used to it. Doesn’t mean you don’t deserve it, though.”

For a long moment, the boy just stares at you. Like he’s waiting for you to laugh or snicker or reveal the hidden joke he’s certain you’re about to spring on him. When you don’t, when you just keep standing there with a quiet, patient kind of smile, some of the tension in his shoulders finally begins to melt.

Slowly, he shifts his binder to one arm and extends the other in a clumsy offer.

“I, um... I'm Marc,” he says. “Marc Anciel. Thank you again, really.”

Omigosh—

It’s him!

You knew it. You just knew from the first moment you saw hundreds of words in that paper and when you got a glimpse of that iconic red hoodie and black choker on his neck—you knew this was Marc and you were so ready to appear like a friend for him and adopt him while you’re at it.

But oh, you almost ruined your chances. And because of what? Because you were friends with Chloe, and somehow everyone thinks you are that type of popular kid just for hanging around with her like that? Sure, who you hang out with says a lot about you but haven't they heard the continuation of that quote: what you tolerate determines what you the most. You don't tolerate Chloe's misdeeds.

Sure, you love Chloe, but Marc is such a sweet boy, and he looks so adorable with his pouty lips and his round cheeks and his glossy black hair—

Stop it, simp. 

You slap your inner self before reaching out to shake his hand. “Nice to meet you, Marc. I’m (Y/n), but I guess you already knew that, huh?"

He ducks his head, laughing a little under his breath. "Yeah."

Your eyes soften. The boy looks wonderful when he’s smiling and not paling in fear while he looks at you. If it wouldn't be weird, you would have reached over and ruffled his hair already. It really looks soft to the touch—

You turn around before you can start simping again. “I’ll leave, then. Take care, Marc.”

Just as you're a few steps away, you hear it:

"Wait!"

As you glance over your shoulder, Marc is standing there, stuffing his items into his backpack hurriedly. His cheeks are a little pink, and he looks like he’s seriously fighting the urge to just throw his items to the ground as he tries to look back at you.

You wait, patiently, quietly—the same way you did before.

Marc finally blurts out, "Um...! D-Do you maybe... like superheroes?" His voice wobbles halfway through, and he clears his throat, trying to recover. "Like... you don’t need to answer right now! I mean, you’re busy, and I’m busy, and stuff, but—" he gestures wildly, bags almost slipping from his shoulders, "—maybe sometime? If you can t-talk to me again, maybe. If you'd want to."

You feel your lips curve into something soft.

"Superheroes are cool," you say. “I think I’d take you up on the offer.” 

Marc's face lights up, bashful and bright all at once.

"Cool," he says, breathless. "Cool, cool, cool."

You bite back a laugh, not unkindly. His nervous energy is almost infectious.

"See you around, Marc," you say instead, and this time when you turn to go, your chest feels a little lighter.

That didn’t go so bad after all.

The sun is already setting by the time you reach Canal Saint-Martin. 

Everywhere you go, the world is bathing under the soft golden glow of the lights. Crowds of people brush past each other after a long day, and when you get through the thick of it all, you see four small figures across the river, watching the blurry golden lights through the water of the canal.

Man. They all look small among the adult tourists nearby. 

You hold back a laugh as you jog towards the bridge. Only when you crossed it did the group finally turn to see you.

"Hey!" Kim calls out first, waving both arms like he’s trying to flag down a plane. "Took you long enough!"

Normally, he would have received looks from other students (and teachers) with that loud voice of his, but you were outside. Everyone in Paris is louder than Kim once nighttime approaches. 

Alix is sitting on the bench along with the others, but she’s the second to snap her head your way and grin brightly. "Took you long enough indeed! Almost thought you got lost or something."

"And if I did?" you challenge, walking their way and stopping to look over all of their outfit. They all had their own cozy outfit changes, but Nathaniel didn't seem to change what he wore in school since earlier. 

Max is typing something to his phone. "If (Y/n) is here, I don’t think going to Parc de Belleville would be a good idea. They are new to Paris after all. It might not be a good idea to take them there unless they don’t mind it."

“You do remember I was living in Paris before all of this, right?” you say teasingly.

Max looks up from his phone, smiling back at you. “Oops,” he replies. Not guilty in the slightest.

You chuckle before looking around. “It feels so weird to be out here at nighttime.” There are less people crowding this place, but you see a couple of other teens too, waiting for their group of friends, while some are tourists who are taking pictures from the beautiful glow of the buildings. “I remember back then I’d always get fetched by my mother while you guys keep inviting me to go out here as if your parents would allow you to stay out that late.”

“Who says our parents allowed us back then?” Kim slings an arm around you and grins, “Unlike you goody-two-shoes, we actually do what the cool kids do.”

You deadpan. “You’re still on that ‘cool kids’ trend of yours?” 

Kim rubs his nose. “Well-”

“Hah! Finally!” Alix stands up and points a triumphant finger at Kim. “Now that (Y/n)’s back, you’re gonna be humbled all the time again and you’ll have to start acting like a normal person for a change!"

The boy reels away from you in indignation. “What, you want me to turn into a boring old adult just because (Y/n)’s back? I think not!”

“Stop being such a drama king,” Alix quips, sticking out her tongue before looking over at you. “But seriously, it’s nice to have you back. I swear, it feels like an eternity passed since you went away. You actually changed a lot while all of us are still- you know." She gestures to herself.

“You’re still cool as ever,” you purr. 

Alix grins, her cheek dusting red against the soft glow of the street. 

“Max is also still the smart guy I remember him to be.” The dark-haired boy shakes his head, but you do notice the smile never leaving on his face as he looks away. “While Kim is still… Kim.” 

“Hey!” Kim pouts. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you haven’t changed ever since we were in primary school,” Max answers for him. The way Kim is staring, you were sure the boy didn’t want an answer to his own question, but now that Max is saying it, he can’t disagree anymore.

“You’re still considering Max’s words as superior, huh?” you note amusedly.

Kim sighs, leaning back with his arms behind his nape. “He’s got the data, man. What can I say to that?”

Max beckons you closer. When you lean down, he whispers discreetly, “I sometimes feed him the wrong info just to mess with him. He still believes it anyway, even if it’s something obvious like an apple growing on bushes near the school."

You stifle a laugh, both you and Max looking at Kim who’s now arguing with Alix about something you didn’t hear. 

Someone clears their throat and you turn to see Nathaniel shifting beside Max. He’s glancing between you two from the corner of his eyes before finally facing Max’s way. Still not you, but oh well. “So, uh, what did you guys plan for tonight? Picnic, right?”

Max blinks as he meets Nathaniel’s eyes. “Oh. Yes.” He adjusts his glasses with a finger and looks back down at his phone. “Since (Y/n) doesn’t mind it, we can still go have a picnic in Parc de Belleville.”

“Cause it’s the closest?” you supply. Max scoots a bit to let you sit beside him, Nathaniel having no choice but to move too.

“Cause it’s the coolest,” Alix pipes up.

“Hey! I wasn’t done talking about how great Greninja is compared to your Meta-gross,” Kim protests, but Alix is already heading to the plastic bag they’d prepared for the picnic. 

“And I’m done talking about how much of a normie your opinions are,” Alix throws back at him, grabbing the bag and slinging it over her shoulder as she starts heading to where the park is.

You don’t want to start walking again. You just sat down. But the group is already standing up, so you have no choice but to follow the girl even when your feet are aching to rest.

Max begins, “To be fair, Kim, Greninja isn’t that good of a choice. Metagross is always superior in comparison to Greninja."

“Whatever, Max. You just don’t get it!”

“I do, in fact, get it more than you. Remember how I beat you in that battle last time?”

Kim groans dramatically, "You never let me forget it, do you? I should’ve just gotten a better move!"

“Yeah, that’s probably what you need, not more excuses,” Max retorts as the group continues to move towards Parc de Belleville.

“If it’s any consolation, Kim,” you call out from behind them. “I like Jigglypuff!”

The group turns back to you, Kim’s jaw dropping comically. “Wait, what?!” he exclaims. “You, of all people? I thought you would like Geodude or something!”

Alix slaps Kim’s arm jokingly. “That’s such a weird assumption. Why in the world would (Y/n) like Geodude anyway?”

Just like that, the two of them are back to arguing again. Or maybe it’s three, since Max is there to give out stats and strategies about every pokemon mentioned. Apparently Kim doesn’t play any game aside from what Max lets him play—he’s just an avid watcher of the Pokemon anime, and that makes you snort so loud that some of the crowd looks your way.

You hang back slightly, glancing at Nathaniel, who’s walking right behind you. His hands are shoved deep into his pockets, and he seems a bit too focused on the ground.

“Hi,” you whisper.

Nathaniel looks up, glancing at you in surprise. “Oh. Hi.” 

He slows his pace, but he doesn’t move away. That’s a good sign. “Soooo,” you purposely drawl out, “You live near here, or what?”

Nathaniel looks at you oddly. “What?”

“Perfect!” You clap your hands blissfully, making Nathaniel even more confused. “I heard this is a place where most artists go to. Look at that wall over there.”

You point somewhere past his shoulders. Nathaniel turns his head, trying to see where you’re pointing at. “There’s… nothing?”

“Look back at me.”

He glances back, only to find you showing all of your fingers pinched together on your thumb, like the shape of an unbloomed flower. He’s still not understanding anything but when you bonk his head lightly with your hand, he ends up blinking. 

“Gotcha,” you grin.

There’s just silence between the two of you. You almost think you see Nathaniel deadpanning at what you just did. 

“Get it? Cause you stared at my hand and now I gotta smack you in the head with it. It’s the universal rule– you can never defy it.”

“That’s-” he sputters. “That’s ridiculous.” He definitely didn’t mean to blurt that out, so he clamps his mouth shut again and looks away.

“And?” You don’t let him though; you pivot on your heels, walking over to the side where he’s now looking. “I’m telling you to be ridiculous with me too.” 

He finally meets your eyes, those turquoise gaze furrowing as you show him a laidback grin.

Finally, he's paying attention. 

“All those random things you see in the streets? Point at them. Tell me to look at and then joke around about something you find funny or hilarious. Let me in your world again, Nathan. Let me see you notice everything and hear you talk about them the way you always did when we were seatmates back then.”

You've prepared this—well, not exactly this situation, but what you wanted to say to the boy instead. Anything to make him feel a little bit comfortable with your presence by his side.

Contrary to what you expect though, a flash of hurt comes into his eyes instead. He looks away. “I-... I can’t."

“Why can’t you?”

“You’re just too…” He bites on his lower lips. “Too kind for me.” 

Your brow shoots up. That’s a new way of rejection. “What do you mean?”

“You don’t have to hide it from me.” Nathaniel stuffs his hands back to his pockets, looking tenser as he stares at the ground. “I hurt you back then, didn’t I? On that day before you left Paris.” 

You blink. “I don’t think so?” you frown. “If you did, I don’t seem to remember it-”

“I blurted something stupid when Kim and Alix came between our conversation.” 

You can’t see it, but Nathaniel is gripping his own fist tightly, crescent moons are being carved into his palms.

“They teased me about liking you, and I denied it quickly... but that’s not the problem.” His lips tremble. “I got embarrassed, and like the stupid idiot I am, I hurt your feelings cause I said liking you is- is ‘gross’. You didn’t say it hurt you, but I saw. I saw it in your eyes." He breathes more heavily. "I didn’t mean it, you know. Whatever I just blurted when I was embarrassed. I- I wanted to apologize the next day, I really did, but the next thing I know you're already..." 

"Gone," you complete with a whisper.

Nathaniel dips his head even lower. 

The soft evening breeze rustles the leaves around you, but you can’t tear your gaze from Nathaniel. His posture is so small now, his shoulders slumped with the weight of something you didn’t even realize he was carrying.

You stop walking. Nathaniel slows.

“You... you really think I held onto that?” you whisper, chest aching.

He finally stops walking. He glances at you meekly, bracing for your response. By now, you don’t think anyone else exists in that bubble of space the two of you had. Your focus is settled only on the boy in front of you.

"You were just a kid, Nathaniel. We were kids."

“But we still had memories together,” Nathaniel interrupts. “You’re a part of those memories. I’m a part of those memories. Then I’ve done it and I messed them all up, and instead of just becoming a fond memory that you can remember when you’re feeling nostalgic, I made our moments... hurtful. I made you hate me, until you left.”

Your chest clenches. He thinks you left with a bad memory of him in your mind.

No, he thinks you left because of him. 

Nathaniel had seen you at the time when you were burdened by so many things. By plans that had no chance of becoming successful if not for luck, and by the secretive things you had no choice but to keep to yourself. He saw the first time your mask almost dropped when you were kids, and he thought it was because of him that's why you were at the brink of breaking, and he blames himself because he did nothing to fix it. He couldn’t, because where were you the next day?

He doesn’t know anything about what happened to you, but he didn’t need to know because he already painted a picture in his head:

A little you, staring at him with your tight fist clenching at your bag straps, your smile not reaching your eyes. You’re far away from the group, while Nathaniel is there in front, his own eyes crossed out when he should be staring at you, noticing and reaching out the way you do whenever you notice him feeling lonely. 

But in the picture, the one who needed to feel less lonely is far away from his group. And he's there, not as a participant anymore, not as a piece of the art anymore, but as the divide breaking you apart from the group instead.

It’s such an obvious thought process that a kid like him would have when he’s tormented by the weight of his own insecurities and guilt. It hurts your heart that you didn’t even connect the dots when you first met him in class again.

That’s why he still tried to protect you from Stoneheart even when he can’t bear to look into your eyes. That’s why he’s still standing there, waiting for you to respond, to say something that will finally absolve his guilt, or to hold him responsible for it. Because he knows what kind of person you are- and he’s now at odds with it for weeks, ever since you came back.

“Gods, no.” Your throat constricts as you reach for his arm. “Nathaniel, I could- how could I ever hate you?”

Nathaniel’s head snaps up, his eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and disbelief. For a moment, the world feels suspended, as if everything has quieted around you both. You squeeze his arm gently, your voice soft but firm.

"You didn’t do anything that could make me hate you. I don’t even remember what happened that day the way you do. But whatever it is, I just know it wasn’t like that."

His gaze flickers to your hand on his arm, but he doesn’t pull away. He looks at you as though he’s searching for something—some truth, some certainty—but it’s hard for him to find, not with all the confusion and guilt tangled inside him.

"But I said—"

You cut him off. "You were just a kid, Nathan. You said something dumb, sure. We all said dumb things back then, but it doesn’t mean I thought any less of you. And if I was upset about it, that doesn’t mean you’re the one responsible for my leaving. I left because... well, because life got complicated, and that's alright. I had my own things I had to deal with. But you... you’ve always been a part of my good memories. You’re one of the people that made me want to come back to Paris again, you know."

Suddenly, his eyes fill up in tears, and he bites his lower lip. It seemed like you had struck a chord, something that he wanted to hear after seven years. You wondered how long he had to deal with that guilt for so long- the thought that his his closest and first ever friend left because of him. 

You’ve always been a part of my good memories.

"I didn’t mean to make you carry this," you say, your voice small now. "I never wanted you to feel like you were the reason I left."

A shaky breath leaves his lips. He rubs his eyes rid of tears. "You really mean that?" he asks quietly.

"I do. You were never the problem, Nathaniel. Not then, and definitely not now."

He finally meets your eyes, no longer avoiding you, and the way his expression softens makes your heart do a little flip. "I... I don’t know what to say," he admits.

"You don’t have to say anything," you reply. "I’ve already said everything I needed to."

For a moment, the world feels just a little bit lighter, like the darkened sky overhead has parted just enough to let a sliver of the setting sun through. Nathaniel’s posture has shifted, his usual self-consciousness replaced with something a little more vulnerable, but also a little more free.

"Thanks," he mutters, almost to himself. Then, a hint of a smile tugs at his lips. "Guess I was worried for nothing."

"Guess so," you tease lightly. "Next time, if there’s something bothering you and it’s related to me, please ask me about it. It’s not fair that you’ll get to be the one carrying all the weight when it comes to our friendship. It’s you and me who are friends here— not you, and just you alone."

He chuckles softly at that. “Yeah… I guess that kinda makes sense.” 

“Not kinda. It makes a lot of sense.”

You bump his shoulder playfully. He smiles back at you, the outline of his red hair glowing as the streetlights hit it perfectly well. 

“See? I told you it’s Nathaniel overthinking it again!" You hear a loud, obnoxious voice come up right in front of you.

When you two turn to take a look, Kim is smirking smugly at the exasperated Alix, whose shoulders are drooping low from how much she’d talked too much with Kim’s stupidity. Max at least had some decency to look like he’s browsing the windows of nearby restaurants he’ll never go into, even if you're sure he was also guilty of spying on yours and Nathaniel's one-on-one friend therapy session.

“I never disagreed with you, idiot,” Alix spits out. “I also knew it’s Nathaniel cause no way (Y/n) would be thinking bad of him like that. They’re like the opposite of carrying a long-time grudge.”

You exchange looks with Nathaniel. This time, he is really pouting. He’s annoyed. 

“Wanna see me scold Kim?” you say with a teasing smile.

Nathaniel blinks. “You’ll scold Kim because of something that happened… seven years ago?”

“No– unless you want me to, of course.” He immediately shakes his head. “I’m going to scold him about something recent. You’ll see what it is.” 

He looks a bit unsure but also curious, because he nods and walks beside you as you approach the bickering group.

“Kim!” You call out. 

Kim turns your way and grins. “Hey, you lovebirds! Finally you decided to fix your marriage and came back with us single peasants here.”

“Kim,” Nathaniel growls. The other boy raises his hands in surrender.

“What a good topic starter,” you say blissfully. “Kim, did you know Ivan and Mylene are now together?”

“Yeah?” Kim raises a brow. He folds his arms behind his neck and watches you walk next to him. “I don’t really care, but what about them?” 

“Oh, really? I thought you cared so much about it.” Your smile drops dangerously. “Considering you threw Ivan a crumpled sheet of paper that mocked him for not confessing anytime sooner to Mylene.” 

Kim freezes. His smug grin falters as he looks at you in confusion. “Wait, what? That never—”

“Don’t play dumb,” you cut him off. “Ladybug saw the akumatized paper in his hand. You’re not entirely to blame for Ivan’s akumatization since that’s Hawk Moth’s fault, but you still didn’t have the decency to not egg Ivan about his feelings for Mylene. Didn’t I tell you back then that it’s pathetic if you drag others down for your entertainment?”

He groans. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters, though it’s clear he’s floundering now. “I was just giving him a little push! Come on, back me up guys.”

Alix snorts. “Nope. Even I’m on (Y/n)’s side here. Stoneheart was screaming your name, ‘KIM! KIM!” and it was so scary. How can you not even feel guilty about that once?”

Kim scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Alright, alright, I get it. I am guilty about that, okay? But I was only doing it because he really needed to get over his wimpy attitude!” He grimaces when you direct him a disapproving glare. “I mean- look at me on that first day. I decided to approach you bravely after years of not talking to you, and I even had the courage to be with Chloe that day!”

“Technically, it was (Y/n) and Sabrina who was with Chloe all the time. You were just hanging in front of them while the three of them sat together at the back of the bus,” Max corrects.

Kim waves. “Whatever, man. All I’m saying is that if I could push myself to do all that, then Ivan should’ve been able to say something to Mylene ages ago. It was just a joke, you know?”

“And if you could push yourself to do all of that, that’s a you thing. Your pace is never the same as other people’s pace.”

Kim blows a raspberry at your words. He looks like he isn’t listening, but considering how awkward he’s now swinging his legs back and forth, you definitely know he’s remembering everything that you’re saying. At least- you hope he is.

“Now,” you huff, ending your disapproving glare with a smile. “If you’re still the same Kim I know, then stop joking around now and take me seriously.” You pull up your baggy pants, folding them right on your knee. “I’ll race you to the Parc de Belleville. Threetwoone go!”

“What?! Hey! No fair! You ran before you even let me process the challenge!”

Still, Kim’s smile reappears again as he chases after you, which he easily did so; he’s always been the most athletic person between you two. 

The only difference this time is that Alix is running with you as well. She even tries tripping Kim, and when she fails, she just grabs your hand and pulls you to run faster than him. 

The other two who were lagging behind were Max and Nathaniel. When you glance towards them, you can see Max saying something to Nathaniel, and whatever it is, it made the red haired boy break out into a wide smile.

That’s one mystery down, you smile, looking forward as you run with your friends to your nightly picnic spot.

Chapter Text

You throw the purse back to Ladybug, who catches it with a grateful smile.

"Thanks, Phantom," she says softly, walking backwards. "I'll take it back to the victim. See you guys in front of the police station afterwards!"

"Don't I get a 'thank you' too?!" Chat Noir calls out. The robber, who isn't akumatized by the way, starts yelping when the cat boy presses his arms to his back when he tried to get away from the hero.

"I did chase him across five rooftops," Chat Noir sighs, glancing over his shoulder as Ladybug disappears back to the cheering crowd. "Honestly, the lack of appreciation around here is making me lose motivation. Can't a guy just get a compliment if he asks for it?"

"I can compliment you," you say, taking out your scythes and readying to throw them forward. "But I think you'd rather be treated like dirt than receive my compliments."

"You're not wrong." Chat Noir stands up straighter, pushing the robber forward. "I would rather be like that than have your approval- Here- take him," he says to the police officers.

Surprisingly, the unit they've sent over doesn't include Sabrina's dad. He's probably in the station, waiting for Ladybug to fill him in on the details of the little crimes your trio have stopped this morning. Which has become a usual routine for you nowadays, after a short discussion of your patrol hours.

These two really didn't realize that our free schedules lined up perfectly well with each other, huh?

You want to say they're stupid for that, and that they have no thoughts behind those pretty eyes of theirs, but they're probably just overtaken by the relief of being able to attend patrol hours. Trying to be a detective is never in their minds at all... Yet.

You have a feeling Chat Noir will soon take things up a notch once he becomes a bit more fixated on Ladybug.

Speaking of the boy: "You know," you begin, "It's really not a great look to be unprofessional when we're doing our hero duties together."

"I am being professional," Chat Noir grins wolfishly. "I just don't have to like everyone I work with, right?"

He turns away from you then, his ears slanting like an agitated cat. You so badly want to tug it and finally shout at him that being snarky is only funny when it's not done every time you're talking with someone!

And it isn't even annoying at all. It just stings. You remember how sweet the boy underneath that mask whenever he talks to you. Or even how sweet the boy with the mask was during that time on the balcony. You know he's not aware of your true identity as Phantom, but that truth only makes you even more frustrated now that you're seeing the contrast of his personality.

You finally throw your scythe, holding out your palm to its direction. "Change of plans. Let's go to TVi Towers and rendezvous there instead."

"What? Ladybug will wait for us in the police station." His nose scrunches in distaste. "Why are you suddenly changing the plans?"

"Cause if you want to blabber in front of the crowd about your hate on me, we can easily air it live in the tower instead."

Without waiting for his response, you let your body get pulled into the air by your scythe.

From behind you, Chat Noir shouts in panic, "That's a joke, right?!"

Of course it's a joke. But if he's getting petty on you, it won't be a problem if you give him the same petty energy too, right?

Since Hawk Moth still had some decency to not akumatize a lot of people just yet—which you have a feeling will change very soon—your trio's only trouble lately has been dealing with non-akumatized criminals and running community patrols to keep the city calm. It's simple work, usually. Clean. Satisfying. But not when Chat Noir's constant jabs turn every debrief into a verbal sparring match.

If he wants to be petty, oh I'll be petty alright.

You became petty for like 5 minutes straight.

Afterwards, you text the two heroes to meet you in the Grand Paris Hotel. Not because it's your home and you want to de-transform easily after the meeting; nah, that's just a plus. It's because the mayor of Paris gave your superhero group a free seat to their boutique restaurant's reservations. You think it'd be stupid not to take that offer. Plus, a secluded luxurious hotel is a better meeting place than a crowded police station.

So you wait for them there, sitting on the velvet cushion while drinking your chilled soda water from an elegant crystal glass, legs crossed, one arm draped over the backrest of your chair like you own the place.

"Is there anything else you need, Phantom?"

You know this guy. He's Chloe's butler. The one named after different Jean's in France—Jean Jacques, Jean Paul, Jean Yves, Jean whatever it is. You remember him not having any 'Jean' in his name though, but you ask just in case.

"What's your name?"

"Armand," he answers with a respectful bow. "But if it is any comfort, I've been called many names by Mademoiselle and Monsieur Bourgeois. I wouldn't hold it against you too if our dearest hero decides to call me by something else."

You sweatdrop.

That's pretty sad, Armand.

He probably doesn't care about being misnamed—or learned not to, at least—but you shake your head and smile at him. "Thanks, Armand. I'm good for now."

He gives a slight smile, his eyes slightly shining in happiness. Then the attention turns to the sound of the elevator's ding, and you instinctively sit up straighter, adjusting the way your arm hangs on the backrest so you don't look too smug.

Ladybug steps out. "Wow," she murmurs, walking over with a little grin, "you weren't kidding about this place. Fancy but really private."

You give her a brief nod and raise your glass slightly in greeting. "Perks of getting a mayoral exception as heroes. We should use it while it lasts."

"I wouldn't have thought of that, to be honest," she admits sheepishly. She sits beside you and looks at Armand with a smile. "Can I also get what they—wait." She pauses and looks your way with a nervous look. "Does your drink have alcohol in it?"

"What? No." You stare at her incredulously. "It's soda water. I'm not allowed to drink yet."

"Ohhh," Ladybug nods in understanding. "I'll get the same, then."

She reaches for Armand who hands her a menu, only to end up freezing and snapping her head back your way with an incredulous shriek.

"What?!"

You catch the menu she nearly drops to the floor. "Hey-"

She interrupts, "What do you mean you're not allowed to drink yet? Are you underaged?""

It takes you a moment to realize your mistake but when you do, you wince. Hard.

"No, Ladybug." You give Armand the menu, trying to act as casually as you could. "That's pretty stereotypical of you. You do know age is not the only reason someone doesn't drink, right?"

"Yeah, I do know that," she says, narrowing her eyes suspiciously. "But it sounded a lot like you said 'not allowed' instead of 'not being able to'. As in, legally."

"You're misremembering."

"Am I?"

"Mm."

She stares at you long and hard. "No, I don't think I misremembered." She leans in. "Phantom, how old are you?"

You don't answer right away. You turn to glance at Armand who is looking awfully ready to bolt out of the room. When he sees your gaze though, he straightens his posture and clears his throat. "Oui, I suppose you and Ladybug need some... privacy?"

"Armand."

He sweats at your voice. "Yes, Phantom?"

"Don't tell anyone whatever you heard inside of this place. Anyone."

Armand straightens like a soldier. "Of course. As always, discretion is my profession."

That doesn't erase the dread tormenting your insides though.

Making another rookie mistake? Really?

Moreover—why does it keep happening when I'm with Ladybug of all people?!

The elevator chooses that moment to ring again. "Sorry I'm late! Some people wanted to take a short picture with the irresistible me, and I can't let anyone down now, can I?"

Chat Noir stretches his arms overhead and plops down on the chair beside Ladybug. "Excuse me, Jean-Luc! I'll have the usual as always."

Armand gives a slight bow and nods. "Of course, Chat Noir sir." Finally he has a reason to really leave. For someone who always had a stoic face, you can read his face like an open book.

When the butler exits, you turn towards Chat Noir and repeat, "The usual? Do you come here all the time?"

That's impossible. If he really does come here a lot, you would have noticed it already. This is where you live; you would have caught sight of him at least once when you are eating your lunch and dinner in the boutique restaurant instead of getting room service.

Chat Noir tenses up. He glances at Ladybug who's looking curious as well, but he clears his throat after a second of silence. "O-Only to sightsee. It's a beautiful place, right?"

He's really bad at lying. Ladybug seems to notice too, but she's suspicious for a different reason instead:

"Chat, do you also drink alcohol?" she sounds panicked. Probably at the thought of being the only one young in this hero group.

Chat Noir blinks. "What? Of course not, Bugaboo. I know I seem cool to you and all, but I'll have you know, my usual is just a small warm glass of milk. Sometimes I make it a big glass if I feel happy. I'm only months younger than you after all."

"Months younger, huh..." she echoes. Her eyes widen with the kind of slow realization that only spells disaster. She turns your way and points. "You're thirteen!"

"I didn't say that," you reply, confused. "He said that. That's his truth. Not mine."

"Of course! That makes so much sense."

Unfortunately, Ladybug has that look on her face. You've seen it only when she's concocting the most ridiculous plan of all time, either in her Lucky Charm scenes or when she's trying to find a way to sabotage her love rivals for Adrien. Seeing it right now though—it's terrifying.

Ladybug rushes, "I mean, I knew it was weird when Ti- er, my kwami told me that inexperienced holders have limited time after using their powers. Phantom isn't a new user like us; you've been a hero for longer, so you shouldn't have the problem of de-transforming every time you use your power. But you do! Your miraculous beeped too when we fought with Stoneheart the first time he got akumatized. That only means one thing!"

She bumps her fist on her palms, eyes brightening in eureka. "You're the same age as us—!"

"Bzzt! Wrong," you interrupt. You actually feel like sweating underneath your suit. "I just said I'm not old enough to drink. That doesn't mean I'm the same age as you."

"So fourteen," she corrects, unfazed.

"Technically, you're still assuming things—"

Chat Noir lets out a choke when the conversation finally dawns upon him. "You're fourteen?!"

Your face drops into your palm. "Chat Noir, please don't yell that outloud."

"Sorry," he actually sounds sincere there. "Wait. What are you guys even talking about? Are you really fourteen?"

"That's what I'm asking too," Ladybug says. Chat Noir stares at her incredulously.

"That's impossible. I mean – I vividly remember that you've been a hero even when I was still afraid of the thunder. And that was, what, so long ago already?"

"Aw, kitty is afraid of thunder?" Ladybug coos.

Chat Noir props his arm on the table and leans his chin on his palms, grinning. "If you're thinking of singing to me again next time there's a storm, you know I wouldn't say no to that, sweet bug."

Ladybug sighs at the flirty comment, but you're barely listening.

You were so close to maintaining the illusion of your safety through years of careful appearances in the media, but you just ruined it over an unconscious response about the legality of your drinking habits?

-Wait a second.

"Fine," you grumble. "I admit I'm near the same age range as you guys–"

"No way," Chat Noir says, mouth dropping wide open. Ladybug holds her hands in front of her ajar mouth too, her eyes sparkling in amazement.

"-but why are we trying so hard to deduce information about me? You guys know it's dangerous to know too much about each other! We're superheroes fighting against Hawk Moth who wants something from us. One, your miraculouses, and two, my information. If he ever akumatizes one of us, he might use this information you're trying to pry to his advantage."

The silence is immediate.

Hah! Take that, you think triumphantly.

Since this show likes reusing that plot point to make sure these two never figure their identities out easily, it wouldn't be wrong if you use it as your excuse too, right?

Ladybug scratches her neck, laughing nervously and staring at the table. Chat Noir is just averting his gaze, staring out at the opened window.

"Sorry about that..." Ladybug says sheepishly. "I just got a bit excited. And surprised. And confused- I mean- I've been a fan of you since I was six. If you're the same age as me, or if you're months older, does that mean you were also seven while I was still a kid watching you on the TV—?"

"Ladybug."

"Right! Right- no more questions. Right."

Your gaze slides to Chat Noir. His brows are pinched in the middle as he stares outside, scowling deeply. No, it wasn't a scowl. It's him jutting his lower lip out, his cheek puffed up.

"Chat Noir?" you call out.

"I know," he grumbles. "The cat won't get out of the bag this time, don't worry." That doesn't make you feel any less worried.

Out of everyone else, Chat Noir would be the one with enough grounds to figure out your identity once he learns your age. He's the one with a fixed grudge on Phantom's existence ever since you came back to Paris. Because he remembers, doesn't he? He remembers the thing you did in his childhood.

But he wouldn't be able to connect the dots just yet. Not with all the intricate planning and alibi you've built around your identity since you were a child.

You just have to believe in that and hope he won't ever get to know. You don't know what will happen if he does end up knowing the truth about you.

"Um- change of topics!" Ladybug pipes up after an awkward beat of seconds. "What did you want to talk with us again, Phantom?"

"Right," you croak out, clearing your throat. "The meeting."

You tell them the main information about Hawk Moth. The way his power works, how it preys on the people's emotions. You tell them everything so that you'll be prepared when Hawk Moth decides to akumatize more people that aren't part of the episodes you remember.

The two will do great in the future even without your backseat control, but until they learn how to balance hero work with their civilian life, they need someone who can kickstart everything for them first.

Ladybug is a natural leader. Her charisma is the reason why people are confident about her in the first place. But she's still young; you know she'll have a hard time managing everything out, especially once she becomes a guardian too, and for a thirteen-soon-to-be-fourteen years old kid, that's not a good way to grow up properly.

While Chat Noir—well, the boy just wants to have fun and be free. You don't think he'd thrive with the responsibility of leadership weighing on his shoulders. He's sharp, clever, and fiercely loyal, but structure? Orders? Strategy? He already has too much of it in his real life. He wouldn't like having one again in his only escape in life.

And you? You're not a great leader per se. But you love making plans. You enjoy ensuring that everything goes perfectly the way you've thought things to be.

So if worse comes to shove, you told them you'll be that leading person for them instead. You've always worked best when nobody's looking after all. 

The three of you talked some more about random things that don't include Hawk Moth. You even ate a full meal that the chefs prepared out of gratitude for 'keeping the city safe', and bantered (argued) with Chat Noir who keeps trying to flirt with Ladybug in his usual ways. 

And just like that, the three of you finally end the day by parting ways.

A week passes, and your body has been feeling a lot worse than before.

It wasn't this bad back then. Sure, you'd experience a couple of body aches whenever you de-transform after a long night of patrol back then, but that kind of pain is nothing compared to what you feel now that you're patrolling every day and every night.

For a while, you were stupidly stubborn. But after seeing Anpu always so tired, even to the point he just goes straight to sleep after eating without even talking your ears off—you had no choice but to ask Ladybug and Chat Noir to take over your shifts instead.

At least they'll get closer, which seems to delight Chat Noir. Ladybug had the decency to be worried, and you told her you appreciate it, patting her head enough to make her laugh.

At school, however, you try not to appear tired even when your body and head is screaming for you to take it easy.

You go to classes, spend time with Marinette and Alya in lunch when Chloe and Sabrina aren't dragging you somewhere in the malls, and you have fun with Alix's group after class. It's always a fun experience, especially now that Nathaniel is joking around with you again. He still sometimes get awkward like when you always lean in to watch him draw, but when has Nathaniel ever been picture perfect with his composure when he's with you?

Adrien somehow sees right through you, though. Every morning, he goes to class with a couple of drinks in his hand, which he gives to you with a smile before he takes a seat. He even brought a Salonpas one day, and you just stare at him, blinking in confusion while he sits down beside Nino nonchalantly.

You don't know what's up with the boy. And frankly, you don't have the chance to ask him either since he's far too busy for you to even have a one-on-one conversation in and out of school (you seem to have underestimated the boy's popularity here in campus).

But you've decided to give him a wave every time his eyes are drawn your way. He responds too, cheeks red, and smile really soft. It has become a routine by now, even when you aren't entirely thanking him for something he gave to you that morning.

Then once the weekdays have passed, you feel enough energy to spend the day with your parents. Who- of course- would have told you to rest instead if they knew how tired you are, but your family bonding day has been long overdue. You know they miss their child a lot, so you just kept your state to yourself for now.

"You didn't forget anything, did you?" your mother asks right as you walk out of your room.

You fake salute, fixing the scarf you have. Your mother huffs amusedly before fixing it for you.

"It'll be hot outside, you know," she adds, gently tugging the scarf looser around your neck. "No need to cook yourself just to look decent."

Yeah, but my kwami loves hiding on my scarf so I got no choice, mom.

"I'll be fine," you say instead. "Ah. Can you and dad wait for me in the lobby? I have to go ask somebody to come with us."

"A friend?" she asks, raising a brow. When you show her a vague smile, she immediately understands. "Oh. I'll tell your father to get ready then."

"Yep. He definitely needs to." Since you'll be inviting his 'fan' with you.

After going up a couple more floors, you ring the doorbell to her room. It doesn't take a second before it swings open.

"Oh! (Y/n)! You're right on time!" Chloe chirps. She clasps her hands around your wrist and pulls you inside. "Daddy bought me a new pair of sunglasses and I need you to tell me which one makes me look exceptional!"

You stumble slightly as she drags you in, barely managing to close the door behind you. Chloe practically twirls toward the mirror, two nearly identical sunglasses in each hand.

"Well?" she prompts, pouting slightly in the mirror. "A or B?"

You hum, holding your chin in thought.

"B," you answer after a moment, crossing your arms as you study her in the mirror. "It complements the shape of your face better. Plus, it has that bold, confident vibe. Very exceptional."

She tries both sunglasses on, checking between them multiple times. Then she tosses the first pair on her bed without a care in the world. "Now this is everything I was looking for! Ugh, (Y/n), you totally get me. You're not like those stupid classmates of mine. Even Sabrina—she just agrees with whatever I say. She doesn't even look properly when I ask her about anything. She's ridiculous. They're all ridiculous, utterly ridiculous!"

Ah, there it is.

You can't be in the same vicinity as Chloe Bourgeois without hearing her say that line at least once in a day.

Before she goes on another rambling phase, you rush out, "Mm, maybe as thanks for my help, you can come sightseeing with me and my parents today."

Chloe huffs. "What are you talking about?"

"We're heading around Paris," you explain. "We'll just go do some tourist stuff since today is all of our free day. Mom wants to go to Montmartre. Dad's hoping to stop by the Musée d'Orsay, and me? Well." A small grin tugs on your lips. "I wanted to go wherever our day takes us. I'm thinking of grabbing some street foods while we're at it. Are you in or not?"

This day is supposed to be a family bonding day only, but as Phantom, you just finished debriefing the mayor about everything that needed to be fixed. And Andre might be taking most of the money to himself but at least he followed your and Ladybug's suggestions on keeping the city safe in certain alleyways and streets.

But that just meant more work for him, and more work meant his daughter had to be alone in this desolate but luxurious hotel of theirs for a long time. At first, it sounds like a great time. You had the chance to be alone in this hotel too but after a while, every extravagant thing here felt suffocating.

That's why you wanted Chloe to come spend time with you, even if it's only for a while.

Speaking of the blonde: she blinks once, twice to understand the request. Then she laughs haughtily.

"You want me to go with your family outside where those peasants are bumping elbows over cheap souvenirs and... street food?" she says, nose scrunching like the very idea offended her nose. "(Y/n), be serious."

"I am serious though." That makes her pause. "You're allowed to say no, you know. I'll still like you just as much."

Chloe turns to you slowly, sunglasses drooping to the tip of her nose. "You... like me?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

She continues staring at you for a beat too long. Then she scoffs. Not her usual loud, grating scoff either, but a weaker, shorter one.

"Well, obviously you do. I mean, I am Chloe Bourgeois." She slips the sunglasses higher to her eyes, lifting her chin. "Everyone likes me."

You chuckle. You don't want to verbally lie to her face right now, cause even if you do like Chloe, it's not incorrect to believe that everyone dislikes her instead.

"Ugh. Fine," she mutters, brushing imaginary dust off her shoulders. "I suppose I can grace your outing with my presence. Someone needs to elevate the aesthetic in your family photos anyway."

"Great!" you say, grinning at her energy. "I'll let my parents know you'll be coming. Think you'll be able to get ready in five?"

"Make that twenty," Chloe corrects as she starts typing on her phone. "I'll just make sure my Instagram is updated so everyone knows how fab I am hanging with your family. Oh, and I am totally tagging you—everyone will feel so jealous at how close we are. We're literally best friends!"

"We're done. We're no longer best friends. You know this is ridiculous, right? Utterly ridiculous!"

Chloe's voice cuts through the air as she snaps her sunglasses up on her head. Her voice is loud enough to cause everyone in the vicinity to look, silent among themselves. 

The "ridiculous" thing? Focaccia sandwiches from a stall in Saint Germain des Prés.

"Oh, come on, Chloe," you say, offering her a gentle smile. "A little street food won't kill you."

"This is carbs—"

"It's good food. Now come on. Say 'ah'-"

"You are seriously not going to feed me that thing you're holding!"

You're holding a perfectly crafted focaccia sandwich, fresh from the cart, with layers of tomatoes, mozzarella, and basil. It's warm and a quintessential part of the street food scene, but it seemed to have visibly offended Chloe since she's leaning away as far as she could when you offer it to her.

"(Y/n), what did I tell you before?" your mother tsk's, making you groan.

"To not force people to eat whatever they don't want to, I know," you grumble before lighting up. "For the record, you didn't tell me that—I told myself and you about that, and now I see you're taking credit for my brilliance. Real great, mom."

"Darnit," she laughs, brushing a hand through her hair. "Guilty as charged, kiddo." She winks at you before turning to Chloe, her expression softening. "But seriously, Chloe, if you're not up for the food, that's fine. No one's forcing anything on you."

You watch as your mom gently extends her hand toward Chloe, her smile warm and inviting. For a moment, the usually sharp edges of Chloe's persona falter.

"But you should at least try something local!" your mother adds, her voice light with excitement. "I'm sure we can find something that suits your royal tastes. We're not going to let you miss out on tasting what we're eating right now, are we?"

"Well," Chloe begins loftily, "My daddy wouldn't let me eat something that isn't prepared by a five-star chef. And this one seems gross too- Does the owner of this cart even have a license to be selling disgusting things like this out here? It smells terrible."

The owner of the cart suddenly looks taken aback, his face flushing at the unkind comment.

You quickly step in, "Chloe, that's not very nice." You turn to the vendor and smile brightly. "Your sandwiches taste great, sir. And this place smells amazing too. We'll try out more stuff now, but thank you for the experience!"

Chloe looks at you in confusion when you grab her wrist. "What are you—"

"Look there!" you point at a living statue performer, Chloe following your line of sight. It's a living statue performer. He must have just started, since there aren't any crowd near him just yet.

When you approach the performer, your parents following behind, you have a front view of his painted face. It's a muted gray similar to his statue-like outfit, his body sitting on air while a cane is holding him up perfectly well. He doesn't even tremble even when he's squatting like that; a huge feat, since you know how terrible it is to even do one air squat for a few seconds.

"Ugh, what is this now?" Chloe grumbles beside you.

It isn't until your father throws a coin into the performer's cup that things start to shift.

With the softest whir of movement, the living statue leans forward, blinking slowly before standing up and giving a perfectly graceful bow. It starts doing different swinging movements with its cane, waving his arms like a noodle, which makes you laugh and clap. Unexpectedly, he lifts a hand and presents a single paper flower toward the other person who doesn't seem to enjoy the performance: Chloe.

You watch Chloe blink, stunned. The performer doesn't speak, just holds the flower patiently until she hesitantly, almost suspiciously, takes it. Her lips part as if to comment, but nothing comes out. Instead, she looks down at the delicately folded bloom in her hand, something so simple, yet made with such careful attention.

You and your parents clap when the performer goes back to posing like a statue.

"See?" Your father says triumphantly to your mother. "I told you art doesn't need to be grand to be entertaining. It just needs to come from the heart."

Your mother snorts. "Yes, Romeo. I totally know what show you watched just from those lines alone."

"Mom, of course you'd know what he just watched recently. You're always with dad all the time when he's watching a movie." Your mother has a lot of excuses to go against your words, but you just shake your head amusedly at her and look back at Chloe.

Chloe is still staring at the paper flower, her pointer and thumb finger pinching it like she isn't sure whether to be disgusted or to keep it.

"I know how to make that," you suddenly say, snapping her out of her thoughts.

"What?"

"The paper flower. I know how to make one," you repeat with a smile. "My dad taught me when I was younger. We used to make a bunch of them and stick them all over the apartment in our hometown. It was his way of keeping me busy when I would always try to drown myself with my homework."

"That's because you need to learn how to not overwork at a young age," your mother pipes up, clicking her tongue. "Those paper flowers were the only reason why you didn't join another club that time. I remember you sticking them everywhere too; on the fridge, on the curtains, even stuck to my back a few times."

"Only because you didn't notice," your father teases, nudging her with his elbow. "And give our starchild some credit overdue. They're not following after their workaholic father anymore now that they're back in Paris, aren't they?"

His smile freezes when your mother gives him an unamused stare.

"Of course they'd learn from your workaholic tendencies," your mother says disapprovingly. "This is why I keep telling you to balance your work and rest properly!"

Your mother goes on a huge rant about so-called balancing, and unlike you who can easily slip away from the conversation, your father is just stuck there, listening and letting himself get scolded by your mother.

Chloe watches the exchange with a face you can't quite read. "They're embarrassing, huh?" you ask lightly.

The paper flower is still in her hand, and you notice she hasn't tossed it or dropped it.

"Starchild?" she says instead, stuck between being confused and downright disgusted.

"What?" you smile amusedly when she scrunches her face. "Isn't it a cute nickname?"

"It's a ridiculous nickname. Utterly ridiculous," Chloe finishes with a scowl, nose wrinkled as she eyes your mom with suspicion. "Why on earth would anyone call their kid something so sparkly?"

"Because," your dad answers before you can. He's desperate to get away from your mother's scolding, it seems. "They shine. Always have. Even on the days they didn't feel like they did, we know for sure our starchild shone very bright."

Ugh. Here we go again...

Your mom had forgotten what made her worked up in the first place, since she joins in with a wink, "Whenever we say the name, (Y/n) is legally binded to follow our whims and nature. That's the rule of nicknames."

"That's not the rule of anything, mom," you deadpan, but Chloe's quiet.

She doesn't make a comeback, not immediately. You're about to nudge her again—make a joke or pull her into another silly distraction—but your mom beats you to it.

"Tell me something, Chloe," she urges. "If you could eat anything in the world right now, no rules, no five-star chef requirements, just pure comfort—what would it be?"

Chloe blinks. "That's... a ridiculous thing to ask. What else would I eat if it's not a five-star approved food from the greatest chef my daddy had hired for me?"

"That's why it's a 'what-if', Chloe," you tease. She still doesn't understand it. "Everyone's got a comfort craving. Even the mayor would sell his left shoe for a bowl of instant noodles after a long day."

"That's true," your father chuckles. "I ate instant noodles with him yesterday when we were in the office—er, I mean, we were working really hard instead and ate very healthily. That's right," he backtracks as your mother gives him a death glare.

"Impossible," Chloe scoffs. "My daddy and I are not that low-class."

"Then it doesn't matter if it's caviar or cornflakes," you add, nudging her shoulder. "Comfort's comfort. And it's a question about comfort food, isn't it?"

Chloe frowns. Her gaze drifts from the paper flower to your ridiculous mom and dad, the latter matching her backward walking pace like they've done it a hundred times before.

Finally, quietly: "...macarons."

"Sweet or fruity?" your mom asks immediately, like it's the most vital intel of the day.

Chloe hesitates. "Sweet. Vanilla. And rose."

All of your faces light up. "Well then!" your mother claps her hands and grin. "Operation Rose Macaron will be our ending note for today!"

"Don't name the mission out loud," you groan. "You're gonna scare her off."

"I'm right here," Chloe huffs, but there's a flicker of something unfamiliar in her voice. Less haughty, more... unsure.

Your mom winks at her, then loops her arm through Chloe's like they've been friends for years. "You're coming with us, Rose Macaron. We'll find you the best one in Paris, and if we don't, I'll make some myself."

"You cook?" Chloe asks in disbelief. "Why do you subject yourself to that horror?"

"Do I cook?" your mom gasps, pressing a hand to her chest dramatically. "Child, you have not seen my true form just yet."

You catch up to them and whisper to Chloe with a grin. "I taught her that line specifically."

Chloe stares between all of you before she gets dragged by your hyperactive mother to continue her interrogation with the blond.

There's another reason why you wanted to bring Chloe to your family outing. Unlike anyone else you've known, your parents could easily thaw out the heart of even the coldest person in the world, just from how bright and outgoing they are.

And maybe that's the real privilege of all time. Being with supportive, fun, and loving parents that are interested in everything you could possibly tell them in your day. In just a few minutes of questions and back-and-forth banters between your parents, you can see Chloe start talking about herself in the same way she always does with the people in school. But somehow, she doesn't look like she's forcefully shoving down her facts to other people's throat.

Your parents had to break the moment by taking a picture at some tourist spot, but Chloe doesn't seem to mind it since she just scoffs and raises her chin up in an 'I don't care, just go' way. That leaves you and the blonde, walking side by side as you try to begin a conversation with her again.

When you walk past a small shop tucked into the corner of the street, you notice Chloe lingering at the window. You don't have to look to know that she's staring at the bright red Ladybug earring on display.

So she still admires Ladybug in this timeline, huh?

Makes sense. She got saved by Ladybug on the first akuma attack. Maybe that's something that you can't change too.

"Ooh, that's such a good Ladybug and Chat Noir merchandise," you exaggeratedly say. "Let's check it out." Without waiting for Chloe to retort, you drag her inside the shop by the sleeve.

The door chimes softly as you pull her through the threshold. She stiffens, looking a bit uncomfortable in the cozy, vintage atmosphere. "What in the world are you doing now?"

"Come on," you urge with a grin. "I'll buy the Chat Noir earrings one, and you buy Ladybug's. It can be our friendship earring. We both got them at the same time after all."

She just scrunches her face in disdain, but like the way she'd been earlier, she doesn't dare stop you from picking up the earrings and handing it to the shopkeeper. "Two of these, please."

The shopkeeper smiles and quickly wraps the earrings in little velvet boxes. When you take it, the two of you walk out of the store, opening the boxes and staring at the two different earrings.

Chloe got the Ladybug, red and black spotted, themed earrings, while you got Chat Noir's, which is just pure black earrings. It's not creative, and they don't seem to put that much effort for the poor hero, but at least the back side had some cute black cat design on it, but since it's just a clip-on it wouldn't be visible to other people anyway.

You put it on your ears. "How'd I look?"

"Ridiculous," Chloe doesn't hesitate. "Utterly-"

"Ridiculous," you finish for her, laughing. "Come on. Wear yours too. We haven't taken a selfie together ever since we came out here. Didn't you say you want to post on Instagram about this outing or something?"

Chloe holds up the Ladybug earring, twirling it between her fingers. "I did. But we are not taking a picture of us wearing this cheap thing."

You open your mouth, about to retort something, but you stop when the blonde still slips the Ladybug earring on, her fingers lightly brushing her earlobe as she adjusts it. You watch her, a small thrill going through you at how much she's following your words, even if she outright says she doesn't seem to like it.

As Chloe finally looks at you with the earring in place, you can't help but notice the slight flush on her cheeks. "You better not tell anyone about this."

"My lips are sealed, madam."

She smirks as you zip up your lips, before reaching for her phone and wrapping her other arm around yours. "Let's go that way instead! The setting sun is hitting perfectly there and if we face South, I'll definitely capture my good side and get a perfect shot that I can post for my IG!"

Since she's the one who'd been dragged the entire time she's out here, you let Chloe do the same to you this time around. She takes the photo, with her leaning on your shoulder and smiling coyly while you are holding out a peace sign with a soft grin.

You made sure to show a little bit of your black earring, just so you could feel like your money had been spent worthwhile. If Chloe isn't going to show it off, then you will.

When Chloe finally posts it, she comes back to your parents and asks them their opinion—without dropping off her haughty attitude, of course. But without you listening in, she just looks like a little kid explaining something to two adults who find her utterly amusing too.

It's cute, really.

Oh, you also receive some messages from Alix, Nathaniel, Kim (this guy is spamming your messages specifically, asking for details which you just shut down with a picture of your own face. He doesn't appreciate it). But it was Marinette's message which you responded to next:

Marinette: You're with CHLOE?!!!

The amount of exclamation marks almost sent you laughing outloud. You can just imagine her horrified face as she processed the person you're hanging out today with.

Yep! It's supposed to be a family bonding, but I invited her along. Her dad's a bit busy lately so I thought it'd be good to get her out of the hotel for once.

After you sent that, you wait for the girl to respond. You see a text bubble appear beside her icon. It disappears, then reappears, then disappears again, only to reappear after a few seconds.

For an entire minute, it went like that. Until Marinette finally sends a reply:

Marinette: nicesdkfj

This time, you finally let out a laugh.

Even through the screen, Marinette really is a dork.

Chapter Text

Do you remember an akumatized villain named ‘Miss Take’?

You don’t. That’s why you are hanging back, waiting for Ladybug to do her thing with her lucky charm, ‘cause who knows how you’re going to help out in this totally-not-canon episode of theirs? 

Turns out you don’t need to. Since it’s just a high school teacher whose students kept on correcting her every time she makes a mistake in her lesson, the supervillain’s power is only making everyone second-guess themselves. 

Not exactly world-ending, but it’s enough chaos to make even Chat Noir pause mid-pun. You couldn’t stop laughing when he tried to flirt with Ladybug but even he looked unsure at the words flying out of his mouth.

“Purr-fect delivery, kittycat,” you drawl teasingly. “Meow.”

Then you burst out laughing even more when Chat Noir couldn’t bring himself to snap back at you. Maybe the term should be he ‘can’t’, since Miss Take’s power means he’s always unsure by anything he says outloud; including his normal retort to you, and only you.

Too bad Ladybug easily captured the akuma in the teacher’s pen. If you could, you would have enjoyed that peaceful (kinda) moment of having no sassy Chat Noir in your group, but oh well. At least Ladybug reminded you of your duty as a hero.

This is too funny.

Maybe Miss Take’s non-canonical power also made people ticklish, cause now you can’t stop giggling as you remember that you are late for your class with Ms. Bustier. And your classmates? 

Well, they’re late with you too, and they don’t even know about it; Chat Noir is getting interviewed by journalists, Ladybug is delivering a sheepish but inspiring speech to the cameras. 

You don’t do that kind of thing. Not when you’ve already decided to be a man-in-the-shadows type of hero instead.

So you just bring the teacher back to her office, and you tell her the words that should be enough to make sure Hawk Moth wouldn’t target her again. How she will mess up,  make mistakes, but that doesn’t mean she’s bad at what she does best. It just means she’s human, blah blah blah.

Maybe you took a bit longer after the teacher cried in your arms about it and felt bad so she tried to give you a gift or two—which, unfortunately, you had to decline. How else are you going to hide the bag of sweets that you definitely can’t buy inside the nurse’s office? 

You aren’t. Lying takes too much effort, especially when your previous lie is as terrible as Marinette’s bathroom excuse and Adrien’s early photoshoot schedule (you have to give it to him; that one doesn’t sound impossible, considering his father’s personality.)

Just as you get ready to jump back to your school, somebody drops behind you, and when you look—

“Phantom?” a soft, unsure voice asks.

You blink. “Ladybug?” Lowering your scythe to your side, ”What are you doing here? Don’t you have a timer running right now?” 

She shifts her weight from one foot to the other. “I do,” she admits, eyes downcast. “But I just… I needed to talk to you. Just for a minute.”

Oh?

You raise an eyebrow, but motion for her to speak.

Ladybug takes a breath, then: "You're Phantom."

Silence.

"Uh," you begin, and Ladybug turns redder as she realizes the long pause she did. "I am. What gave it away?" 

You give her a lopsided grin to ease the nerves. But Ladybug doesn’t laugh.

Instead, she wrings her hands together. “You’re Phantom,” she repeats, a little more quietly now. “You always know what to say. You’re calm. You’re cool. You don’t fall apart even when there’s a lot of akumatization happening around us to the point we can’t even get a day’s break without being occupied in an hour or two.”

You blink again. Okay, this is definitely not what you were expecting to hear from the girl.

“I just—how do you do it? How do you balance being… this,” she gestures at your hero outfit, “and being a normal person? I mean, I keep messing things up. Like there’s Marin—uh, like there’s my normal self, and then there’s this.”

You’re totally going to act like you didn’t hear her name slip away like that.

“But then I see you, and you look like you’ve got it all figured out. So…” She looks at you with wide, vulnerable eyes. “How do you do it?”

You stare at her for a second. Because you’re… shocked; how else are you going to explain it?

It hasn’t even been a month since the akuma attacks started, and she already feels overwhelmed? Sure, you can’t expect people to last long all the time, but this is Ladybug you’re talking about. The heroine who was able to keep her secrets to herself for more than half a year. She didn’t even need anyone but herself, Tikki, and Master Fu in the original series.

The fact that she’s here with beeping earrings and feet that are rooted on the ground means she’s baring herself naked to you in ways she isn’t supposed to. 

It’s... unprecedented. You almost felt tongue tied by that realization.

You slowly prop your scythe against your back, your voice dropping just a bit. “I don’t have it all figured out.”

She looks up to meet your eyes. “But—”

“I don’t.” You narrow your gaze, frowning. “I struggle too, you know. There are times when I forget my assignments, I end up rushing through them at night. Sometimes I forget plans with my family and they have to remind me all the time. And sometimes, I get slapped in the face that everything in my normal life will now be mediocre at best, because I have to focus on splitting myself into two. I have to juggle Phantom and… whoever I am when the mask comes off. And it’s hard. It really is.”

Ladybug goes quiet. Her gaze dips again, lashes low over her mask.

It’s sad, now that you think about it; Marinette never had anyone to hold onto in her past. Master Fu doesn’t count—as kind and welcoming he is, he’s prone to being unhealthy too. That’s just how he lived, and how he expects the rest of the holders to do the same too. 

And when someone does find out about Marinette’s secret identity, it’s through a mistake or through an unintended secret reveal. That’s not cathartic. That doesn’t help lessen someone’s heavy pressure, even if the person who found out about it tries to be as supportive as they can be.

And what about her real life self? She already has no trust in herself, always dreading her ability to be clumsy all the time, to ruin everything if she dared raise a finger or two. It’s the show’s gag, yes, but not in this world, it isn’t anymore.

You sigh, glancing at Ladybug—no, Marinette—and for a second, you almost want to laugh at how twisted the universe can be.

Because once, you hated this girl.

You hated her stammering, her obsessiveness, the way she’d practically tail Adrien with cartoon hearts in her eyes. You hated the way she could cross boundaries, the way she made mistake after mistake and never seemed to learn from them because the world resets itself when she’s at the cusp of finding accountability for her actions. She was your least favorite character, the one you thought should’ve lost her powers a hundred times over. And no matter how many times the show tried to show her growth, all you could see was a girl who kept tripping and somehow got handed more power instead of consequences.

But now?

Now you’re standing in front of her, watching her rub at her eyes like she’s not sure whether she’s going to cry or collapse. And it hits you: 

She did get the consequences.

Every day. 

Not with a figurative punishment that can be satisfying for a TV show, not with direct scoldings from other characters, and certainly not with villains yelling about her in their moral high grounds. But with pressure. With isolation. With the way her shoulders sagged just now when she thought you didn’t notice. With the way she choked on her own name like it wasn’t hers to speak aloud anymore.

It’s not that she didn’t get consequences nor learn from her mistakes. It’s that the show never gave her room to grow, and the fandom followed after it like a moth to a fly.

If everyone could even find the littlest things about Chloe and Gabriel, the show’s antagonists, that makes them less despicable from what the writers originally wrote them for, why was it such a difficult thing to do with the main character of the show too? 

“You can be both, you know,” you continue gently. 

“Huh?” Ladybug croaks, looking back at you with glassy eyes.

“You don’t need to keep Ladybug and your other self at odds,” you explain. “You are both. And maybe the version that shows up to school or her plans late, or messes up a conversation isn’t failing to be herself—maybe she’s just the same brave girl who faces down chaos with a yo-yo every other day.”

You reach to pat her head. “You don’t need to brave it out either. If things feel too scary, that's what we’re here for: me, Chat Noir. We’re your team. When it gets heavy, don't hesitate on asking any of us for help.”

She looks at your hand that pulls away from her head, and she touches her own hair with a frown.

“But I’m now someone who represents our team,” she says. Your chest drops at the implication. “I have to be strong and uphold my own responsibilities. I can’t always rely on you and Chat Noir… I mean, that’s not fair for the both of you, especially to you who's always trying your hardest at everything—”

“Oh no. No, no no. I didn’t make you the face of the team so you could bear a new weight to handle alone every night before you sleep, Ladybug. I—no, we gave you that position because we trust you. And trust works both ways. If you fail...”

You gesture for her to continue.

“If I fail…” she does.

Then she pauses. She’s ruminating something, her brows narrowing and her lips tugging downwards.

When she finally looks up, she reciprocates your smile with a determined one. “We can still save the day afterwards. Together.”

Your chest flutters, and you can’t control your grin now. “That’s more like it, bug.”

Ladybug lets out a breath. Not quite a laugh, not quite a sob. Just a breath she’d been holding far too long.

“Thanks,” she says. “I really needed to hear that.”

“You’re welcome.” You nod once. “But you should go now. You’ve got like, twenty seconds left before you’re back to not wearing earrings.”

She yelps and scrambles for her yo-yo, clearly startled. “Thank you again, Phantom! I’m sorry for disturbing you!” 

“You didn’t disturb me!” You tried to shout back, but she was already swinging away, the red of her suit a blur against the skyline.

You watch where she disappeared for a moment. 

“Sorry, past me,” you mutter. “Turns out the stalker girl you remembered can also grow up. Maybe it’s time you did too.”

You pick up your scythe and head back to your class.

You barely even walked up to the school before you stagger to someone walking beside you.

“Oof, sorry,” you say absent-mindedly, eyes downcast.

Gosh, my shoulder hurts. Why is it so painful every time I de-transform nowadays?

“You really need to rest up, (Y/n).” 

You look to the side, gaze trailing to meet amused yet worried green eyes from a blond. Adrien. 

So that’s why the people are suddenly gushing and whispering around you. 

The amusement disappears in Adrien’s eyes. He frowns. “Are you okay?”

You give him a half-smirk. “How do I look?” 

Adrien blinks and smiles uneasily. “Can I be honest?” 

“No.” You start walking forward, making Adrien sputter and follow after you with a laugh. 

You’d be stupid to let the guy considered as ‘most handsome’ by the entire campus and Paris give an honest opinion about how you look today, even if he's your childhood friend.

“I mean—you don’t look bad,” Adrien says, jogging a bit to catch up to your stride. “But you do look like you've been pushing yourself too hard lately. Did you use the salonpas I gave to you before?"

An amused smile tugs at your lips. "Yes, I used it well. But last I heard from your fans, you’re starting your fencing class again this week. Don’t you think you need those healing patches more than I do?” 

Adrien chuckles. "I'll manage. You’re the one who’s been pushing yourself too much lately," he says, his tone shifting to something a bit more serious. He glances at you, checking for any signs of distress. "You really should slow down. You’re always so... active. Almost like you're everywhere at once."

“I’ll manage. You’re the one who’s also pushing yourself too much lately.”

“Ha ha, very original statement.”

“Right? I thought of it myself, word for word.”

When you reach the lockers, you place your bag inside, making sure to sneak some snacks for Anpu inside your scarf without making Adrien suspicious.

“Anyway, Miss Take was kind of brutal today, huh?” Adrien speaks up, placing his own bag inside the lockers. “I’m sure Ladybug’s feeling sore about today’s battle, too.”

“Well aren’t you a lovesick puppy,” you tease, glancing at him from the corner of your eye as you close your locker.

Adrien smirks as he closes his locker too. “Who wouldn’t be? Ladybug is pretty amazing… strong… And humble too.”

You didn’t expect the boy to be outright expressing those thoughts outloud. But the fact he’s doing that to you means he’s comfortable with you, and no, you do not feel any sort of jealousy at all. It’s just your exhaustion catching up, as always.

“What else?” you prompt him with a strained smile. 

“What else?” His eyes sparkle a bit before a grin settles on his lips. “Well, I guess I can say Ladybug’s humility and strength is not like some people I know in real life.”

You raise a brow. "You?"

"Me-yow.” 

“Pfft!” You burst out laughing at that, bending over and covering your curled lips. You rarely have the chance to talk with Adrien, especially from how busy his schedule is, but here he is, spending those rare moments with you while delivering his cat puns. 

He laughs all the same too, raising a fist to his lips as he watches you with a proud look on his face. “Well, I’m glad you still think I’m funny."

“Purr-fectly hilarious, my guy.”

“Meow!” 

Oh you can’t handle this. You’re so glad nobody is in the locker rooms at this hour. They would have gotten worried over how you looked at that moment; hands pressed on the lockers, wheezing giggles out of your throat, and overall being teary-eyed not from the cat puns, but from the passionate meow that follows every puns he does. 

You don’t know where Adrien got that habit, but it’s hilarious to notice. 

Letting out one last snicker, you straighten up and sigh. “Man, thanks for that laughing session. I needed that.” 

Adrien flashes a mischievous grin, his eyes dancing with excitement. “I’d be happy to supply more if that’s what you need “

“Please—” you wheeze, this time, out of helplessness. “In moderation.”

“I can try.” And by the Gods does he look serious saying something like that about cat puns. 

You’re rubbing your teary eyes when you notice the way his gaze linger on you for just a beat too long before he forces himself to look elsewhere. You don’t miss the way his eyes become distant in a way you know he’s thinking. It's subtle, like a fleeting shadow across his expression. 

“Is something the matter?” 

If there’s something you learned from having that talk with Nathaniel, it’s that people need a little push to talk about what plagues their mind. So you wait, watching Adrien furrow his brow and bite on his lower lip, hesitant. 

Then a murmur. 

“I’m sorry, what?” You lean forward, seeing the way he looked both frustrated and flustered at something he said. “I didn’t hear it. Can you say that again?”

Adrien releases a breath. It’d be bad if he kept furrowing his brows like that, so he forces a smile. “Nothing, really. Just…” He trails off, looking slightly embarrassed. “I was thinking about the past, you know. Like, back when we were younger.”

“Back when things were simple,” you say, understanding where he’s going.

He shifts on his feet, nodding. “Back then, you’d be reading something new while I was practicing piano. Do you still do that today too?”

“More than ever. Have you seen how many great manga exist in this time and age? I can’t get enough of them now, really.”

“I figured,” he murmurs, then, as if to shift the mood, he clears his throat and straightens up. “I’m glad you’ve kept your hobbies. You always were so passionate about them.”

You can tell that he's not just talking about reading books anymore. His gaze seems to focus on something in the distance, and whatever it is he’s thinking of doing, or saying, you know it’ll disappear if you try to say something now. So you wait.

Then his mouth opens tentatively.  “Hey…” 

Adrien hesitates again. He looks at you, almost as if he’s weighing something in his mind.

“Can I... have a hug?”

The blond doesn’t look like he’s about to combust. He’s just staring wistfully at the ground, the corners of his lips tugging up as if he’s baring himself for whatever answer you’ll give. 

An amused huff leaves your throat. “You’re asking me?”

Adrien shoots his head up, eyes blinking at the sight of your playful smirk. It takes him a moment before the smile on his lips turn light again, relieved and happy. “Yes, I’m asking you.”

You spread your arms and grin. “Give it all you got, buster.” 

Adrien doesn’t waste a second. He steps forward and pulls you into a tight hug, arms warm and familiar around your shoulders. The kind of hug that feels like home, the kind you didn’t realize you needed until now. Your palm rests lightly at the back of his head, and he sighs into your shoulder when you run your fingers through his hair.

You don’t say anything for a while. Neither does he.

There’s just the soft thrum of your pulse in your ears, the loud pounding of his heart against your chest, and the way his fingers curl slightly in the fabric of your shirt, his skin awfully warm.

Then a murmur: “I thought I’ll never get to see you again.” 

Your eyes soften at his vulnerable voice. “And I thought I’ll always see you everywhere. Adrien Agreste, one of the most prominent young models in France. You were even going to debut in London this year, aren’t you?” 

Adrien chuckles. He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes searching your face, lingering right on your ear before looking at your eyes again. “I thought you changed a lot when I first saw you, but you really haven’t changed at all.”

You deadpan. “Is that an insult?”

He tenses in your arms. “No! I-It’s a compliment! I swear!” 

Your shoulders shake as you laugh. “I know, I know. I’m just teasing you.” His eyes widen, and his face turns red. “No! It’s a compliment! I swear!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “I know. I’m just teasing you.” You pause, your smile softening as you reach up to touch his cheek. “You haven’t changed either. Maybe aside from the obvious visual changes,” you add, a smile tugging at your lips as he leans into your touch, his eyes closing for a moment. “You still seem like the cheeky Adrien Agreste I know.”

He doesn’t respond right away. For a breath or two, he just stands there, letting your hand linger against his cheek. 

But then, like a record scratch, realization seems to catch up to him.

His eyes snap open.

A red tint blooms across his cheeks and he jolts backward, his arms loosening their hold on you.

“Ah—well,” Adrien says quickly, looking everywhere except your face. “A lot of things happened when you were gone, and… yeah.” 

“Yeah,” you say amusedly. The locker hall is suddenly tense as Adrien rubs his burning nape nervously. 

The blush on his face fades a bit, but there’s a hint of sadness in his eyes. “How’s… how’s Mrs. and Mr. (L/n) been? Do they hate Father for what he…?"

You blink at the sudden change of mood. “Oh, no. Gosh, Adrien, don’t even worry about that. My parents could never hate other people, especially when we’re, as they always say, ‘indebted to their care for years’.” You make flying quotation marks with your fingers before smiling wistfully. “We busied ourselves with our life in the countryside after that incident, but there were times my parents wondered about you too. How you and Felix are doing.” 

Adrien’s throat bobs. “They thought about me?”

"Of course.” You pause. “Maybe you can come visit us sometimes. With… your father, too, if asking for his permission gets tough.”

Alright, that’s the most impossible idea you’ve ever said out loud. But you can’t help but be hopeful anyway.

When you were younger, your parents found a way to worm themselves into Gabriel’s and Emilie’s hearts. They were kind, evidently so, and the two adults seemed to realize that as they let them into their house and their hearts too. 

Maybe it’s wishful thinking, but isn’t Hawk Moth created out of loneliness from the loss of his beloved wife? If he had someone, people who support him, who knows every adoration he felt for his wife because they’d been there in the past too, feeling the same way as he does—wouldn’t he be able to stop before he crosses another irreversible line?

You know how unlikely that is though. People don’t just change because you wish it. But they can if they willed it, right? If they’re given a reason. If they’re reminded of what love and family felt like.

Adrien’s sigh brings you back to reality. “I don’t think that’s possible,” he says, his voice laced with defeat. “My mother… she disappeared last year. It took a toll on Father, and ever since then, he’s been too busy to interact with anyone but work. He doesn’t even talk with me anymore.”

“Oh, I’m sorry, Adrien,” you murmur softly, “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”

“I’m getting used to it,” he reassures with a smile. Then he perks up. “Nathalie might be able to help me though! I can ask her to deliver my request to father.” His shoulders droop. “But there’s also a huge chance he won’t listen to it since that’s… just how he is.”

“Maybe you can visit us instead?”

Adrien lifts his head and blinks.

You try again, “Alone?”

He hesitates. The disappointment in his eyes gradually turns into quiet consideration. “I don’t know… The only reason father lets me out of the house is because of my schedule monitored by my bodyguard, so—”

“So you go without your bodyguard.” 

He halts, mouth gaping at the way you hold your chin up, smirking at him. 

“I mean, haven’t I taught you how to avoid these bodyguards before? I’m pretty sure I did, or maybe I’m just misremembering things since it’s been so long already.” 

Adrien looks absolutely gobsmacked, but he lurches forward and laughs in that angelic way he does whenever he’s utterly amused. “N-no, you haven’t taught me that,” he says between laughter. “But I remembered how you did want to teach me about it. Wow, you really haven’t changed, huh?”

You wink, leaning against the locker with a playful grin. “I’m still the bad influence friend you have.”

He shakes his head and grins. “I’ll think about it.” 

“That’s enough for me, Mr. Perfect.” You turn around and motion. “Now come on. We still got time before Ms. Medeleieve’s class starts. I want to sleep for a while—can you wake me up when the classroom gets full already?”

“Sure. Do you mind getting your face drawn while you’re asleep?”

“Try that out and I swear you’ll see your bulletin boards vandalized, Agreste.” 

Chapter Text

“Hey, dude, over here!”

Nino is standing in front of a nearby coffee shop, right under the red and white awnings of its glass windows. He waves, and you jog towards him, grinning widely and breathing a little heavily. 

“Wow,” Nino whistles amusedly. “You look like you ran a mile just to get here. I thought this cafe was the closest place you could meet up with us?”

“It is,” you say, holding onto the collar of your shirt. You fan your sweating neck. “I just had to do some chores for my dad earlier, which ended up being far away from the hotel. Did you know the nearest convenience store was literally 15 minutes away from our street? 15 minutes? If I knew that, I would have just told my dad to make his own riceballs instead of buying it in the convenience store or something.”

Nino stares at you, long and unresponsive.

You look at him with the same expression. “What?”

“Are you being serious right now?”

“When have I not been serious to you?”

“You live in a hotel, dude. A luxurious hotel. Owned by Mr. Bourgeois, Mayor of Paris.”

You raise a brow. “And…?”

Nino gawks, eyes blown wide and stunned. You don’t think he’s ever looked so shocked like that before—except maybe when he heard that Adrien lives in that multi-millionaire worth house a few feet away from the Eiffel Tower. The boy didn’t find it surprising that Adrien’s the son of the famous Gabriel Agreste, but what was surprising to hear is that his family occupies one of the most expensive properties in all of Paris; second only to the street for the Grand Paris Hotel.

“You- you live in a luxurious hotel and you still buy something in the convenience store?” Nino repeats, befuddled.

“Yes? We pay for our lunch in the hotel, dude. You think we’d waste fifty euro just to get one small snack that you can buy for less than ten euros in a convenience store?” 

That makes Nino purse his lips in realisation. “Yeah, I get it, but your family is still so weird, man.”

To be fair, the convenience store run thing was just an excuse. You can’t exactly tell Nino you’ve just finished fighting against the recently akumatized victim earlier this morning with Ladybug and Chat Noir, so you settled on the next absurd thing instead. The weirder your lies are, the more believable they would be to everyone—especially if they already think you’re weird to begin with.

Nino checks his phone with a frown. “Those two are late again...”

You slide beside him subtly, standing with your hands behind your back. You watch a customer come out of the cafe’s doorway before turning to Nino. “Alya’s probably at the scene of the crime.”

“Seriously?” Nino groans. “Who’s the villain this time?”

You tell Nino about everything that happened earlier. Just some random villain who hated seeing people litter for no reason, thus Hawk Moth akumatizes him and all that crap.  

You also add that you heard all of this in the convenience store ‘cause of course everyone’s nosy like that—even Nino didn’t find anything wrong about your weird storytelling—and then you follow that up by saying: Alya must be there too. Cause she is; you saw her, as Phantom of course. Marinette is busy (being Ladybug) like how she always is, and Adrien…

Well. Adrien never really got permission to hang with you guys today. He doesn’t count this time.

Nino is gawking again.

“What?”

He doesn’t look like he’s believing anything you’re saying. “You really heard all of that when you went to the convenience store?”

“Duh. Where else would I hear it?”

He stares again. You stare back, not even breaking a sweat or two.

“Okay. For some reason, I actually believe you, dude.”

“Of course you do. I’m always believable.”

It’s a good thing your meetup spot was closer to your homeplace. Marinette still has to run before she even gets here—or maybe she just collapsed in her bed and decided to rest instead of go out for today. She did look a bit tired when she was fighting with the villain earlier, which must be due to her taking on the leadership roles when it comes to your class assignments while also balancing her late night patrols for her morning classes. Just thinking about her schedule makes you sigh and shake your head disappointedly.

Then you have Adrien Agreste, aka Chat Noir, who insists on taking night time patrol every. damn. time, even if he’s already swarmed with photoshoots and other strenuous activities in his day. You overheard from Armand and a couple of night tourists that he also frequents the restaurant of Grand Paris Hotel whenever possible, and that unnecessary detour just for some milk makes you want to slap him at the back of his head.

Maybe it’s time you take initiative in assigning other roles from now on…

“It’s just us two, then?” Nino breaks off your thoughts.

“Why yes.” You look at him with a teasing smirk. “You don’t want to?”

His eyes widen. “What? No way, dude! I so want to spend time with you too. Have you listened to the playlist I made for you?”

“Oh, that? I’d be stupid not to listen to it. I even saved it up on my offline playlist. See?” You offer him one of your earbuds, then you press play.

The two of you listen to the music as the world around you bustles loudly. The sun is scorching right on your shoes, but your small bubble with the music boy makes it a little bit more bearable.

“Wait, let me just search something,” Nino suddenly says, shuffling a bit closer to you. You show him your phone as he type a song. “I listened to this masterpiece at like, three in the morning, and I legit thought it reminded me of you.”

Oh. 

Oh, that shot an arrow straight through your heart.

Nino is so sweet. He already made an effort to make a playlist based on your tastes, but now he’s thinking about you until he found something that reminded him of you. Isn’t that just so sweet?

“Some—”

You deadpan. “Oh hell no.” 

Nino bursts out laughing when the song, All Star by Smash Mouth, plays into your earbuds. You don’t even get the chance to yank it out before he’s doubled over, cackling like a maniac right in front of the café.

Nino can barely breathe. “Dude—! You should’ve seen your face! That was priceless!”

You scowl at him, betrayed and utterly crushed. “Whatever. Shrek is a good movie anyway, so you can't even insult me properly with this song."

“Dude, I’m not insulting you,” Nino wheezes, wiping the corner of his eye from laughter tears. “I love Shrek. I just—your face! You look like you were about to thank me for saving your dog or something.”

“Well, excuse me for expecting sincerity,” you say flatly.

That only makes him laugh harder, clapping his hand against his thigh like he’s just heard the greatest joke of the century. His glasses are slightly askew from how much he’s doubled over, and a couple of people passing by glance over with annoyed expressions, but you two don’t really care. 

“It was sincere,” he says, stifling another laugh. “That song is iconic. You’re iconic. Connection. See?”

You hum, holding your chin in an exaggerated manner. “I see. So this is how my friendship with Nino Lahiffe gets mended again, huh?”

“It’s a great loop back to the beginning,” he says, full of amusement and pride.

When you finally laugh, the boy visibly relaxes beside you, his arm brushing against yours again—this time, he doesn’t move it away. You think nothing of it, still listening to the bopping music, while Nino sneaks a glance at you from the corner of his eye.

 “So, uh…” Nino’s next words seem almost hesitant. “Do you think they’ll show up eventually?”

“Well, Alya may be able to come here later. Marinette…” You look around the place, not finding any pigtail blue-haired girl running your way under the awnings. “She’s either going to be hours late again, or she won’t come at all.”

“And Adrien?”

You snap your head his way, giving him a pointed look.

Nino laughs again. “Right, right. I forgot his dad is such a stick-… stickler to everything.”

“Say it with your chest puffed up, Nino. Adrien’s father is shithead.”

He pales at your words. “That wasn’t even what I wanted to say!”

“And what were you trying to say, then?”

“He’s a stick in the mud! A stick in the mud!” 

Oh well. You prefer saying he’s a shithead. Or maybe a piece of shit would be good too. Neglectful bastard is right up your alley as well.

You want to say so many other colorful words about the guy, but of course, you just settled on with: “Adrien’s dad has always been stupidly strict with him even when we were kids. Seeing him not change after years is kinda disappointing.”

He narrows his eyes at you. “Why do I have a feeling that’s not what you wanna say?”

You show him an innocent smile. Not even bothering to gaslight him in any way, shape, or form.

Nino shakes his head before looking up at the awnings. “So you and Adrien have been close since you were kids, huh.”

“Yep.” You copy him too, tracing the fabric with your eyes. “Though, I thought you already knew that.”

“Not really. I thought you guys were like, the typical rich kids who had an arranged marria—”

You snap your head his way, jaw dropping. “What?!”

"O-okay. Judging by the reaction," Nino stammers, leaning away as you shoot him a wide eye stare. "You and Adrien… aren't in some sort of arranged marriage situation?"

"Why in the world would you think that?!" you ask, voice shrill and horrified.

Not because you don’t want to marry Adrien; in fact, you know your friend is a prime marriage candidate. The blond is such a hopeless romantic, he’ll be the sweetest husband who’s head over heels for his future spouse. 

But you also know Adrien will only be a good partner to Marinette or Ladybug. If it’s anyone else like Kagami or—if by some stupid sequence—you, he’ll be… well. You know from certain episodes that he’ll be a terrible boyfriend.

Nino scratches the back of his head awkwardly. "I dunno, man. Adrien just said— well, I’m not supposed to say that he said he’s close with you in like a different way than he’s close with Chloe, and Chloe’s supposed to be his childhood friend you know—"

Ouch. Were you also not included in the childhood friend group?

Also, poor Adrien’s secrets. If you have a nickel every time somebody puts out Adrien’s secret right in front of your face, you’d have two nickels. First is from your mother (weirdly enough) telling you about his fear of thunder, and now it’s from his new best friend.

You didn’t hear what else Nino said but he’s talking about how Adrien reacted to your greeting with him on your second day in class, and now he’s rambling about movie tropes with rich people being arranged to marry each other to continue making their families rich, and you just had to cut him off at that point.

"Well, you aren’t wrong. Rich people tend to do something stupid like that," you muse. "But nah. My parents and I are just well off. Adrien wouldn’t benefit from it if he ever marries me.”

And his father must hate your guts after the trouble you caused in his house, but Nino doesn’t need to know about that. He already looks astounded by whatever it is you just told him. 

“You and Adrien are really meant to be, you know,” you change the topic easily. “He also likes cliché movie tropes like you. Maybe you can talk to him about that next time—minus the arranged marriage with me information, please.”

Nino’s surprise turns into amusement as he chuckles. “You got my word, dude. But I didn’t know Adrien also likes movies. I thought he’d be too busy to watch anything at all.” 

Quite the opposite. The blond is too busy so all he could do is watch movies to compensate for the life he’s not experiencing. Gosh, you still remember the amount of movie CD’s in his mezzanine—

“Unlike him, I’m always free,” Nino snorts sarcastically. “I’m too free, in fact, I have to procrastinate a couple of my video essays just to watch another video essays about my favorite movies. Speaking of, have you seen that ongoing online theory of how most lighting choices in romance films foreshadow character arcs?”

You raise a brow, intrigued. “No?”

Nino’s face lights up like a Christmas light. “Okay, okay. Remind me to send that to you later. There’s this one breakdown on Before Sunrise too, like, how the subtle golden hue of the early morning scenes matches the uncertainty of their connection and—ugh.” He clutches his chest dramatically. “Cinema is magic, my dude.”

“I feel like a nerd right now, but that sounds kinda fascinating.” 

He grins wider. “Kinda?” His voice cracks a little. “Dude, it’s extremely fascinating.”

You stuff your earbuds and phone in your pocket, listening with a smile as Nino talks animatedly about films. Some are movies that you haven’t watched before but Nino was able to talk about it in a passionate rush, you felt like you were there too—like you were watching it through his eyes.

You’re not sure when it happens, but at some point, you stop really paying attention to the words. You’re just… watching him.

He’s gesturing with his hands, pushing up his glasses when they slip a little down his nose. His eyebrows move with every shift in tone, every emotional beat in the story he’s trying to explain. He’s so full of life, so expressive, so present.

It’s kind of nice to see.

Nino just keeps going, talking about symbolism, color theory, diegetic sound, and whatever else he’s buried in lately. But then he suddenly pauses, and you raise your brows, smiling confusedly at his silence.

“What?”

“…You’re staring,” he notes.

You blink. “Yeah?”

There’s a moment—just a flicker—where his gaze actually turns panicked, but he plays it off with a crooked grin and a quick chuckle, scratching the back of his neck.

“Man, we should probably go inside the café already,” he croaks. “We’ve been standing for almost an hour now.” 

You can’t see it properly on his sun kissed skin, but he’s definitely blushing. And that makes your shit-eating grin grow wider.

“Sure, let’s go inside.”

But of course, you are a merciful friend. You will not tease him today, even if there’s a huge part of you that wanted to–

“Nino! (Y/n)!”

You haven’t even entered the café yet when you hear Alya’s voice. She’s running toward you, waving one arm wildly above her head while the other clutches her phone to her side.

“You guys are not going to believe this!”

“Alya?” Nino calls back. He’s holding the door open, but he closes it when you step aside and wait for Alya to stop in front of you both, panting.

“I got the scoops again,” she says between breaths, thrusting her phone toward the two of you. “Ladybug, Chat Noir, and Phantom fought another villain at Place des Vosges earlier! It’s an easy defeat, of course, but that’s not the important thing here: I actually had a chance to interview Ladybug even after she de-akumatized the villain already—!”

“Girl,” you laugh when she wheezes at her rambles. “Let’s grab a table first. You can tell us everything when you’ve caught your breath or something.”

Alya sighs in embarrassment, but she does give you a smile. “I guess that’s the correct thing to do here. I’ve got like six videos I’m going to edit, and if I just bring out my iPad, I’ll be able to show you all of my theories in a comprehensive manner.”

“Theories about what?”

You don’t think Alya heard your question since she just rushed past you like the gust of wind she is. 

You exchange a quick glance with Nino. He shrugs at you.

Pushing the door open, you motion jokingly. “Ladies first,” you tease.

Nino rotates his wrists in a swirling 360 degrees way, before slamming it on the edges of the door, swaying his non-existent long hair around.

“Why thank you so much,” he says in a fake high pitch voice, walking inside the café with an exaggerated sway of his hips.

 “Pfft—!”

You almost died holding your laughter right by the entrance of the café.

This is the part where you say that Alya is becoming a bit obsessive with finding out who Ladybug is.

Cause how in the hell did she think that one of the plausible candidates for Ladybug could be Bob Roth, that stupidass fake guy who disgraces Bob Ross with his tendency of scamming people within the music industry?

In her defense, Bob Roth apparently disappeared on the same day Ladybug appeared. But still, ‘he’s a grown ass man,’ you told the girl, and she immediately crossed off her theory like it wasn’t even worth defending anymore.

You did try distracting her when she almost pinpointed that Ladybug is in the same school as you do. You aren’t against people pursuing their fixation, but half of Season 1’s problem is just Alya getting closer and closer to the truth about Marinette’s identity—not even Adrien, but Marinette only—and you want to at least change something in the timeline about that. 

But Nino doesn’t know how to read the room so he’s just fueling Alya’s theories with questions of his own.

And… well. Now you understand why these two are perfect for each other.

Two dumb idiots telling each other ‘exactlyyyyy’. Like, how are you supposed to deal with that?

… apparently by providing Alya misinformation whenever you can—

“Girl, respectfully, shut up. Even I don’t think Ice Cream Man Andre is Ladybug.”

“Yeah, you’re really trippin’, dude. Why would you even think he could be Ladybug?”

“Okay.”

It takes approximately thirty more minutes before Marinette bursts into the café, looking haggard and absolutely apologetic as she gives you her favorite go-to reason every time she turns late: my parents needed help in the bakery again, so I had a hard time getting away.

Pretty good excuse, but she does fail at acting like she’s not affected by Alya when the girl starts re-telling her the theories on Ladybug’s identity.

Seriously. Nobody’s batting an eye at how obvious the blue-haired girl is, squeaking and croaking at every mention of Ladybug around her?

 Just like that, your fun weekend ended with you hanging around your dorky three friends. 

“I’m very pleased with how you all did on your last assignment. Some of you have really stepped up, and I do appreciate it.”

Ms. Bustier’s voice rings in the classroom, but you’re just looking at the bright sky outside the window. 

It’s too bright… too peaceful… 

That’s not a good thing in Paris, nope.

Another thing that supports your bad feeling is Marinette not coming back to class after asking Ms. Bustier if she can go to the bathroom earlier. There’s only one reason why she disappears suddenly, and it’s always because of Hawk Moth. Always.

“Now it’s time to move on to our next assignment…”

But Adrien is still in his seat though. He doesn’t look that antsy to get out either, which says a lot, since he’s always jumping headfirst whenever Ladybug is even remotely busy with a villain or so.

You only realize it’s silent when you hear Alya chuckle nervously in front of your seat. You turn, watching how she tucks something back to her notebook because Ms. Bustier and the entire class were now watching her.

“Is Marinette still in the girl’s room?” Ms. Bustier asks in concern.

“Uh…” Alya looks at Marinette’s pink bag on her seat before shrugging. “I don’t know, miss.”

The bell rings. You don’t even waste any time packing your things because you’re already roaring to get out of this school. If you stay even for a second longer, you have a feeling Ms. Bustier will pile up her pending tasks for your class again—

“Tonight I want you all to read Chapter 3 of the Breathtaking France: The First Thousand Years, then answer this simple questionnaire.”

See? You haven’t even walked out of the doorway and Ms. Bustier is already handing you her printed questionnaire. And it’s an essay type too.

You fight the urge to groan.

I hate going to school so much.

Oh well. You have your free time for now, and you’re going to spend it sleeping in your luxurious and soft bed of the hotel.

After saying goodbye to your other classmates, you walk home alone, scrolling through your phone to see what exactly is the reason why Marinette was not in your last class. Alya was tasked to give her Ms. Bustier’s questionnaire since she’s MIA, and while they do not question her absence, you do.

“Once again, Ladybug and Chat Noir have saved Paris from the clutches of a menacing villain—”

You halt on your spot, mouth dropping open as you watch the camera cut to Ladybug waving with her yo-yo in her hand, smiling abashedly.

“What?” You scowl in confusion, immediately searching through the web.

Ladybug being there is something you can understand, but Chat Noir is there too?

Adrien left class at the same time as you did. When the hell did he have the chance to get to the crime scene and fight alongside her so fast too? Not even your fast running (or ‘flying’) skill could take you there quickly.

“—Phantom is, of course, gone before we can even interview them, but Ladybug assures us that being away from the spotlight is what Phantom does best.”

“What?!”

This time, it’s your kwami shouting instead. You hush him but he still peeks out of your scarf, eyes blown wide open as he gawks at your device.

“B-but Master didn’t turn into Phantom today, did you?” he says, confused. “Either I ate too much sandwich earlier and forgot that I transformed you into Phantom to fight the big bad Hawk Moth, or someone else is imitating us and Ladybug and Chat Noir fell for it—?!”

“No, those two wouldn’t fall for anything Hawk Moth does,” you cut through your kwami’s overthinking. You look around the place some more before walking inside the hotel, brushing past the receptionist table and towards the elevator instead.

But now that you think about it, a doppelganger ability is still possible, so you can’t rule out Anpu’s theory that fast.

The akumatization in real life is worse than the episodic ones. Because Hawk Moth isn’t predictable at all; there are too many people whose emotions fluctuate everyday, and he either picks the most ridiculous ones that can be blown out of proportion or the dangerous ones that takes hours to defeat.

It wouldn’t be surprising if Hawk Moth created a villain that allowed them to copy someone. Doesn’t that happen in main episodes too?

You step out of the elevator once it dings and make your way to your room. The moment the door clicks shut behind you, you drop your bag, toe off your shoes, and flop onto the bed face-first with a muffled sigh.

Then you raise your head in realization.

“Wait. Was Chat Noir even in the video at all?”

You try to check the footage, but all you get is a playback error. The wifi is getting cut off. Of course.

When you walk out of your room to find a signal, a nearby hotel staff stops beside your room and smiles apologetically. “Oh, bonjour! The guests were warned already through digital messages but it’s maintenance day for the Cell Tower. I’m afraid both the wifi and the mobile signal will be spotty until around 3 p.m. today.”

You stare at her. Blankly. 

3 P.M. That’s a couple hours from now.

You nod with a strained smile, saying “Thanks,” and shutting your door again, pressing your forehead to the cool wood for a beat.

For some absolutely confusing reason, you feel a sense of deja vu. Not because this happened already—it’s the first time you even heard there’s a Cell Tower maintenance, really—but because you feel like this is something you should know about.

Still, no matter how hard you think about it, you can’t quite put a finger on your thoughts so you brush it off and just go to sleep.

Yeah, you’re stupid.

Absolutely stupid.

In your defense, you have been facing so many non-canon villains that you forget your knowledge of future events still exist.

You only realized it too when you walked into the locker room the next day and found Nino being slammed toward Chloe’s locker, acting all coy and totally-not-forced-to-do-it as he fixed his cap nervously.

“Uh, Ladybug, look over there!”

You look too, like the stupid morning person you are. And you barely stop yourself from slapping your face because of course this is the Lady Wifi episode. Marinette being unreachable again and again, Alya being interested in Ladybug’s true identity, then the Cell Tower having a maintenance—

You snap out of it when you see Alya tiptoeing behind Chloe, her phone in hand. 

She thinks Chloe is Ladybug, only because she saw the blonde take out a Ladybug-themed yo-yo in her locker yesterday, and now she’s trying to take a picture of the locker as proof. And if your memory serves you right, this will cause her to get in trouble.

You can’t have that. 

With a rush, you speedwalk to the brown-haired girl, reaching to grasp her wrist just before she could raise her phone up.

“Alya, what are you doing?” you hiss quietly.

Alya jolts in surprise, nearly dropping her phone. She whips her head your way. “(Y/n)! What are you—?” 

Maybe approaching her in a rush is a bad thing too, but what else were you supposed to do? It was happening too fast. You haven’t even processed what episode this was and Alya was already in the process of taking a picture of Chloe’s locker.

She didn’t, though. You can see that small icon of her camera’s gallery containing a picture of the floor instead, so you prevented her from getting in trouble for taking a picture.

But her voice raises too high in surprise at your intervention, and suddenly someone is gasping in the background.

“Chloe!” Sabrina exclaims, pointing at Alya’s way. “Alya’s trying to look inside your locker!”

“What?!” Chloe screeches, whirling around in pure horror.

The thing you’re absolutely dreading is now happening: everyone’s attention now turns your way. Or in this case, Alya’s way.

The girl tugs her arm away from yours and scowls in embarrassment. 

“That’s a lie! I so was not!” Alya lies, clutching her phone behind her. Then she lets out a surprised shout as Kim snatches it away from her grasp. She tries to take it back but he taunts her by raising it above her head, smirking.

“Kim,” you try to say calmly. “Give the phone back to Alya—”

Kim sticks his tongue out. “I’m just making sure there’s no illegal evidence collecting going on here, (Y/n).”

Alya lunges for her phone again, but Kim easily sidesteps. “Come on, give it back!” she hisses.

Kim scrolls through the gallery with his thumb. ““Huh. You took a picture of the floor, huh? Sounds like you were about to get caught red-handed,” he taunts, still holding the phone out of reach. “Then there’s nothing else here but a bunch of hero pics and vids and—ewww,” he laughs, showing it around the room. “There’s lots of Nino selfies here too!”

“Hey!” Nino blurts, fixing his cap to prevent himself from lunging at the snickering boy.

“Oh.” Your eyes turn dead set on the laughing boy. “I guess you want to do it this way, huh, Kim?”

Kim suddenly tenses up. Alya uses that chance to snatch her phone back, and Kim just lets her. He’s too busy stepping back, whistling innocently while you direct your disapproving glare his way. This could have been solved quietly, but he just had to make it into a whole circus.

“You don’t go through other people’s phones like that,” you start. 

“Yeah, well, maybe people shouldn’t be acting all shady around other people’s lockers,” Kim retorts back to you.

And you close your eyes because that’s true. There is definitely a line being crossed here on both sides, and you understand them too. 

“This is harassment!” 

Chloe’s snarl takes all your attention away from Kim though. She had slammed her locker closed, her glare twitching as she looks at Alya in distaste. “

Why else would my dear (Y/n) stop her from doing something before Sabrina called us to attention? Ugh!” She runs your way, clinging to your arm with a whine. “(Y/n), this is too much for me! All of them basically sabotaged, harassed, and invaded my privacy! I can’t believe how despicable they are, utterly despicable!”

You wince as she begins to fake cry on your arm. “Chloe, wait a second. Maybe we can talk about this calmly—”

“You’re right!” She brightens up, leaning away from your arm. She’s still clutching you tightly, your circulation is stopping. “Let’s have a talk about how this ridiculous behavior shouldn’t be condoned. Oh~ Mr. Damocles is going to be listening to every word I say, you better be prepared, Cesaire—”

“Wait- no, that’s not what I want to say-”

But the blonde is already tugging you forward with a death grip on your arm, her heels clacking like a judge’s gavel with each stomp. “No. We’re not waiting. You’re all coming with me! Especially you heinous criminal!” She points at Alya’s way with a scowl. 

Alya groans. “Seriously? I didn’t even get the picture—!”

“Exactly!” Chloe points an accusatory finger over her shoulder. “Because my (Y/n) stopped you just in time!”

“Your?” Alya echoes with a frown.

You don’t have time to explain Chloe’s over-possessiveness since she’s already pulling you away from the lockers and up towards the staircase, where the principal’s office would be. 

Sabrina is hurrying to follow, Alya is grumbling, Kim is walking like he’s about to witness the most amusing thing this boring day has to offer, and Nino—

Chloe pushes him out of the principal’s door. “You’re staying behind, DJ screws.”

“What?” Nino sputters, stumbling backward. “But I’m literally already in it—?”

“Not anymore,” Chloe snaps her fingers in front of his face. “You’re i-rre-le-vant!”

You don’t even have the chance to shoot Nino an apologetic look before Chloe shuts the principal’s office door in front of his face.

“She’s guilty of invasion of privacy, and I have proof!”

You’ve never once seen the principal up close before, but now that you have, Mr. Damocles really does look like an owl. His eyes are big and brown, and he doesn’t have any hair except for his long, grey beard and mustache, and his thick slanted eyebrows. 

Mr. Damocles is holding his intertwined hands in front of his table, looking ready to be lectured at instead of the one giving lecture. Probably because Chloe is sitting right in front of him, and Alya takes the other seat across the blonde.

“Seriously?” Alya scowls. 

"Yes, seriously," the blonde huffs. "She was clearly snooping around my personal belongings, trying to invade my privacy by taking pictures of my locker without permission. It’s all right there on her phone!"

Chloe juts her chin up. Confident and ready to hear the principal go on her side.

"Well on my phone, I only have a picture of the floor, Mr. Damocles!" Alya gestures at the screen. "Look; you can barely see anything in it too!"

The blonde shoots her eyes open in shock. "But you can see my very soul breaking at your intentions!" she defends. "You're ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous! What would you do if someone was spying on your things through a cellphone? Huh? Would you just sit there like a helpless lamb? I think not!"

Mr. Damocles looks confused and wary as he stares back and forth between the two tensed girls.

“I’m sorry, Chloe,” he begins nervously, “But there’s no school policy on invasion of privacy.” 

No way. You forgot this was even a line in the show. 

“T-then…” Chloe falters before scowling harder. “Breaking and entering!” 

“I didn’t break nor enter her locker—it was open,” Alya insists.

“And nothing is stolen then?” Mr. Damocles says.

"I don’t think that matters, Mr. Damocles," you start calmly. You don’t miss the way Alya turns your way, absolutely betrayed, while Chloe is beaming at you like you just handed her the trophy of her lifetime. “Isn’t it a bit ridiculous we don’t have a policy against invasion of privacy?” 

“Like I said, I wasn’t invading her privacy!” Alya suddenly shouts. She was able to keep it in when Chloe presses her, but when you did, the anger and hurt in her eyes became tenfold, until even you could see it.

“Then,” you breathe sharply, “Please tell us what you were about to do before I stopped you.” 

You hear Chloe snickering with Sabrina beside you, and you shoot them a glare. You’re not siding with her, even if it does look like it currently. Alya has some wrongs that she needs to work on, but that doesn’t mean Chloe is free from the same criticisms either. 

“I was… well…” Alya’s expression twists. “I just- I wasn’t trying to take anything! Why can’t you believe me about that?”

Oh, your headache is spiking. “We’re not accusing you of taking anything–”

“But you are,” Alya insists. She’s scowling, her face entirely blinded by anger. “And you even told me that this–” she points at Chloe, “—is someone you consider misunderstood. Misunderstood? She’s just a- an irredeemable bully!” 

“Hey!” Chloe frowns. But she flinches when Alya glares her way. “I-I count that as verbal abuse! I demand she be suspended for a week, Mr. Damocles!”  

“Ahem,” Mr. Damocles stammers, “Chloe. While name-calling is strongly discouraged in this institution, I don’t believe suspension is the appropriate measure for Alya's... 'crimes'.”

“She’s guilty of verbal abuse, slander, and invasion of privacy,. What more do you want, you junky principal?” Chloe snaps. She grabs her phone out of her purse and swipes to a contact. “If you won’t do it, I will call Daddy and have him handle this situation himself!”

Damocles jolts like he’s just been tased, the color draining from his already pale face.  “Well- now. Let’s not bother your father—I mean, the Honorable Mayor—with a minor locker situation…” 

Chloe stares at him, lips jutted out. One of her fingers inches closer to the call button on her father’s contacts, and you pinch the bridge of your nose to fight against your now-already developed headache. 

You said you'd try to make things a bit better. But this? This is just spiraling out of control instead. 

"Mr. Damocles," you begin, trying to ignore Chloe who was waiting for her father to pick the phone up. "Please understand that Chloe feels like her privacy was violated, and that Alya did cross a line, but I don’t think there was any physical harm done in this situation. Alya didn’t take any pictures of private material, and nothing was stolen in Chloe’s locker. I think a one-hour detention after class should be enough, since she did try to take a photo of Chloe’s belongings, which still goes against her privacy, even if there’s no policy that talks about such a thing.”

Chloe gasps like you slapped her. “Wait, just like that?”

Mr. Damocles releases a relieved sigh. “If it’s like that, then I can agree with it. One-hour detention to you, Alya.”

Alya grits her teeth, clenching her fist on her lap. But Chloe isn’t done yet.

“She tried to commit a crime and you’re just- just giving her a slap on the wrist?!”

“Chloe,” you snap. “Did you even hear what I just said?”

Chloe opens her mouth to respond, but Alya stands up hastily. “I’ll take detention.” Her burning eyes glare at Chloe, glassy and pinched as she scowls. “Are we done here?” 

“No we’re not.” Chloe snaps back. “I want you suspended for- for-!” she stammers, looking everywhere but your disapproving stare. “For a day!”

Better than a week, but still not a good punishment for such a small wrongdoing. 

“If it’s a day, then that’ll be more doable…” Mr. Damocles says weakly.

“Fine!” Alya snarls. “Suspend me for a day, a week, a whole month. Or even expel me. I don’t care anymore! I’m outta here!” 

“Alya, wait,” you try to say, but when Alya grabs her bag and rubs her eyes with her arms, your throat constricts and you couldn’t find the right words anymore. Not when she’s glaring at you with eyes full of anger, it cuts off your breath. 

“Some friend you are,” Alya spits out before bumping on your shoulder on her way out of the room.

It’s easy to be fair when you don’t have to worry about hurting anyone’s feelings.

Alya’s not in class, as you’d expected it to be, but she’s definitely somewhere out there crying to herself because you didn’t stick up for her as what a ‘friend’ should do. 

But what does it mean to be a friend anyway? Do you have to cover for her, and just let it go when this could be a learning moment that helps her grow, or do you just do what you did—be utterly ‘neutral’ that you hurt both of your friends instead. 

You can see Chloe on her seat, leaning her chin on her palm, frowning. She isn’t even paying attention when Sabrina tries to show her the answers to a homework she probably hasn’t done. She technically won. She got what she wanted, but her eyes look almost disappointed. Maybe even a little bit guilty? 

No. That’s you assuming things again. That’s you, taking the mantle until it goes wrong again because of your meddling.

You sigh, just in time for Marinette to sneak in class and sit beside an empty spot of her seats with Alya.

Can’t I really do anything that just goes well in the end? Can’t I?

“WHAT?!” 

Marinette’s shriek makes you guys look at her in surprise. 

“Marinette!” Ms. Bustier turns her way and frowns. “If you’re going to come late, will you please do it discreetly?”

“Sorry…” Marinette sits back down but she taps on Nino’s shoulder again, whispering something to him. He replies back, definitely telling her why Alya’s been suspended. Then she stands up and shrieks, “WHAT?!” again, causing everyone to flinch and turn her way once more.

Ms. Bustier’s chalk breaks. She’s barely keeping her gritted teeth. “That’s it, Marinette.” She points to the doorway. “Go to the principal office, now!” 

Marinette sighs but follows her anyway.

It’s still wild how people get sent to the principal’s office easily in this place. You originally thought Ms. Bustier’s reaction was a bit much since Marinette just shouted twice. But the teacher was so concerned when you told her about Alya’s suspension, and it must have stressed her out just thinking about what happened since you couldn’t tell the entire story before class had to start. 

You’re half-way thinking and excusing everyone’s actions in your mind when a projector suddenly flashes in front of the class.

“I’m Lady Wifi, revealer of the truth.”

A girl is plastered on the projector. She had an akumatized mask, a malicious smirk on her dark skin, and her entire outfit was pure black except for the pink wifi symbol glowing on her chest. 

You don’t even need to have a future knowledge to know it’s Alya’s akumatized version. 

“For our first exposé, your principal would like to share a little tidbit with you.” 

Lady Wifi steps away from the camera, showing a tensed Mr. Damocles as he tries to get away from her, but to no luck. 

“So, Mr. Damocles.” She leans her elbow on his shoulder, digging it as an obvious intimidation manner. “Is it true that you wrongly suspended a student named Alya today?”

“Uh…” the principal looks down, weighing his safety and his words. He chose to prioritize the former. “Yes it is.” 

“So you were biased, unfair, totally unjust ?” 

“Yes I was.” 

You hear louder gasps around you, and you are just itching to get away and transform already, but you look down at your phone instead. You’re reading through Alya’s new post on her blog, which should have been suspended if everything went according to the series’ progression, but here she was able to release her 

“For my next scoop, I’ll be taking you to meet the girl who’s been hiding behind the Ladybug mask. Then we’ll be paying a little visit to the one who let this all happen.” Lady Wifi’s lips pull into a grin that sends a bolt of dread down your spine. “My so-called friend. The great ‘neutral’ observer who threw me under the bus. The friend who turned me into this.”

You freeze. A cold wave crashes over your stomach. 

Now you've done it. 

You've made a difference and it was in the worst way possible instead.

Mr. Damocles is about to run away but Lady Wifi swipes her phone screen and a ‘stop’ symbol plasters itself onto his body, freezing him on the spot while she turns back to the camera.

“Stay connected.” 

The projector cuts off.

Everyone stands up in a rush to get out of the classroom. You do the same too, not even listening to Ms. Bustier who is giving out two different assignments again. She doesn’t seem to realize there’s time and place for these kinds of things, but you don’t want to be the one telling her that.

‘Cause you’d be damned if you do, and also be damned if you don’t. In the end, the victims will still be akumatized no matter what it is you chose to do.

Anpu swirls out of your scarf when you find a hiding spot. “Why is this everyday so complicated, master?” he sniffs, golden eyes filling up with those familiar tears of his. “You were only trying to help, but your friends are fighting against each other instead. And- and now Alya is fighting against you too. Have we betrayed Alya, master?”

Your heart twists. “No, Anpu. It might feel like that, but I wasn’t betraying her.” 

It’s funny how something can sound like excuses when you’re not feeling brave enough to believe your own truth.

“I wasn’t betraying her,” you repeat quietly. “I just… I didn’t want to take sides. I thought if I stayed calm, people would think through things more clearly. But thinking clearly is always impossible when the situation overwhelms you.”

The silence after that hurts more than it should.

“Don’t worry about it, Anpu,” you say, standing straight. “This is just one hardship out of many more in the future. I chose my values, my stance, and now I’ll live through it.” A more confident smile curls on your lips. “Now. Why don't we help our friend with this evil butterfly of hers?”

By the time you come to the other building across from the Grand Paris Hotel, Chat Noir is already there, spying with his baton’s makeshift camera. You can only see the back of his head so when you land beside him, you take a glance at his face..

He’s frowning as he watches Chloe, who is, of course, wearing a Ladybug suit from head to toe. Why she decided to go home after a literal villain hijacking her school day and cosplay as Ladybug is beyond you. 

“You do know Ladybug isn’t Chloe Bourgeois, right?”

“‘Course I do,” Chat Noir doesn’t even look at you as he retracts his camera back into a baton. “You’re late, by the way.” 

“Forgive me for having a life.” You crouch beside him, trying to look at Chloe even if she’s just a small red dot from this distance. “My instincts say you doubted Ladybug for a moment. Is it true or not?” 

“My instincts say that you are being very unfunny today. Is that true or is that true?” 

Woops. Seems like the boy is extremely tense. He’s not even bothering to hide his distaste at your attempt to lighten up the mood.

You sigh, dropping all acts altogether. “Lady Wifi will take her time getting here. The prime time news broadcast gets the views is either in the morning, which she already missed, or at dusk, which we’ll have to wait for just like her too. I suggest we ambush her once she tries to jump into Chloe’s room and once the real Ladybug gets here.”

That’s how they did it in the show, and it worked perfectly so you won’t try to change that. 

Chat Noir stands up. “Well, I suggest we go and start the broadcast ourselves already.”

You look up at him, alarmed. “What? What do you—?”

You hadn’t realized Chat Noir could glare like that. But it turned out that big, expressive eyes, while always sparkling adorably, were just as good at delivering death stares. And it wasn’t in your direction this time.

“What I mean is,” he says sharply, “We’ll march right up to Chloe's room and take the first step ourselves. We don’t need Ladybug to help us out here.”

“You can’t be serious.” Chat Noir taking the initiative surprises you even more. “Let’s say we do exactly as that. Then what?” 

He answers, “Then we’ll deal with the akumatized villain alone. Aly— Lady Wifi thinks Chloe is Ladybug. That means if she sees both Chat Noir and Phantom in the same room as hers, she’ll come to the crime scene faster. We can just trap the akuma somewhere and once Ladybug comes, we de-akumatize it afterwards. After that…” Chat Noir releases a sharp breath. “I’ll have to talk to Chloe myself.” 

The set of his jaw tells you he’s not thinking straight. You grab onto his belt, preventing him from jumping down the building. 

“We can’t rush in blindly, stupidhead,” you counter. Chat Noir tugs his belt away from your grasp, but even when you let go of him, that doesn’t remove the snarl on his face. “Lady Wifi broadcasts everything in an instant with her akuma’s power. If we feed her and the world some kind of misinformation, it wouldn’t matter if we debunk it a few minutes later. It will already leave damage behind, because people believe what they feel first. Not what’s proven.”

Chat Noir clicks his tongue. “But I can’t just stand here and do nothing.”

“But if we do something, we will only make it worse for Ladybug.” 

“Then what do we do, huh? They’re already exhausted from everything and now-” he runs a frustrated hand to his hair. “Now the new villain is searching for them. I know Hawk Moth is making things harder for us, but today really just- takes the cake.” 

You stay silent, watching Chat Noir pace back and forth in front of you, silently convincing himself to follow your words. Which is already impossible; he never follows anything you say. But after a second or two, he stops and sits down beside you, releasing a sigh to himself. He tucks his knees to his chest, opening up Ladybug’s inbox and absent-mindedly swiping on it.

“I blame you for this,” Chat Noir suddenly says. “If you didn’t ask us to take your night patrol shifts for an entire week, we would have been less tired today. Ladybug would be here already. ” 

“I blame you too,” you shoot back, not bothering to put up a front anymore. “If you just told me you’d felt tired too, I would have found a way to make our patrol time more bearable- for all of us. That’s why I even asked you guys to cover me. I trusted you to handle it properly instead of grabbing every responsibility on your shoulders and burdening yourselves with it.” You take a moment to breathe calmly. “And Ladybug will be here soon. We’re just a little bit too early to the crime scene.” 

Chat Noir is about to respond but the sound of somebody landing beside him snaps both of you to look up. 

“What’s this? Why are you guys so gloomy?” Ladybug says. She opens her yo-yo and tries to look at Chloe who is still re-enacting her Ladybug moment in her room. “You can’t possibly be sulking because you thought I was her, right?” 

“You’re here!” Chat Noir jumps to his feet, eyes blown wide open. He steps forward and grabs her wrist, scanning her confused face for anything. 

Ladybug blinks. “Uh… yes? I just had to take a moment to look at Alya’s blogpost—she’s Lady Wifi, right?”

“Right,” he breathes in relief, letting go of her wrist. All the taut stress on his body is relaxing, and Ladybug stares at him oddly for that.

“You are acting a bit weird today, Chaton. Did you really think I was Chloe or something?”

“I never doubted you,” Chat Noir declares. “Cat’s honor.” 

“You better have not,” Ladybug teases before looking back at Chloe. “If we look at her from here, she is obviously just a die-hard fan. A… copy-cat.” 

“Meow.” Both you and Chat Noir say, yours in an automatic and inexpressive tone while Chat Noir purrs it in satisfaction.

You meet his unamused glare with yours.

“O-kay… It’s not just the cat being moody, then,” Ladybug says uneasily. “Anyway, both of you should get ready! She’s coming here soon!” 

You snap back to attention at her shout. True to her words, a flash of white engulfs Chloe’s room, then a glimpse of Lady Wifi appears. 

“Let’s ambush her before she realizes the truth!” Ladybug orders, jumping down the building. Chat Noir follows her in tow, while you stand up slowly, aiming one of your scythe to the balcony on Chloe’s room- then throwing it as hard as you can.

Lady Wifi is now broadcasting with her own projector in the sky and with her hijacked devices throughout Paris. She’s too busy trying to make a compelling speech about the frozen Chloe, upping the tension so that the reveal of the Bourgeois being Ladybug is as devastating as possible. 

Which, it would be. If only it’s not absurd in itself. 

Chloe’s hair is yellow, for goodness’ sake. The people even acknowledged that when she made a documentary about her being interviewed by ‘Ladybug’ as Queen Bee. And if we’re not talking about the aesthetic, there are some videos that show Ladybug saved Chloe from Stoneheart in the Eiffel Tower. If Alya’s going to be a journalist, she should really try to fact check her stuff first before jumping to conclusions–

“On the count of three.” You try not to flinch when Ladybug suddenly appears beside you by the balcony. 

“One.” Chat Noir climbs up as quietly as he can, taking the other side of Ladybug as you two flank her. 

“Two.” You grip your scythe tighter, readying yourself to run headfirst into the room–

“Three!” 

All of you burst through the balcony door, interrupting Lady Wifi right as she rips Chloe’s Ladybug mask off her face. 

“Huh?” Lady Wifi glances at the Ladybug beside you, then at Chloe, and back at Ladybug again. “Who are you?”

She sounds devastatingly perplexed. It doesn’t help that Ladybug and Chat Noir somehow agreed to exaggerate their own confusion, with the blond suddenly flexing and wiggling his eyebrows at Lady Wifi and Ladybug puffing her cheeks and looking around innocently

What are these guys doing? You sweatdrop.

Lady Wifi is just as confused as you, if not even more. “But- But I thought you were Ladybug,” she says to the Chloe who was still frozen by her power.

“Sorry to bust your news story,” Chat Noir leans forward, dropping his exaggerated act, “Maybe next time you should double check your facts first.” 

Exactly what I’m saying! 

Lady Wifi sneers. “You’ll be sorry for that.” 

Bringing out her phone, Lady Wifi cancels everything that her power created. That includes the projector and news broadcast outside, and also Chloe who was stopped midway from stumbling forward. Now that the ‘stop’ button was now gone, the blonde’s panicked shrieks continue as she crashes headfirst into the ground. 

“Since we’re here already,” Lady Wifi smirks. “Why don’t we find out who all of you are under those masks?” 

You dodge when Lady Wifi throws her attack your way. You have to be vigilant; one touch of those flying projectile, and she’ll either freeze you like she did with Mr. Damocles and Chloe, or she’ll immobilize some body parts of yours like she’ll be doing with Ladybug later. 

“Follow me!” The said-girl jumps over Lady Wifi, kicking the front door open and ducking at the projectiles shot her way. 

You follow Ladybug, avoiding and trying not to get caught by any of Lady Wifi’s stray attacks. “Let’s go to the hotel’s restaurant! It’ll be empty after the akuma news has been reported, and—”

“No, we'll go to the basement!” Ladybug interrupts. She kicks open the emergency exit door and down the stairs are three of you. “Her power is clearly from her phone. That means the lower we get into the building, the lesser service her phone would have.”

“No service means no power. Nice one, Bugaboo!” 

You stop running, looking down at the two before throwing a scythe towards Ladybug. “Catch!” 

Ladybug grabs the scythe with a clumsy yelp. She stops running. Chat Noir follows suit too, though he's already down a couple of steps away from her.

“Wait, what's this for?” Ladybug scrunches her face as she looks up at you. 

“I’m making sure you two have a backup plan!" you explain, pausing beside the railings. “If Lady Wifi realizes we’re trying to trap her in the basement, she’ll counter quickly. I’ll run towards the vantage point of the staircases, and if she goes back to the hotel, I’ll have the scythe ready to pull you both up here without wasting any time!” 

A look of understanding comes into her eyes. “Alright, we’ll go fast. Pull us out if things go sideways!””

You answer by turning on your heel and sprinting up the remaining stairs.

Sure enough, Lady Wifi bursts through the corridor moments later, her phone held down as she throws more projectiles towards the two running heroes. She doesn’t even question why she’s only chasing two instead of three, but what she does realize is that, the lower she follows them, the weaker her power of signal becomes.

As you expect; Lady Wifi growls. She turns around, leaving the two down on the basement floor while she’s running back to where the hotel’s door would be. You won’t let her escape, though.

You lurch to the railings, hook your fingers around the invisible thread connecting you to your scythe, and yank.

“Wait wait wait—!”

“Phantom— wait!”  

You hear both Ladybug and Chat Noir scream, and it was only when you see them did you feel bad for acting fast. Ladybug is clinging tightly onto the handle of your scythe, scared out of her own mind, while Chat Noir is holding for dear life onto her ankles.

At least Lady Wifi is surprised by the two figures shooting up through the railings. What’s that quote by Sun Tzu again? To confuse your enemy, you must first confuse yourself?

Fortunately, Ladybug was able to throw her yo-yo strings on the fence beside Lady Wifi, so she landed safely near her. However, Chat Noir had to jump with her and grasp onto the railings with one hand, hanging like a pendulum while your scythe comes back perfectly to your opened hand.

"I’m never doing that again!" Chat Noir shouts, hauling himself over the side with a grunt.

"Neither will I!” you bite back, jumping down across Ladybug’s figure, trapping Lady Wifi between the two of you. “But enough of this stupid show. We know the akuma is on the phone. Would you like to give that to us, or should we forcefully take it away from you instead?”

Lady Wifi looks around the place. Chat Noir is on a level above her, but he’s already aiming the baton her way like he’s playing pool, waiting to extend it and throw the phone off her grasp. Ladybug is on her right, twirling her yo-yo and trying to find a way to trap her. And you’re standing on her left, one of your scythe poised behind your back.

Instead of feeling cornered, she smirks. “Did you really think this is everything that I could do with my power?”

Ladybug releases a sound of confusion. 

Suddenly a flash engulfs the room. You cover your eyes, hurrying to blink it away. But when you look again, Lady Wifi is now gone.

“No!” Ladybug groans, resting her clenched palms at her head. “Let’s get back to the hotel! We saw how limited her range is. The place where there’s a higher signal in this building is—”

“At the hotel’s restaurant,” you and Chat Noir simultaneously say. You look at each other in exasperation. “Can you stop? No, you stop. You’re copying me.”

The more Chat Noir perfectly repeats your words, the more freaked out you feel. He seems to feel the same as he reels back in disgust.

“Ugh. You two are hopeless,” Ladybug grumbles before almost crashing towards the emergency exit doors. “Oh no. She locked all the doors when she was chasing us down!” 

“Oh, really?” Chat Noir glances at the huge pink colored ‘stop’ button in front of the doorway. “Huh. I thought she was just bad at aiming.” 

“She’s either locking us down here…” Ladybug begins.

“Or she’s leading us somewhere,” you finish. She gives you a nod. 

“Follow me!”  

The three of you run upstairs. You pass by a lot of doors that are locked, but soon you reach the one opened door. Everyone immediately knows an ambush might be behind it, so with a nod of preparation, Ladybug pushes the door open and the three of you burst into the room.

And it’s exactly what you expected it to be: an empty, extravagant restaurant hall. No Lady Wifi anywhere.

Chat Noir lowers his baton. “Uh… so much for an ambush.” 

Ladybug narrows her eyes. She takes the first steps and walks around the place. “Just where is she hiding?” 

You approach a table, looking down at the phone left behind by somebody. There were other phones on other tables too—almost all of them seem to occupy at least one phone minimum. While Ladybug and Chat Noir was busy searching the place, you tap the blades of your scythe on one of the phones, and the sound of a screen cracking makes the other two look your way.

“Come out of your hiding spot, Lady Wifi.” You break another phone nearby, swinging your scythe around. “Or else you won’t be able to get the front row seats on your best scoop for tonight.”

Ladybug flinches when you crack a third phone, but she quickly realizes what you’re doing. “Chat Noir, focus on breaking the phones!”

Chat Noir follows your lead and begins smashing a couple of devices with his fist. But right before he reaches to another one, a phone on a nearby table lights up. A whoosh of pixelated static bursts from the screen as Lady Wifi materializes from it like a glitch, emerging in a blur of motion and fury.

“Take this!” she yells, firing a flurry of glowing pink ‘pause’ symbols at you. You narrowly dodge it, flipping over a row of table and using them for cover.

Ladybug throws her yo-yo toward the chandelier and swings up, launching herself behind Lady Wifi to trap her from the back. 

Lady Wifi whirls around just in time to kick Ladybug in the stomach, throwing her crashing towards the kitchen. 

You stumble on your feet, running as fast as you can to Ladybug, but Lady Wifi throws more projectiles your way. Chat Noir is struggling in dodging too. Before you knew it, the villain had taken her last step until she’s inside the kitchen, kicking the doors close and locking it at the same time Chat Noir reaches it.

He slams his fists into the double doors. “No!” he growls. “Ladybug’s trapped inside!”

You skid beside him, scythe drawn. The small round window on the door only shows fogged glass from the kitchen’s rising heat. Through it, you barely catch the blur of Lady Wifi’s glowing pink attacks and Ladybug’s figure dodging in the narrow space.

Chat Noir steps back and raises his hand. “Cata—”

“Stop!” You interrupt him hastily. “We still need your powers! You have to destroy the signal tower in the rooftop and—”

“And leave Ladybug to fight her alone there? No way! I have to get to them—now!”

He’s so frustrating when he’s in love. Even if you know the solution to this already, Chat Noir isn’t going to follow your words because Ladybug this, Ladybug that. You kinda want to sock him in the face, if only to get your day’s worth of frustration out of your system right now. 

“Then if you want to get to her, do it in a more resourceful way,” you growl. “There are service elevators leading towards the kitchen. Let’s use that instead.”

His eyes flick with realization. “Right—the one that delivers food to the staff for room service!”

When you reach the nearby hatch, Chat Noir pulls it up and settles himself into the tiny shaft, forcing his shoulders in.

“I’ll go first. You come after,” he says, voice muffled as he disappears down the vertical passageway.

A small part of you wanted to wait for Lady Wifi to just remove the lock on the kitchen doors, but then you remember she doesn’t do that in the series at all. Who says she’ll be doing that to you too, especially when she’s got Ladybug locked up in one room for her to do the exposé video she wanted in the first place?

The shaft is tight, hot, and smells like kitchen grease and stale coffee. Lovely. You slide down the smooth walls, clenching your fists to not let your golden claws scratch the metal surface. It already hurts your ears even if you’re only imagining the creaking sounds of metal onto metal.

When you jump out of the chute, you expect Chat Noir to be standing beside you. But there were multiple pause symbols floating around the place, and right by the doorway of the kitchen, Ladybug has her hands tied up by the same symbols, trying to pry it off but to no avail.

“Phantom!” Ladybug shouts. “Chat Noir got trapped inside the freezer! Help him out!” 

Lady Wifi is standing in front of her, pissed off from the different disturbances she’s been getting. She graces you with an almost bored look on her masked face. “I think you and I have the same idea, Hawk Moth.” 

Okay. She’s definitely not talking to you there.

Lady Wifi swipes on her phone. You dart to the side, narrowly avoiding the projectiles she shoots your way.

“Phantom, the hero of Paris for a decade. Longer than Ladybug and Chat Noir’s debut!” Lady Wifi clicks her tongue when you use a pot to shield the projectile coming to your chest. “You’ve always been so difficult to get one picture of, so, so elusive. Now that I have the power to get to the bottom of your big mystery, you won’t be able to turn invisible on all of Paris now!” 

Realization jolts through you. “Invisible… that’s right!”

You dive towards the counters, raising your arm to your chest and shouting, “Eclipse!” 

“What? No!” Lady Wifi shouts, but you’re already gone from her sight.

You jump through the closed doors of the freezer, finding a tuft of blond shivering and curling to himself on the floor. Except he wasn’t wearing his tight black leather hero suit. He was just Adrien, his black kwami trembling and panicking right beside him too.

“It’s so chilly here,” Plagg whimpers, rubbing his small arms onto his body for some heat.

“Where- where is it? I could use some little help.” Adrien’s teeth are chattering as he pats on the ground, looking for his ring.

He still hasn’t found it?

Plagg suddenly snaps your way. “Wait.” His eyes widen. “Wait! Mudball’s holder, you- you aren’t supposed to be here!” 

Both you and Adrien snap your heads toward him. “Mudball?” Adrien croaks, still shivering. “Help me find the ring already, Plagg! Lady Wifi might come in here any time soon now!”  

You don’t know how in the world Plagg could see you. Or maybe he can’t, since his catlike eyes are just darting everywhere as he ignores Adrien’s desperate shouts. He can sense you, but you don’t have the time to dwell about it when Adrien is literally freezing to death without his hero suit on.

Your black and white eyesight isn’t helping you find where exactly the ring is, so you walk into the shelves, eyes roaming to see anything that resembles a ring. Then you find it. You beam.

“Chat Noir! I found it! It’s right here!” 

Of course he doesn’t hear you at all.

Grabbing the ring, you rush towards the boy and slide the ring towards his knee. He jolts when it suddenly appears into his sight. “What the? When did this— wait. Phantom?” He breathes your name with a visible puff of cold air. He looks around, frantic. “You’re- you’re not supposed to be here. I’m not transformed right now-” 

You answer him by holding his wrist. His world turns into a black and white wonder as your invisibility joins with him. Then his eyes meet yours, and you hear Plagg saying ‘oh no’ while chattering his teeth in the cold.

“That’s why you should transform again.” You place the ring onto his opened palms. Adrien looks down at it, shakily placing it on his ring finger.

He doesn't waste another second.

“Plagg, claws out.”

The moment the suit seals over him, you see him exhale a long, shuddering breath. His muscles unclench, and some color returns to his cheeks. His transformation stabilizes his temperature, but not his wariness as he looks at you again.

“I know you’ll hate this,” you interrupt him. “But I need to grab you and Ladybug at the same time to give you guys the same effect as my power of invisibility. So please don’t squirm and make it harder for the both of us; we have no time left.” 

You stare him down. He holds your gaze. 

Then to your relief, he slides his hand onto yours, fingers interlocking. “Let’s do it.” 

You don’t wait for him to change his mind. You tug Chat Noir towards the doorway, not watching the way he braces himself to slam on a wall, only to phase through it with ease.

Ladybug is now out of Lady Wifi’s restraints. Why the villain didn’t take her earrings right then and there was so confusing to you, but at least your girl’s safe. She’s just panicking, pacing back and forth. She’s muttering something about using her Lucky Charm, but she lets out a loud shout of surprise when you grab her wrist and pull her along with you.

“Phantom!?” she shrieks. Her gaze slides toward Chat Noir who looks absolutely enthralled when the three of you phase through the locked kitchen doors. “Chat Noir! Are you okay? You were stuck there for a long time!” 

“I’m fine, sweet Bug,” Chat Noir flashes her a grin. He stumbles to keep up with your running. “I just feel a little bit cold but seeing you already warms me right up.”

You roll your eyes at the flirtation, but you don’t slow down. You’re practically dragging them both behind you — Ladybug stumbling from the sudden change in location and Chat Noir doing his best not to trip over his own feet.

“She’s streaming right on the rooftops of the hotel,” Ladybug informs. “I think she doesn’t know we escaped the kitchen already, so if we can just slip unnoticed, we might be able to ambush her right before she realizes we’re gone from her trap.” 

“That’s a good plan, Ladybug.” But you wince and slow down when your bodies suddenly become visible again. “Unfortunately, I only have a minute of turning into an intangible ghost before I transform back again.” 

“Well that’s a sucky power,” Chat Noir blurts. He tugs his wrist off you, and Ladybug does the same as she thinks to herself.

“She locked the doorway leading to the rooftops,” Ladybug murmurs. An idea comes through her and she looks your way. “Chat Noir, I need you to use your cataclysm on the door.”

“Got it!” Chat Noir bounds forward without hesitation. “Cataclysm!”

“Phantom—find a room where you can de-transform into. Take Chat Noir with you.” 

“What?” Both you and the cat hero say at the same time. 

He hasn’t touched the door yet, stopped by the hesitation and confusion at Ladybug’s words. “I can understand why Phantom needs to hide, but me? I still have five more minutes to fight with you—”

“But I need your cataclysm again to destroy the signal tower on the rooftop,” Ladybug interrupts. “I’d use my Lucky Charm to get us out of here but I have a feeling I’ll be needing it to stall the fight later. And I want you two to be fully recharged while I hold Lady Wifi off long enough for you both to come back.”

“You’ll be alone,” Chat Noir breathes, utterly perplexed. “You can’t possibly think we’ll let you do that—”

“Now’s not the time to disagree with me, kitty.” Ladybug motions to the door. “Catacylsm. Now.” 

Chat Noir narrows his eyes at her. He holds his wrist with his other hand and turns away. “No.” 

Your brows shoot up. Ladybug gapes. “No?” 

“No means no, Ladybug.” He scowls. “I’m not going to break the door down unless you tell me we’re fighting her together."

Ladybug releases an incredulous breath. “Didn’t you just hear what I said?” 

“I agree with him,” you interrupt. “I can hide and recharge alone, so at least get Chat Noir to come with you and fight Lady Wifi together—”

“No!” Ladybug holds her forehead in stress. “I need Chat’s cataclysm—”

“And you’ll get my cataclysm later once we’re on the rooftop,” he interrupts. 

“But we can’t get through the rooftop! The door is locked!” 

“Then use your Lucky Charm to get it unlocked,” Chat Noir sass. 

Ladybug snarls his way. “That’s not how my Lucky Charm works! It doesn’t give me the right tools for every problem. It gives me one thing to solve one part of the puzzle, and I always have to find the perfect sequence to make sure it works!”

“Then do that exactly,” he scowls. She copies him. “Use your Lucky Charm, see what ridiculous combination you’ll have to get this door unlocked, and then sha-bam.”

“That’s not how- you- I– UGH!” Ladybug throws her hands up before turning your way. “Phantom!” she whines. “Tell him to listen to me! We're wasting so much time bickering!"

Oh my God. This isn’t a canonical argument in the series— at all .

“Chat—” you haven’t even begun speaking and Chat Noir is already shooting you lasers with his eyes.

“Who says I’m going to listen to you?” 

This guy is seriously annoying.

“You’re so ridiculous,” Ladybug is feeling the same way too, but Chat Noir crosses his arms, one hand carefully not touching his own skin.

“I don’t care if I seem ridiculous to you," he tuts, eyes blazing. "You think I’ll just sit here while you face off with Lady Wifi by yourself, completely exhausted and vulnerable? No way, Ladybug. You know I’m not leaving you out there to fight alone.”

"I’m not asking you to leave me, I'm asking you to—"

"—basically let you do this alone and take all the pressure on yourself again." Chat Noir drops his hands to his side. "Do you know what Alya would do if she catches you off-guard? She'll expose you! She’s targeting you not just once but twice—”

“Guys,” you growl. “This is not the time to be fighting!” 

Your amulet beeps faster; you’re going to de-transform soon, but the two don't even notice anymore. They’re buried deep into their frustration with each other, and that reminds you of what just happened in the principal’s office earlier. The way you dug the problem deeper by trying to act like a neutral mediator.

And now you’re doing it again. Your throat constricts as you realize.

“You’re delaying our solution by being so stubborn like this!” Ladybug spits out, unaware of your heavy breathing. 

“You’re the one being stubborn!” Chat Noir snaps back. “You always do this. You take everything on yourself like it’s your job to suffer for the team — like it has to be you who sacrifices something every single time. It doesn’t! You’re not alone, and you don’t have to act like you are!”

“I know I’m not alone,” she breathes. “That’s why I’m asking you two to rest and help out later!  I need you at full strength—”

“Well I’d rather go out right now and fight at your side even if it meant I’d run out of time halfway through! At least then I’d be there for you!”

“You’re not listening—!”

“And you’re not trying to hear me out!” His voice cracks at the edges. “Why can’t you just let me stay by your side this time, (Y/n)?!”

A thick, shocked silence falls like a guillotine.

Ladybug blinks. You go still, barely hearing your amulet’s beeping over the roaring in your ears.

Chat Noir’s chest heaves, his eyes still narrowed like he doesn’t understand the sudden silence that fell between you.

“...(Y/n)?” you whisper. 

Chat Noir finally seems to understand what he just said. 

“How… do you know that name?” Ladybug says slowly. 

His mouth opens—closes—then opens again, only to have nothing come out. The guilty look on his face doesn’t disappear, but he purses his lips into a straight line like he means everything he said. Like he’s not taking back whatever it is he just confessed in the air.

Everything is slowly catching up on you, but the beeping of your amulet only grows louder. You grab Chat Noir’s wrist, forcing him to touch the door and disintegrate it. He doesn’t get a chance to retaliate because you’re pulling him down the stairs already, desperate to find a room to hide into.

“I-I’ll stall until you guys can come back as soon as possible!” Ladybug calls out, her voice going farther away as she jumps into battle.

You don’t look back. You just scour through every possible room in the current level you’re in, before bursting through a supply closet in desperation. It’s small, cramped, but safe enough to hide as you practically hurl both of you inside.

Your ears are burning.

Not from the adrenaline or panic or even the pressure of finding a place to hide before you drop your transformation. No, it’s because of what Chat Noir said.

“Why can’t you just let me stay by your side this time, (Y/n)?!”

He said your name. In the middle of a fight. In the middle of arguing with Ladybug.

You stumble on the other side of the shelves, heart pounding in your ears as you lean backwards on it. Both yours and Chat Noir’s miraculous beep at the same time, but neither of you seem to focus on that anymore.

“Chat…" Your voice is hoarse. "Do you think Ladybug is… (Y/n)?”

The silence from the blond is enough of an answer to you.

Chapter Text

"Hush now… mo stóirín…” A discordant note played in a cold room. “Close your eyes and sleep…” 

Another wrong note. 

“Waltzing the waves…” And another, and another. “Diving the…?” 

Silence filled the room after the piano groaned in desperation. He held the note for a while then sighed and rested his forehead against the cool edge of the piano.  

It’s been years since you left. Adrien wants to say he could memorize your face, your smile, your voice, but that would be too hopeful. He still has some pictures of when you two were just grinning little children holding each other’s arms, a picture taken by your proud mother, something that Adrien had put right next to the frame with his family. He also had the videos you’d taken whenever you ‘bother’ him during his piano lessons. 

But this isn’t enough. Adrien has changed a lot. If even he doesn’t recognize himself in the mirror, who knows how different you’ll be from the memories he have left of you?

“Let them go,” his mother had said as she shielded him away from the sight of you leaving. He was screaming loudly, crying for days, but all his mother could tell him was that, “It’ll be hard, I know, but you’ll be able to find new memories that will make you feel better soon.”

His mother is wrong. Adrien never found a better memory than the ones he spent with you.

He was twelve now. A little taller. A little quieter now. But more than different than before.

His mother was a lot different too. She’s always upstairs, bedridden, her once vibrant presence now only a shadow behind a closed door. Some days, she could sit up and smile at him. Some days, she barely stirred. And on the worst ones, she didn’t speak at all—just stared, weakly, at the ceiling as if waiting for a dream to take her back.

He used to sit beside her and play the piano, hoping it might make her feel better, as she always said it did when he played the piano for her, but it never did. 

His father doesn’t know how to cure her either. He had thrown himself into finding ways to make her better, even if it meant travelling around the world and leaving him with Nathalie again. Don’t get it wrong; Adrien loves Nathalie too, but she doesn’t open up for him the way he needed someone to. None of them do, not his father who told him to “be patient”, that everything was “under control,” and that “your mother will be fine.” 

If you were here, you wouldn’t have lied to him like that. You would’ve told him the truth, bear him your heart, and he’d do the same because that’s what he needed and you always, somehow, know what it is he needed.

Another year passed. Adrien lost his mother. And metaphorically, his father too. None of them left in the Agrestes mansion had much problem except for the growing schedule that hides their mourning behind the scenes.

Adrien was in his last year of middle school. Next year, he’d be in high school—at least, he should’ve been. But father, in his limited time of meeting with him, had already started discussing arrangements for continued homeschooling. The same tutors. The same walls. The same ache of watching everyone else move on, while Adrien stayed frozen in time.

Until one day, it changed.

“I’m sorry father, but… can you repeat that again?”

His father stood before him, hands behind his back. “For your collège,” Gabriel repeated, “You’ll be going to Françoise Dupont. I’ll have Nathalie arrange your extracurriculars around your modeling schedules, and about your fencing teacher…” 

For the first time ever, his father is letting him go to school. Why? Adrien didn’t know. He almost didn’t want to ask, lest it change his mind. 

But the silence that followed must have been because Adrien blurted out the question meant only for his mind. The air hung heavy, and Adrien didn’t remember how he’d been, standing right behind his looming father who finally said something that made his heart soar. 

“Emilie… Your mother and I decided that if you ever go to school one day, it’ll be in that place instead.” 

The light in Adrien’s eyes lit up. “Mother did?” 

Gabriel hummed. An agreement. Adrien didn’t know what else to say at that point, but when he ran up to hug his father in an embrace that surprised even him, he realized how long it had been since he touched anyone out of joy.

His father didn’t return it. He never really did. But Adrien didn’t care. Not right now.

Because Mother wanted this. Because both her and father thought about him even when they were struggling by themselves. Because he could finally live the way he’d always wanted to, could finally experience the stories you’d told him when you’d visit his room.

That was enough to make it the happiest day Adrien had had in years.

When Monday came, Adrien stood at the school gates of Collège Françoise Dupont, hands clutching the strap of his shoulder bag, heart thudding louder than it had in years. 

But then—

“Adrien.”

He shouldn’t have turned.

“Your father sent me,” Nathalie said drearily. “He’s changed his mind.”

The sentence didn’t land at first. Adrien had blinked. “What?”

“You’re to come home,” she continued. “He doesn’t want you attending school anymore.”

“But…” He looked over his shoulder. The gates. The laughter. The lives already happening without him. “He said—... I’m already here, Nathalie.” He even had the time to wave at other students and even help out a struggling elder with his cane. Surely his father wouldn’t let him go back home so easily, right?

“I’m sorry, Adrien. It’s just… your father believes the outside world is too dangerous right now. For you. He’s concerned about your safety.”

“But he promised. He promised with mother.”

Nathalie apologized again, but Adrien can’t hear her anymore. 

He thought of his father, standing in that dark hallway, finally granting him permission. He thought of his mother’s voice, the way this promise—so sudden, yet so welcomed—had been his recent memory of her ever since she disappeared. 

He thought of you, what he overheard behind the doors when you both were just four, talking to his mother like you were already at an age contending with every adult around you. 

“I know the story wants to say that kindness is always rewarded,” he heard a chair scrape backwards, “I know that everyone needs to suffer first before getting their happiness. But if you don’t know how to deal with pain properly. If you’re never allowed to see and experience it. Then you won’t know how to handle it when it comes, and it always comes, doesn’t it?"

Maybe that’s why everything is so difficult to handle for seven years. Maybe the pain he was meant to learn from was locked behind a door he wasn’t allowed to open. 

Now it clung to him like a shadow too heavy to shake. He was back in his room, frustrated and sad about the hope that shattered so soon.  

Then he met his kwami that day.

And then he met you again, the very next day. 

Adrien had plopped down on his couch right after that second villain fight. Or did he fall on his bed? He didn't really care about the details. He'd just stared at the ceiling, his mind overworking with so much emotions he doesn’t even know where to begin. 

You were back. And you remembered him. And judging by how everyone seemed to be acquainted with you, that meant you were here for… how long already? Weeks? Months, and he didn’t even know?

Adrien had kept track of your father’s social media. Maybe he could see it there; he remembered you telling him how you wanted to create an ASMR-something content with your father’s drawing skills. It was a dream you used to randomly blurt every few minutes when the two of you would be reading books in his bedroom. A confusing dream for young Adrien, but it stayed in his head, until he’s actively waiting for any new posts from your father. Anything to get even a glimpse of you or an update on how your family had been.

Then he found it. 

Yesterday. You were back yesterday. Not just in Paris. Not just in his life. But back on the same exact day he found his only solution for his freedom, his miraculous.

He sat up suddenly. “Plagg,” he said, “when we’re transformed, does something happen to our faces? Or voices? Like—do we look… different?”

Plagg peeked out from behind a wedge of camembert he ordered from his cook. “You mean quantum masking?”

“Quantum what?”

“Quantum masking,” his kwami repeated nonchalantly, “It’s what keeps people from figuring out your identity as Chat Noir. Basically, it’s the magic that drapes over your cheese wheel to keep the rind safe. Like a perfect Camembert—you know how it has a soft, misty bloom that hides the creamy treasure inside? The magic in the miraculous hides the details of your real identity: your voice, hair, height, even scent… sometimes. I definitely think the smell of camembert pierces through my holders’ suit but oh well—you don’t seem to like that idea.” 

Adrien shot Plagg a glare. “Of course. Who wants to smell like rotten cheese everyday anyway?”

Plagg sighed dreamily. “Oh, smelling like rotten cheese everyday. What a dream~”

“So you’re saying…” Adrien ignored his kwami, “People can’t see or hear us the way we actually are?”

“Yep. It’s a miraculous.” Plagg waved dismissively. “Really handy, I know I know. Now can you remove all your stuff inside that cabinet of yours? I’m going to age my cheese and let time make our hearts fond of each other—”

He didn’t care even if Plagg was already turning his room into a cheese aging station. At that moment, Adrien only had one thought:

“So…” Adrien trailed off, glancing at you from the corner of his eyes. “Have you been hiding the whole time the chaos happened?”

“So," you copy his tone. "That’s how you’ll start our conversation?” you poked fun. His cheeks bloomed red instantly, and you laughed with that beautiful laugh of yours. He wants to sear it in his mind, and remember it for a long time. “To answer your question, no. I was actually one of the people who ran to see Stoneheart closer. You know, like a stupid main character in a slasher movie.” 

Adrien’s heart thudded. “It’s them.”

Plagg looked at him when Adrien suddenly went to his computer, searching up for more photos of his fellow hero. “Huh? What? What’s them?”

“Them,” Adrien said again, clicking rapidly on his mouse. “Ladybug. They’re (Y/n). Ladybug is…” A laugh bubbled out of his throat. “Ladybug is my (Y/n).”

He couldn’t unsee it now. The way Ladybug stood up against Hawk Moth by that Eiffel Tower, and the way you’d came right at the exact same time Ladybug did— 

“(Y/n)?” Plagg stopped chewing and looked at the ceiling in thought. “I know someone with that name. I dunno if they’re your (Y/n) though, but one thing I’m sure is that, whoever your (Y/n) is, they are definitely not the holder of sugarcube’s miraculous."

Adrien perked up. “You know someone with the same name as them?” 

“Iiii don’t like the look on your face,” Plagg said carefully. Then his green eyes widened in realization. “Wait- no! Come on. The (Y/n) I know and the (Y/n) you know can’t possibly be the same person. And they can’t be Ladybug either ‘cause—”

“You said it yourself, Plagg. It’s the quantum masking,” Adrien rested his chin on his folded arms, looking up at the screen of his computer that displayed Ladybug speech to Hawk Moth. He released a dreamy sigh. “I don’t even need anything else to know that they will always be the brave, and clever person that they had been back then.” He learned almost everything from you, after all.

“Seriously! If I can say “‘(Y/n)’ and “Ladybug” together, that means they’re not the same person. We kwamis have this thing where we can’t outright say ours and other people’s holders to anyone but ourselves and— hey! Are you even listening?” 

Adrien isn’t. It all made too much sense for him to listen anyway. Even if Ladybug's hair isn't the same as yours, or even if your voice was sharper and higher in pitch as Ladybug—even if your body language doesn’t outright have any similarities—he didn’t care.

He just wanted to be by your side, both in the Adrien you remember him to be, and the Chat Noir he is now.

“You need help,” Plagg said flatly.

“I need them,” Adrien replied, starry-eyed.

“Ugh. Now I need more camembert to deal with your stupid lovesickness—I was supposed to age this one to make it more rotten but I’m in dire need of a palate cleanser…” 

Back in the present time...

"Chat." Your voice is hoarse. "Do you think Ladybug is... (Y/n)?"

The silence from the blond stuns you.

"Wha–? That's such an absurd conclusion to jump into!" Fuck being cautious about your identity; you are beyond astounded to even care about anything else but Chat Noir's thought process.

What? How?  Why????

Maybe you're a bit biased because you know yourself better than anyone else, but you can't find a reason why you'd be mistaken as Ladybug. Marinette's entire personality even contradicts yours, for example; you'd always been on the blunt side. Sometimes you'd trip but never would you have such befuddling clumsiness that it becomes your main trait. (No offense to Marinette. You sometimes think her clumsiness is adorable, but it's just not... you, you know?)

You haven't even begun thinking about the differences in your voices and your appearances.

"Well, what would you know about who I'm talking about?" Chat Noir's defense sounded muffled. He must be speaking through his folded arms, resting it upon his legs that are tucked on his chest.

You want to scoff. "I know a lot, actually."

Anpu said that the miraculous gives its users a veil to fog everyone's mind when it comes to your identities, but it doesn't change who you are—the fog can still come off once the person notices the glaringly obvious similarities between your hero identity and your true one. That means there has to be an obvious similarity to begin with.

Do you even have that with Ladybug?

"Right," Chat Noir huffs dryly. "I forgot you know who I am already. Of course you'll also know the other family you've encountered when you went and stole from my father." He doesn't hesitate. "Plagg, claws in."

The green transformation glints right by the corner of your eyes. You don't look, but you know he's back to his Adrien version, the scent of camembert cheese wafting off inside the storage room as he offers it to his tired kwami.

"Why did you come back here anyway?" Adrien asks. Something about his tone tells you he doesn't want an answer to that question. "You already had your great legacy here in Paris. Everyone remembers you as their 'beloved' hero who began helping the quieter parts of France. You could have stayed that way and just went all around the world instead of coming back here and showing us your face."

You bite on your lower lip in thought. "I had my circumstances too, you know."

"Does it justify what you did?" he spits out.

"What do you even know about what I stole?" Fashion designs. That's all he was told back then.

"Enough to know that you were always going to run away and never apologize for what your actions cost us." You don't know how to reply without making him angrier, so you keep quiet. "Do you think that's all you stole from us? Do you think that's all that was taken from us right after what you've done? If it's just the fashion designs, father and mother can recover from it. We can recover from it. But that's not the only thing that we lost that time, okay?"

Adrien is shaking his head, ducking it into his arms. "You know what the worst part was? It wasn't just the five new bodyguards, or the fact that I couldn't even step out onto the lawn without being monitored from the moment you stole something from us. It wasn't even that my schedule got filled to the brim with extra modeling gigs and brand events because father thought we needed to recover what was lost."

His next words make you flinch.

"It was that I lost my best friend because of you."

In that moment, you think about the Adrien who watched you leave through the doorways of Felix's room. He was screaming, crying into his mother's arms because he can never get to see you again, for how long did it take? How long did he feel so lonely without you by his side?

"It wasn't just the designs," Adrien says, almost a whisper now, "If it was just that, I wouldn't be as mad as I am right now. I'm not like my father who cares too much about the things he spent all of his life in. I care about a different thing, and it was someone who you drew away from my life."

The beeping of your miraculous is an afterthought now. One more minute, but you can't even bring yourself to call it off. Adrien's messy voice was holding you tight in your throat.

"You were my hero, Phantom. You were the one I looked up to when I was a kid. I wore knockoff masks of you in my room and pretended I could fly. I begged my mom to let me stay up to watch the news in case you showed up."

He laughed then.

"And now I'm stuck fighting beside you. Every day. Every night. Pretending I don't see the exact same outline of the thief that ruined everything. Knowing none of Paris knows. That everyone will rightfully cheer for you and love you, while I'm the only one who remembers what you did."

Finally, he turned his head toward you. Pale green eyes bloodshot, but honest.

"So yeah. I hate you, Phantom."

The words landed sharp. Unforgiving.

"I hate that you get to stand here like a hero while I'm still trying to put back the pieces you shattered."

You swallow all your words. Because what could you even say to that?

He wasn't looking for a defense or an excuse. The fact that he's baring his heart at you, although angry, means that he just needed someone to finally hear the pain that had nowhere to go for seven years.

"I'll de-transform soon," you say after your miraculous warns you of the few seconds you have left.

Adrien keeps his gaze on you. "Since you know who I am now, it's only fair I find out who you are under that mask too."

"I suppose that's the fair thing to do right now." You lean your back on the shelves, eyes closing shut. "But is that really what you want?"

He narrows his eyes. "What do you mean?"

"Would you really want to know who I am?"

Adrien tries to stand up. "Of course I do! If you already know me, why wouldn't I deserve to know who you are—?!"

"Find out who I am, then," you cut him off, meeting his eyes with your own glare. "Don't you dare look away if that's what you've already decided."

His narrowed brows quiver as he holds your gaze for a long time. The silence is brittle, only being sliced by the sound of your miraculous beeping fast.

Then Adrien snaps his head to the side and faces the wall. Your glare falters.

"See?" You let out a strained chuckle. "It's easier to hate on someone when they're hiding behind a mask."

He doesn't get a chance to reply when you suddenly de-transform, the light enveloping the storage room for a while. Your kwami falls back to your palms with a tired sigh. You give Anpu a reassuring smile, but for some reason, he's looking up at you with teary eyes.

Adrien shuts his eyes tight and balls up his fist. "Just... just transform back, and let's help Ladybug fight off Lady Wifi already," he croaks helplessly.

You feed your kwami some of the biscuits you bought from the shops earlier. "That's what I'm planning on doing."

Then someone begins coughing and choking for some unknown reason, and when you turn to look—

Your kwami is suddenly tackled midair, a blur of black jumping right into your palms.

"Plagg?!"

"MUDBALLL!" Plagg howls, squeezing Anpu in a hug so tight that your kwami lets out a startled wheeze. "YOU'RE BACK! YOU'RE REALLY BACK!"

You just watch, mouth dropping open at the two kwamis in your palms.

It doesn't take long before Anpu starts wailing. "Kitty! Wahhhh! I missed you so much!" He hugs back his long time friend, and Plagg just groans.

"Ugh! You're still such a crybaby even after a millennia have passed?" Plagg says, but you can obviously see his green eyes quiver. He snaps his attention your way, seeing you with your surprised face. This time though, he looks to be even more shocked than you. "Wait a second! Y-y-you, you're—!"

You hurriedly place a finger on your lips. Plagg clamps his mouth shut immediately.

Anpu, unaware of that exchange, pulls away from the hug and sniffles. "Why- why shouldn't I cry? Our holders always hate each other! It's too much—I can't handle it anymore! Aren't friends supposed to make up after fighting with each other?!"

"That's how humans are. They're stupidly ridiculous like that," Plagg snorts.

Your kwami continues to wail, making you sigh and offer him his food again. Thankfully, he takes it with his sniffing going louder. He even tries sharing his biscuits with Plagg but the kwami of destruction just looks at him with a cautious expression.

"But mudball, our masters should never know each other's identity or it could spell disaster to the world. You know that, right?"

Anpu sniffs. "But why?"

"Because—ugh, no way. You didn't listen to the old man at all, did you?"

"I did," Anpu defends. "I just don't think it makes sense."

Plagg rolls his eyes. "We're miraculous, duh. We don't fit into what makes sense or not." He slides his gaze in the room. Landing on you, on Adrien, then darts back between the two of you, the slow realization overtaking his face.

"Oh. Now this is just pathetic," Plagg snorts. He hovers back to Adrien. "Let's just get back in action before I start laughing at something funny."

"Huh?" Adrien says.

"You smell funny," Anpu says, all while sniffling and rubbing his teary eyes. You gawk at how mean your kwami was—he has never been this mean to anyone. Not to you or Master Fu or especially to his fellow kwami, Wayzz.

"Why thank you, mudball. You always know how to touch my heart," Plagg purrs.

Or maybe he isn't being mean. He's just complimenting Plagg in the weird way the black cat likes it.

Anpu laughs merrily before facing you. "I'm ready," he says proudly.

You blink. That was fast. You haven't even processed everything that happened between the two yet. "Are you sure?" you whisper, hearing Adrien ask Plagg the same question.

"We don't have enough time," Anpu answers. "Plagg and I can catch up someday less busy. For now, we need to help Tikki and her holder!"

You wince. "Crap. Ladybug is still fighting out there."

It's been five minutes since you left her to rest yourselves. You wonder how she's faring. Hopefully she has enough plot armor to avoid Lady Wifi's attack or else the series would end so fast, all because you were too stunned by Adrien's blindness (you still cannot grasp his misunderstanding, but like Anpu said, you don't have enough time.)

"I guess we shouldn't make them worry again," Adrien breathes in.

You snap your head back to him. "Do you still think (Y/n) is Ladybug?"

"What's it to you?" he snaps back, but it doesn't have the same certain tone anymore. T

Plagg groans. "Not this again. Hey! We're not in a cheese factory; we don't have enough time to argue back and forth about this again!"

Adrien sags to the side, like he's physically rolling his eyes. "Yes, alright. Plagg—"

"Anpu," you say at the same time.

"Claws out!"

"Lead on."

With a kick of the door, Chat Noir bursts through the rooftop. “Ladybug!” 

A startled shout comes beside him. Chat Noir looks to see Ladybug standing right beside the door, holding an electric fly swatter in her hand, her eyes wide and one of her legs raised up in surprise. 

Chat Noir straightens and shows her a judging look. “You were fighting a technology villain with a fly swat?”

Ladybug hides it behind her back instantly. “It- it’s electric. It can deflect her projectiles if I open it at the right time.” Then she realizes something, and she scowls. “Nevermind that; you’re extremely late! Where’s Phantom? Did you know how I was almost—”

“Watch out!” Chat Noir tackles Ladybug as a pink projectile shoots her way. 

But only Ladybug was able to roll on the ground. She recovers, yet her eyes widen. “Chat! Your belt!” 

Chat Noir tugs his belt away, but the pink pause button was already there, freezing it in place. 

The sound of a smug Lady Wifi makes them both look up at the signal pole. “Did you think I’ll let the cat off the hook too? No. I’m here to find out all of your identities, and I’m not leaving until I take those masks off your faces!” 

She directs her phone towards the stuck Chat Noir. 

“No!” Ladybug jumps at the right time, blocking the projectile with her body. 

Chat Noir’s eyes widen in horror. “Ladybug!” 

Ladybug’s body seizes the moment the pink bolt makes contact—mid-leap, arms still outstretched from shielding Chat Noir. She’s frozen in midair, like a statue locked in motion.

Chat Noir’s knees almost buckle, panic clawing as he reaches for her. “No no no—come on, Bugaboo, you shouldn’t have jumped in like that!”