Chapter 1: prologue
Chapter Text
and death shall be no more;
death,
thou shalt die.
The universe came into being on Friday. The galaxies expanded, the stars burned and planets birthed into existence.
On Saturday, the universe breathed and life was born.
Life was beautiful – she was more radiant than the stars, and more limitless than the galaxies. She danced and she smiled and whatever she touched would yearn for her touch over and over again.
The flowers would bloom, the mortals would sing and the universe would praise.
Life was perfect. Life was infinite. She was the universe’s beloved child.
On Sunday, the universe breathed again and death was born.
Death was… different. He was ethereal like the nebulas, he was boundless like the quasars, but he wasn’t beautiful.
Death was dark and dangerous – wherever he went the planets cowered and the stars faded away. Flowers would wither, the mortals would breathe no more and the universe feared him.
Death was terrifying. Death was forever. He was the universe’s mistake.
***
On Sunday night, a mother took a shaky breath and a boy was born.
Adrien Agreste was small, red and very much mortal. He was born screaming and crying, hands raised in tiny fists as he wailed.
Or at least that’s what his mother had told him. But he can’t be sure if he remembers correctly.
Adrien doesn’t remember much about his mother.
After all, he was only five when she passed away.
But, he knows her.
He knows her from the newspaper cutouts of her pasted on the board in front of his desk. He knows her from the DVDs he has of her movies stored securely in his shelves. He knows her from the recordings of her plays he has on his laptop. He knows her from the interviews he sees of her online.
He knows her from the paintings his father made of her, that hung in the corridors. He knows her from the tales Nathalie and his aunt used to tell him of her from their youth. He knows of her, from the garden with the wisteria plants, the cherry blossom tree and the scattered peonies. He knows of her from the poems she sung to him at night.
Oh little star,
Oh littlest one,
Give us your light,
And we’ll get it done,
Everything we’re waiting for,
So far yet so near,
Cold is the night,
But the stars shine bright,
And so will you, my dear.
And Adrien misses her. Desperately. Especially, since his uncle died, and his older cousin turned cold and distant and his aunt stopped visiting. Since Nathalie died. Since his father stopped looking at him and busied himself like a man willing to die.
He wishes she’d be here, to tell his father off when he would get mad at him after Adrien’s tutors gave an unsatisfactory report. To rub his back soothingly, when a nightmare left him alone and scared in his room all night. To wipe away his tears, when everything became too much for him.
He wishes she'd be here for him. He wishes she had never died. Because, maybe if she didn’t die, Nathalie wouldn’t have died either, his uncle wouldn’t have died either. And everybody would be alive.
Maybe, if she hadn’t died, everything would have been perfect.
His father would roll his eyes amused from over his sketched designs by his mother’s carefully planned presentation on why they should have a dinosaur inspired runway, while his aunt would cackle loudly with his uncle patting her on the back when her laughter would dissolve into coughs after she’d choke on a croissant. Nathalie would bring water for his aunt and cupcakes for Felix and him, and his mother would ask her to back her up on her idea about the dinosaur runway and she’d refuse. And Adrien would be laughing at this whole exchange, before Felix would divert his attention with a magic trick he had learned.
Everyone would have been happy.
Adrien would have been happy.
If only death hadn’t taken people he cared deeply about and left a broken shell of a family behind.
So, Adrien resents death.
He hates death.
And he knows .
Death hates him back.
Chapter 2: never trust life to be honest and true
Chapter Text
i hope death is like –
being carried to your bedroom,
when you were a child
Life sits in front of a planet and blows gently.
The wind carries, and the planet bursts with blue leaves and purple waters, and tiny beings that flock across their new home curiously. They discover places, make friends, form families, build empires and then bring it all down, and then they do it all over again.
Life watches, a pleased smile on her lips at the tiny mortals that with their rudimentary understanding of the universe, trying and trying to make it all work. Their will – it fascinates her.
That is, until her brother comes by. He touches the ring around the planet, and it crumbles. The planet dies, dissolving into cosmic matters. Nothing remains, as if nothing ever existed in the first place.
“Brother.” She says, looking at her brother who stares at the empty space where the planet was a light year ago. “Must you always be so haste?”
“A hundred millennium.” He states. “It was enough time.”
Life sighs, before she stands up, her feet on asteroids that pave the way for her. Death follows a few steps behind, the asteroids dying beneath his feet.
“You always do this.” She notes. It almost comes out as a complaint. But she’s Life. What is there for her to complain about? “You never let me have fun.”
“Our existence is not supposed to be fun.” He replies.
She reaches in front of a planet and settles on its moon. Death stands a few light-minutes away.
“Maybe not yours.” She states, as she looks at the tiny blue and green planet that she had blown at nearly four billion years ago. She had lovingly called it Earth after the dirt that made the planet and its tiny humans. “The rest of the universe would disagree.”
Death is quiet for a moment as he observes the humans doing humanly things, before he replies. “Mortals might.” He grazes his hand over the sun, and it expands a little more. “But then again, they are worthless mortals.”
Life hums, before she blows at the planet once more, smiling as the humans cheered as the snow melted to reveal lush green plains.
“You care too much.” Death declares. And Life laughs. Her laughter rings like a beautiful melody and in the Mediterranean of the green planet, snapdragons blossom out of thin air.
Death looks at her confused, but Life simply smiles, before she gets up. As amusing as humans tend to be, there’s a whole universe yearning for her affection.
Though, before she turns to leave on a comet that waits at her feet, she turns to her brother. “And you care too little, dear brother.”
Death scowls. “Of course, I do. Why would I care for mortals?” He says it like it’s a given. That something like care and concern isn’t something Death is allowed to feel.
Life just hums, her eyes twinkling. “I don’t think it’s that simple though, brother.”
Death’s eyes widen and then he laughs incredulously and Venus burns a little too hot. “I destroy, leaving only misery and mourning in my stead and you say I care?”
“It’s what you were made for.” She replies. “You are only fulfilling your duties.” She takes a step in her brother’s direction. He doesn’t take a step back away from her, like he normally does, wary of the repercussions the universe may ordain on him for bringing harm to her.
“Then you must be blind, if you think I do not enjoy the suffering I bring.” He spits out. Life tilts her head, surprised by the rise of her brother’s voice but she only steps forward and places a hand on his shoulder.
She leans in and whispers. “Till how long will you lie to yourself?”
The sun burns scorching hot behind them, and Life momentarily wonders if the beings on Mercury have all but burnt to crisp.
Death doesn’t grace her with a response, only turning away angrily and marching outside of the Sol System . Not without crushing Pluto in his grip, leaving it half its size.
Life just watches him leave, before she turns to look at the smudge of dark on her index finger from where she touched Death. She smiles before she turns to Earth.
The universe objects but she hums to soothe it down. “It shall cause no harm.” She promises as she traces her finger over the planet, watching as the coat of dark falls and merges into the Earth. “I think.” She adds.
A little fun. That’s all. It’s only fair since her brother destroyed the last one.
The universe scolds her, but she ignores its rumbling and simply settles on the comet, ready to grant another planet her gracious presence. “Oh, don’t be so angry.” She addresses the universe. “I’ll keep an eye on it myself.”
The universe is quiet before it hesitatingly agrees.
It had always had a weak spot for Life.
***
“She shall not live very long.” The old doctor in their village tells Joan. He tells her of her slowing pulse, of her difficult breathing, of how her baby daughter is going to be dead by the end of the month.
She cries and she cries, until she can cry no more. And then she prays. She had never been religious, but as a mother with a dying child, she would be. For her darling Judith, she’d give her life if it meant, she’d live another day.
She goes to the Church every morning, and gets on her knees and begs for any God that exists, to heal her daughter.
To let her live through another day.
And then she gets up to go help at the fields, hoping to earn some extra pennies, while her husband, Paul, works himself to the bone from early morning to late night, to afford the medicinal herbs the doctor told them that Judith would need.
Near the end of the month, they stop eating almost altogether, all their money going towards Judith as her condition only worsens and she starts coughing up blood. Joan’s knees bruise as she begs and begs on her knees for her darling daughter to live. Paul starts borrowing money to make a trip to the capital.
They are halfway to the capital on a mule-pulled cart, when Judith suddenly becomes better. Joan sees her little girl clinging to her father and the warm red returning to her pale cheeks. She praises the Lord and thanks. For making her daughter better, for healing her.
They return back almost immediately.
Judith dies on the night they enter back into the village.
It’s exactly a day longer than the doctor’s predictions.
Judith lived a day longer.
That very same night, they bury Judith beneath the ground and Joan cries herself until she faints. When she comes to, she is in the tiny bed of their modest house. Paul is nowhere to be seen. She isn’t surprised though. One death doesn’t mean everything stops. The fields still need ploughing, the animals still need feeding and they still need money to survive.
Do they?
She gets out of her bed, ties her hair and goes out. A lady stops her on the way, having come to pay her condolences, but Joan pays no heed and continues going on and on and on until her feet hurt and she’s well within the forest.
It’s beyond the area, anyone in the village has ever traversed. A rumour that is well spread within the village is that the darker end of the forest is haunted by witches. Joan never did believe that rumour, scoffing at the absurdity of it, but she did keep away from that part of the forest, because witches or not, she valued her life. And a dark forest drenched in a creepy aura was definitely to be avoided.
But did that matter anymore?
She continues down the dark trail, the only sound in the vicinity being her own breathing and the crackling of dead branches beneath her feet. And it’s terrifying, the shadows lurk and the slightest rustle from a scurrying rat or a passing wind has her heart leaping.
But she continues on. She doesn’t know where and she doesn’t know why. She has to move, so she does.
Until, her feet trip over an overgrown root and she tumbles on to the ground. Her face smushes against mud and leaves. She turns around, lying on her back but makes no further attempt to get up. Instead, she watches, but in the dark, other than the few stray beams of sunlight that passed through, there is nothing much to see.
So, she closes her eyes and listens. To the rustling of the leaves, the swaying of the vines, the pattering of the animals scurrying, the light chirp of a bird, the squeak of a bat, the buzzing of flies. In a forest so shroud in darkness and the eerie creep of death, life still persisted. Life still endeavoured. But, in a village filled with light and laughter – bustling of life, her Judith had died.
She finds it ironic, so she laughs. And she laughs. Until the forest echoes with only her laughs. The forest stills, no other life moves, and it is only the sound of her laughter that rings through the hollow tree trunks. And then, she cries. She wails and she sobs, covering her mud-covered face with her grimy hands and she mourns her daughter.
Her beloved daughter, who was smarter than the boys when it came to adding and subtracting prices of goods. Who had her father’s habit of pouting when she couldn’t understand something or when her beautiful curly hair tangled into a stray branch. Who rushed to help the old people fill their water at the well. Who planned on becoming so much more than a housewife to a man once she grew up. Who in the midst of night had once whispered into her ear and said “Mama, I’ll learn and become a doctor and then we’ll be rich. And papa and you would never have to worry about meals ever again.”
Her beloved daughter, who had dreams bigger and brighter than Joan could ever imagine. Her beloved daughter, who never got to live to fulfil those dreams. Her beloved daughter who was dead by the age of nine.
She weeps and she weeps and it seems like eternity passes. But her grief doesn’t lessen. But her throat is parched and she has not eaten properly in days, so she feels herself slipping in and out of consciousness.
It feels like she will die in this forest, not alone because life pulsed through the trees and the animals, but without Paul. Who had once promised her under the starry sky when they were much younger, that no matter which of them dies first, it’ll be in the other’s arms.
Joan feels guilty, knowing she can’t leave her husband alone mourning the loss of not only his daughter but his wife too. But, she is tired. She just wants to close her eyes, and sleep for an eternity.
She spreads her limbs out, over the leaves piled across the ground. It’s almost comfortable. She moves her left hand a little further and it grazes over something black and suddenly a wind blows.
It smells sweet, like the beginning of the rainy season, when petrichor wafted pleasantly through the open skies.
Her vigour returns and the previous death-like weariness wears off and she sits up immediately. Her heart races; it was not humanly possible for her to feel better instantaneously. It must be the work of witches. Panicking, she tries to get on to her feet, when a voice calls out.
“Halt.” Her body freezes and as if obeying a command, she finds herself on her knees in front of the most beautiful woman she has ever seen.
With crimson hair that have flowers of gold intertwined through her strands, and dewy skin covered in a plethora of shades of oakwood that glistened like stars and eyes blue like the ocean described by travellers passing by the village. She is beautiful. She is ethereal. She is god-like.
Joan feels fear but she feels more awe. She stares at the woman before her, staring at her over and over again.
“Speak.” The woman commands.
Joan hesitates, but her tongue moves before she can control it. “God is a woman?”
The woman laughs. And the entire forest suddenly bustles with radiance. The trees part to reveal the sun and tiny asters sprout across the ground. The forest sings the woman’s praises and Joan finds herself wanting to do the same.
“I suppose for humans like you, I look as such.” The woman smiles. “But, I am no God.”
“Then who are you?” Joan asks.
The winds blow, and butterflies circulate around the woman, settling on to her bare white gown. “Life.” She answers.
Life is beautiful, Joan decides. She is everything Life should be, but–
“Can you bring my daughter back to life?” She prostrates. “Please, I beg you. I’ll do anything. I am willing to do an-”
“Hush, child.” Life cuts her off, and she raises her hand and Joan is on her knees again. “I’ll fulfil your request. But.” Life hesitates.
Joan pleads. “Please. Judith was my everything. I can’t live without her.”
Life hesitates before she slowly speaks. “The universe… requires balance.”
“What does that mean?” Joan asks.
“For a life given, a life has to be taken.”
Joan feels her blood run cold. “Will I have to die?” She asks.
Life nods. “Death demands it.” She says, and why does Death have to be like this? Why did it have to tear everything down?
Joan gulps, no matter how much she loved her daughter, death scared everybody. But if it means her daughter will live and fulfil her dreams, then she’s fine with it. Paul will take good care of her, Joan knows that. Joan stands up.
“I am willing.” Joan says resolutely.
“Your heart is sincere.” Life states, before she flicks her wrist and a strong gust of wind emerges. Joan pushes her dress that blew upwards with the wind and there’s a bright glow and for a moment she sees nothing, and she wonders if she died. But then her eyes open and Life stands with a circular object in hand.
“You can have your wish, without having to sacrifice your life.” Life begins. “However, to fulfil your wish, you must do one thing.”
Joan takes the red object in hand.
“Dispel evil.” Life says.
Joan feels trepidation and she is wary but she is curious. “What does that mean?”
Life simply plucks a butterfly off her dress and smudges it with dark from her index finger. And the butterfly screeches ugly in pain and it turns black, blacker than the sky or the coal, blacker than anything she has ever seen. Joan feels nervous, her clutch on the object tightens and she feels almost frightened. But, this is Life. Life is to be treasured, revered, but never feared.
Life kisses the butterfly on the tip of its antenna and it flutters its wings. “If balance is required to fulfil a wish, then one must be ying to yang. The good in face of greater evil. The fight against chaos.”
“W-what if there is no greater evil?” Joan asks.
Life smiles as she releases the butterfly to fly into the sky. “Then, you must create one.”
“What do you mean?” Joan asks, and her grip is so tight on the object that she fears that it’ll break.
Life doesn’t grace her with a reply and only stands there as birds flock to her with olive branches in their mouths for her. And then, the screams start.
Joan whips her head around at once as she hears one blood curdling scream after another coming from her village.
Her breathing is ragged and she feels faint. But then Life steps forward and touches her face and she is all calm. She is fine. She can do this. She shall defeat evil and she’ll get her Judith back.
“What must I do?” Joan asks.
“Call upon the miracle.” Life says.
“Miracle?” Joan questions and the object in her hand glows and she is engulfed in light. When the light fades, she blinks to focus herself back into existence. Her breath hitches as she notices the bright red dress against her own dark skin, a similar shade of red as Life’s hair.
“You have my blessing as long as you are in this.” Life smiles. “I hope you’ll make good use of it.”
Joan looks down at her hands covered in luxurious black gloves and the dress with embroidery more immaculate than the noble’s tailors. The dress is beautiful. Joan feels beautiful. She feels powerful.
“Now leave.” Life orders, and Joan obeys.
She runs across the forest, her senses heightened and her muscles stronger than all the men in her village. She takes a jump and she is in the air, higher than anyone has ever been capable of.
And she is ready.
To fight evil.
To bring her Judith back.
***
His neck itches.
That’s what Death notices when he settles in the centre of the blackhole, watching the amalgamation of stars that the blackhole trapped, slowly merge to form the most beautiful display in all of Death’s existence.
He brings his hand to his neck, tracing his finger across the base and trailing it up his neck. His finger smudges against something, and he pauses at the soft feel to whatever his finger grazed.
Bringing his hand in front of him to view, he stares at the specks of white light on his finger tip, twinkling mirthfully, quite like the being they came from. He brushes the specks off of his fingers, blowing it through the vacuum and watching as even the smallest bits of Life brightens even the black hole.
Death gazes at the intricacies of the black hole a little longer, before he gets up. The black hole parts open for him to exit, the creation shuddering as it tries to avoid his touch. Death smiles ruefully, for even the universe’s most fearsome creation, still feared him.
Stepping into the empty abyss that surrounded the lonesome blackhole in the ever-expanding universe, Death feels something shift. It’s nothing big really, the planets still orbit, the stars still burn, the universe still grows, but there’s something innately different, in a very minute sense.
He turns in the direction from where he feels the shift, feeling his jaw tense when he realises the change is coming from the tiny backwater planet in the corner of a tiny galaxy, thousands of light years away. He makes his way across the galaxies, stopping right at the edge of the Sol System; and he watches as Life notices him, her eyes lighting up as she makes her way to him.
Death takes a step back, avoiding his sister, who simply smiles.
“Brother.”
He doesn’t acknowledge her greeting.
“What did you do?”
Her grin only grows as she walks past him, her feet dancing across the space. He doesn’t remember when he had seen her this happy before, and somehow it leaves him filled with wary trepidation more so than curiosity.
“You’ll see.” She simply answers, and.
Death feels fear.
Notes:
I wanna make Life have some sort of hyperpigmentation (like not exactly hyperpigmentation, more like different colored patches of skin, like every shade of human skin ever covers the expanse of her skin) when she meets humans and takes on a more humane form. In space where she is something more otherworldly, her skin is just light. And death’s skin is the ever presence of dark.
The first two chapters are just set up so guys just wait before we start with the adrien centric part of this fic. :33
Chapter 3: and run, till your feet ache
Chapter Text
“Your father is busy.” The new assistant says, the one that father hired recently. Five months after Nathalie’s death. Adrien doesn’t like her. She looks down at him, her face morphed into a scowl as if he is some idiotic child. “You can not meet him, right now.”
“But, I have to.” Adrien insists. He really did. It was important. Nathalie had told him so. He fidgets where he stands, his nails digging into his palms.
The woman rolls her eyes, sighing loudly as if he is the bane of her existence. “You can just let me know, I’ll convey the message to your father, on my own.”
“I have to tell him myself.” Adrien says, his voice growing smaller as his lips trembled and he can feel himself on the brink of crying. “Please.”
The assistant sighs again and then bends down to his level. And Adrien, for a moment, hopes that maybe she’d understand and let him in. Because, whenever Nathalie bent down, it was always with a smile and light pat to his head as she agreed to whatever he said.
But the woman’s eyes hold none of the warmth that Nathalie used to have, instead she is stern as she talks to him. “Look, I get you want your dad, but you can not call M. Agreste right now. He’s busy. Let me know what you want to tell him and I’ll let him know.”
Adrien fidgets, holding the hem of his pyjamas. Nathalie had told him to tell something like this to her or his dad – to tell someone that he trusts enough to tell about his nightmare. He shouldn’t tell this to this woman. Adrien purses his lips and doesn’t meet the woman’s eyes.
She sighs again and gets up. “Well, if that’s how you are going to act, then fine.” And she walks away not without muttering under her breath. “Kids. This was not in my job description.”
Tears pool in his eyes, but Adrien quickly wipes them away. Nathalie always frowned when he cried. Felix always turned away when he cried. Nobody liked it when he cried.
He shouldn’t cry.
He really shouldn’t.
But he wants to.
***
Ryo runs fast, and he never looks back.
When he races against the other kids from the neighbourhood. When his mother follows behind, her face redder than the tomatoes she sells, angry at him for annoying the neighbours. When his uncle chases him for pickpocketing some sweets from his store. When he steals the fire lily ornament off of Hanako’s hair and relishes the thrill of seeing the girl with the daintiest face, scowl as she runs after him.
Ryo never looks back.
Until.
.
.
.
The fire starts in the afternoon. It starts out of nowhere. One moment, the old men were playing shogi and the little boys and girls ran around the streets, little toys in hand. And the next moment, somebody’s house is on fire. And then another, and then another.
Someone calls out. And some people grab pails of water rushing to the burning houses. But the others run. Ryo runs as well.
The smoke is thick and pungent. He chokes on it; his lungs expand and he coughs and his running falters. But he continues to run. And the fire continues to spread.
A black butterfly flies over his head.
He hears the screams, the shouts and the call for help. But he runs. Because, Ryo knows he is fast. He will survive this.
But.
He looks back.
The sky is black overhead even though the sun has yet to set. The fire is so bright and the heat that radiates feels like it’ll burn him even though he is still far ahead. People are throwing water over the houses, screaming for the people inside and the fire only continues to crackle and spread. A tree starts burning and a burning branch cracks and falls on top of a chil–
Ryo is running before he can even register it happening, and he pushes the child aside, closing his eyes ready for the scorching burn on his skin from the branch. But the branch never lands.
The child next to him gasps and he looks up and he gasps as well. Because, there, in front of him, a maiden stands with the heavy branch in her gloved hand. Her face hides behind a Kitsune mask and she wears a beautiful kimono embroidered with fire lilies and dragons.
She helps him and the child up and pushes them away from the fire. The instruction to run, apparent in her gesture. And Ryo takes the child’s hand and runs. Away from the burning fire, and away from the young maiden who saved him.
And then he looks back.
And his heart beats just a tad faster.
In the hair of the masked maiden, a fire lily ornament lays, that he is very familiar with.
.
“What?” Hanako finally asks, looking up from her calligraphy. Her hair is loose today, covering her nape and the tiny mole on the base of her neck. At any other time, Ryo would have leaned forward and pushed the hair away to reveal the mole, smiling when Hanako would swat his hand away with a red face.
But, today, he just stares at her.
“What?” Hanako presses again. Ryo just shrugs and looks away. At the river that ran a few metres from then, and at the kids who played at the bank.
Only a week ago, at this exact time, a fire threatened to burn an entire neighbourhood down. Until a maiden in a kitsune mask came to save them all. Many sustained lasting burns, and many houses burnt to the ground but at least nobody died. The mysterious Lady Kitsune had saved them all.
The very same Lady Kitsune that now sat next to him, unaware that he knows it’s her.
A face pops into his line of sight, obstructing his view of the river. Hanako observes him curiously, leaning in close, and Ryo quickly shuffles back, his heart beating fast. “What?” He asks.
“You’re being weird.” Hanako states. “Well, weirder than usual at least.”
“It’s nothing.” Ryo says, turning his gaze away from the pair of curious brown eyes, and turns to look at the river.
A black butterfly lands on a flower on the grass near them.
“You’re lying.” Hanako says. “Why?”
“I–” Ryo begins but then his eyes widen, as suddenly a great current passes through the usually calm river, and a few children get swept away.
The remaining kids scream, scrambling away. Hanako gasps at his side, and Ryo immediately gets on his feet, running towards the river.
“I’ll get help!” Hanako shouts, turning away, but Ryo pays her no heed. Throwing off his geta , Ryo runs barefoot across the bank trying to keep up with the children in the river. Their hands flail in the river, and their heads are nearly underwater. And Ryo prays, desperately, that they’ll live.
Once close enough, he dives in. The river current pushes him forward but with as much strength as he could muster in his arms, he swims towards the drowning children. Grabbing two different hands, he brings them close to him, getting them to hold on to his clothing. There are other children too, but he knows he cannot save them all.
He swims with the tide, trying to bring himself and the two children closer to the bank with each stroke he makes against the water. But it feels like every attempt he makes is futile, as the current pushes against him. He feels his arms grow heavy, and his muscles scream in pain, but he continues on. For his sake. For the two children that clung to him, in hope that he’ll save them.
His left foot tangles in something below and he is being pulled downwards. Water fills his mouth and his lungs and he desperately fights to bring himself up, his hold still onto the two children.
A black ribbon lands next to him. And without thinking, he grabs onto it and then he and the two kids are being pulled out of the river and onto dry land. He coughs and splutters, spitting out the water that filled his lung and left him gasping for breath. Heaving heavily, he watches as the maiden in the kitsune mask brings the remaining children on to land, gracefully pulling them out with the ribbon that ties itself to the child on its own.
Once everyone is out of the river, the deadly current dies down at once. And something about that, sends shivers trailing down Ryo’s spine.
Lady Kitsune turns to leave, but Ryo immediately gets up. She runs through the trees, hoping to escape out of sight. But Ryo has always been fast. He catches up to her and grabs on to her gloved wrist.
“Wait!” He exclaims, but the maiden tugs her hand away and turns to leave. “Hanako!” She stops, turning to look at him.
“…how?” Hanako’s voice comes from behind the mask.
Ryo doesn’t reply, simply catching up his rapid breath, before he makes his way to her.
“Your hair ornament.” He says, once he is in front of her. “I gave it to you.”
He takes in another breath, and he extends a still wet hand to her nape. Hanako shivers at his touch. “And your mole. You’d think I wouldn’t know?”
And then slowly, he extends his hand to her mask. He hesitates, but Hanako makes no move to resist, so he pulls the Kitsune mask away to reveal the brown eyes that he fell in love with.
“I know you, Hanako.” He says.
She purses her lips and looks away. “You shouldn’t.”
Ryo scoffs. “Well, if that’s what you wanted, you should have done better to conceal yourself.”
When she doesn’t reply, he asks. “Why?” And then he shakes his head. “Or rather, how?”
She is quiet for a moment, as she closes her eyes. Her extravagant kimono disappears, leaving her in the cheap pale blue one that she was wearing when she sat with him a little away from the river on the grass. The kitsune mask that he held on to, also crumbles away into thin air.
She then settles down onto the grass, and after a moment, Ryo does the same. Droplets of water falling off of his yukata and onto the grass.
“An engagement came from a family from the next town.” Hanako begins. And Ryo stills. He hadn’t heard of that. Wasn’t it already known by everyone and their gossiping mothers, that he and Hanako were to be wed once they were of age.
As if reading his thoughts, she shakes her head. “Not for me. For my little sister.”
“Junko?” Ryo asks. He knows the little girl, who had just turned thirteen. With the dark, luscious hair and the pale ivory skin, everybody called her a beauty in the making. Ryo never thought so though, mostly because there had always been only one girl he had eyes for.
Hanako nods, her mouth turning downwards as she continues. “From a rich clan.” She gulps, trying to stop her voice from breaking. “They wish to wed Junko with their adult son next spring.”
Ryo feels his blood run cold. No matter how hard he tried, he could not imagine the sweet child-like Junko in a white shiromuku , leaving their town on a palanquin to be with a man twice her age.
“Your mother wouldn’t have…” Ryo trails off as he sees how Hanako grips her kimono, her eyes turning red.
She sniffs, wiping away a few tears. “She has no choice. The money they are offering would be enough to have us live comfortably without having to worry over each expense.”
“But still!” Ryo objects. “She still can’t–”
“She has to.” Hanako snaps. “The shop has been earning less and less. At this rate, the debt will only pile up and we wouldn’t be able to afford groceries or brother’s shijuku .” And then in a smaller voice. “Or my dowry.”
Ryo gently grabs her hand. “You do know, I don’t care about your dowry.” He says softly, rubbing her hand with his thumb.
She smiles at that, even though it is weaker than her usual one. “I know. But there’s so many other expenses, Ryo. Mother barely knows what to do.”
She begins softly crying, and Ryo offers his shoulder to her. She buries her face into it, her tears dampening his already wet yukata even further. He rubs her back gently, staying silent as she lets her grievances out in the form of tears.
The tears slowly subsided and it’s quiet as Hanako’s head remains on his shoulder and the only sound that can be heard is their heartbeats.
“I didn’t know what to do.” She finally continues. “So, I had gone to the temple alone at night.”
His grip on her shoulder tightens. Realising his concern, she smiles. “I was fine.”
Ryo huffs. “I can see that. But don’t risk it like this.” He says grabbing her cheeks and squeezing them. “You don’t know how awful some people are.”
She swats his hand away, smiling. “Alright, alright.” She then continues. “I think I prayed at the temple for a while. And then, when I got up, I tripped.”
Ryo snorts. Hanako pouts at that, pinching his sides. “Don’t laugh.” He simply nods, still grinning.
“When I got up, a woman with hair like burning fire and eyes bluer than the sky stood in front of me. She said she was ‘Life’.”
“And you believed her?” Ryo asks. Hanako nods. “You’d have to. She was ethereal. More beautiful than any human could ever be.”
“And she gave you your powers?” Ryo asks.
Hanako nods again. “She told me that as long as I carried this object,” She gestures to the circular object hung on a pendant that she had previously hidden under her kimono. “I have her blessing.”
“And?” Ryo questions. “How does that help?”
“In face of chaos, I call upon the miracle, and I shall have the power to face it. If I am able to win against enough chaos, then my wish shall be granted.”
“When is it ‘enough chaos’ ?” Ryo asks.
Hanako pauses as she thinks.
“I don’t know.” She finally admits. “I guess we’ll have to see.”
And Ryo feels uneasy.
.
.
.
It’s near the end of winter. The signs of the first thaw are visible. It’s warm enough that Ryo sees some toads hop by, across the grass. Spring is almost near. Junko’s wedding is in five weeks.
And Hanako’s wish has yet to be granted.
.
“Ah- Ryo-san.” The lady calls out. “That’d be far enough.” Ryo stops dragging the jinrikisha . The lady steps out and hands him a few coins and then steps into the hustle bustle of the market. Ryo crouches beside the jinrikisha, and counts the money he has earned so far today as he waits for another customer.
So far, the money he had earned from tirelessly working through autumn and winter, could afford maybe five bags of cheap rice and three old goats, if he haggled hard enough. He sighs as he leans back against the wall. That was still barely a fraction of what the Hagiwara clan was offering for Junko.
He buries his face in his arms to bide the time and get some rest, when a shout comes from the market. Ryo raises his face in that direction, a woman is screaming at a man who runs away with her purse. A few months back, Ryo would have run after the man, as fast as his feet could carry him. Now though, he just waits.
And soon enough, a figure in a red kimono shows up and captures the thief. The crowd cheers for the Kitsune Lady and Hanako bows, revelling in the praise she is showered in, before she makes her leave by tying her ribbon to a nearby tree and swinging away. Her hair blows freely with the wind. The fire lily ornament, no longer in her hair.
Ryo watches all this from where he is seated beside his jinrikisha. And even though Hanako swings by him as she leaves, never once does her head turn to glance in his direction.
.
Spring is here. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom, raining pink petals across the streets. It’s beautiful and yet Ryo cannot find it in himself to enjoy it.
Junko’s wedding is to be held in a fortnight.
Hanako swings through town with her black ribbons and everyone watches in awe.
Ryo watches the black butterflies on her trail and he wonders when was the last time Hanako and him had talked.
.
“Till when are you going to foolishly hold on to hope that this object will grant your wish?” Ryo asks. He doesn’t get loud or mad, he is just curious and worried.
But Hanako lashes out.
“How dare you!” She screams, her grip on the pendant tight and protective. “My sister’s fate depends on this and you–” She chokes on her words and her nose turns red as a tell-tale sign for the soon onslaught of tears.
Ryo wants to reach out and wipe the beginning of those tears, to hug her and comfort her. To tell her that it’s all going to be alright. But she stands against him defensively, and Ryo can read the signs. She doesn’t want him near her.
So, he stands a little away from her, his grip tight on the bag that contains his hard-earned money which jingles slightly with his every move.
“I am sorry. I worded that wrong.” He says. “I just… Hanako. Junko’s wedding is in a week. Please. Just- I don’t know if you should blindly hold faith in this to solve all your issues.”
“Then what am I supposed to do!?” She yells, “Do I just stand there and watch my sister be married to a man double her age!?” Her breathing is haggard and her hair is a mess. Tangled and unruly. Ryo remembers the last time Hanako was in such a state of unkempt. It was just after her father died. For nearly half a year, Hanako mourned the loss and kept herself shut in her room.
Ryo and everyone else tried their best to help, but she refused to even listen to anyone else. Hanako had always been the one to suffer on her own. It had taken her mother passing out on the street from overworking herself to her brittle bones, that Hanako finally snapped out of that stupor.
Ryo worries, what it’ll take her to snap out this time.
He cautiously approaches her, but Hanako takes a step back, her hands on her eyes. “Don’t.” She pleads, and Ryo obeys.
He stops and he lets her control the growing lump in her throat before he asks again. “Hanako. Are you completely sure that your wish will be granted?”
She is silent for a second, and her face turns away, looking out the window instead. “It has to.” She finally answers, her voice small and desperate. “It’s the only way.”
Ryo purses his lips and nods. “Okay.” And he turns to leave. But before he does, he places the bag of money onto the low table. The clatter of the coins against the wood makes Hanako turn in his direction.
“You made your attempt. This was mine.” He says, and sees the way Hanako’s eyes widen. Their eyes meet for a split second and then she quickly turns her head away. Her hands with her bitten down nails, tightly gripping her kimonos, her fingers curling tightly into fabric.
And somewhere in him, Ryo feels his heart sink even possibly more.
“I’ll take my leave.” He states and exits out of the room. He looks back once, but only sees her back.
He turns away and leaves.
He doesn’t look back again.
.
Six nights later, he finds the small bag placed in the corner of his room; not a coin misplaced.
.
.
.
It is the night before Junko’s wedding, when it happens.
The town is alight with lanterns, as people celebrate Junko’s betrothal; with men drunk on booze and women chattering brightly. The town’s alive.
Hanako’s house is decked in red and everyone is coming and going out of the house to give their blessing to the soon-to-be bride. Hanako’s mother is in her best kimono, her hair tied up and a wide smile on her lips.
Ryo doesn’t remember the last time he had seen her this happy. Hanako is nowhere in sight.
“Ah– Ryo-kun!” Hanako’s mother calls.
“Aikawa-san.” Ryo greets. “Congratulations on Junko’s wedding.”
“Thank you.” She smiles and then gestures him inside. “Why don’t you go give Junko your blessing on your own?”
Ryo hesitates. “I am not sure…” He trails off. Only the men in the bride’s direct family meet her on this auspicious day, otherwise it is only women who greet her.
“Nonsense.” Aikawa-san claps him on his back. “You’re family.” She winks. And before, this little statement would make him blush all over and Aikawa-san would laugh at how endearing young love can be. But right now, it only makes him awkward as he remembers the last strained encounter he had with Hanako.
Still, Ryo nods, and pushing away the curtains, he enters inside the house. There are women settled in one of the open rooms and he recognizes them as Hanako’s aunts from another town.
He greets them before he moves ahead.
“That boy?” He hears one of the women say.
“Ah– did you forget already! He is Hanako’s husband-to-be.” Another voice exclaims.
“Oh– Sumire’s son?” Another voice says. “What a fine man he grew up to be.”
“His and our Hanako’s children will grow up to be fine beauties.” Another says and the women start laughing and agreeing. And Ryo feels uncomfortable, so he quickly turns around the corridor hoping that their voices will fade away.
He reaches the room that has a curtain draped in front. It is adorned with red ribbons and lanterns – the red means protection, strength, peace and life . Like Hanako and her kitsune mask.
He shakes his head, takes a deep breath and enters. In the centre, on a small zaisu , Junko sits dressed from head to toe in red. Her small youthful face is covered in thick layers of white paint, and red is painted across her lips and cheeks.
Ryo hadn’t seen her around much, especially in the last few months when he had spent most of his time taking passengers on the jinrikisha from their homes to the market and vice versa. But, from what he remembers, he likes the Junko with her face bare and bright as she ran with her friends up to the temple and down playing whatever silly games they had made up.
He doesn’t like the Junko, in front of him, sitting poised and still, her eyes downcast, drowning in red as if a colour will promise her a perfect marriage – a perfect life.
“Hey.” He begins. She looks up, and the previous dull expression on her face disappears into a wide smile. His presence doesn’t warrant it though, he never had been really close to the young girl.
“Hey.” She replies. Ryo settles down in front of her, nodding his head when she offers him tea. He takes the cup and though the tea is hot enough to burn his tongue, he still downs it in one go. Junko picks her own cup and sips slowly. He doesn’t remember her ever drinking tea before.
“Congratulations.” He says, after a moment of silence, and the lie burns his tongue hotter than the tea. “For your marriage.”
She has a wistful smile as she looks down at her cup. “Thank you.”
They are silent for a moment longer and Ryo should just excuse himself and leave, but the words burst out before he can stop them. “Why aren’t you mad?” He asks.
She blinks surprised and realising his mistake Ryo moves to apologise, but Junko replies before he can get a word out. “This is all I can do to help.”
He stops and stares at her. Understanding his confusion, she continues, poised, rigid, proper – the perfect bride. “My older brother can become a high-ranking scholar, with how smart he is. And my sister could be happily wed to you with a large dowry–” When he opens his mouth to protest, she continues on. “That I know you’ll never use. And instead she’ll use it to build an orphanage or whatever selfless deed she wishes to do.”
“Me marrying this man, can promise my family a lifetime of happiness.” She declares. And there’s a moment, where Ryo almost believes her, if not for the way her fingers tighten around the cup, curling in the same way Hanako’s always did whenever she was distressed.
Ryo purses his lips. “Aren’t you too young to think like that?”
She laughs and a pensive smile dons her lips. “I suppose, certain situations make you grow older earlier.”
They are both quiet for a while, during which Junko sips more from her cup. “I’m sorry.” Ryo finally says. “I wish you didn’t have to.”
Junko looks at him, contemplative, before she settles her cup down as she replies. “Don’t be. I made this decision on my own.”
“You shouldn’t have to.” Ryo protests.
“In better circumstances, maybe. But I don’t have that sort of luxury right now.” Junko states. Her demeanour calm and collected, any childishness that ran through her veins, all but evaporated into thin air. Ryo hates it. He hates it so much. No colour could promise her a happy marriage, no miracle could guarantee her freedom, and Life? Life could offer nothing but false hope.
Bowing his head, Ryo takes his leave. He takes a jar of sake with him and begins walking through the woods. With his geta stepping silently over the grass, he trails through the forest, no real destination in mind. His steps become more and more disorderly as he sips more and more sake, before he finally fumbles and falls to the ground.
He lays there for a while, staring at the small rays of the moon that peaked through between the leaves. He feels angry. Angry at the Hagiwara clan for sending the proposal, angry at Aikawa-san for selling her daughter for her own gain, angry at Junko for giving up her own dreams for her family.
Angry at Hanako–
He feels angry at himself for being useless. The hours he spent working, the sprained ankles, the bleeding feet, the aching muscles, the calloused palms – they all were for naught. Because, despite all his effort, Junko is getting wed.
Throwing the empty jar of sake to the side, he hears it clatter and break. An owl hoots, disgruntled, but the forest is still. But then, he listens. Cicadas sing, winds blow, leaves rustle and his own heartbeat thrums loudly. In a seemingly barren forest, there still persists. In a hopeless situation, there still persists hope.
He gets up.
And Ryo runs fast.
He runs through the forest, right behind the town, and he runs till his feet take him to the back of Hanako’s house. He jumps over the mud wall around the sides of the house and enters inside through the fusuma i n the back. He avoids the chattering ladies inside, and makes his way to Junko’s room.
She still sits poised and proper, alone in the room. Her eyes raise up to meet his, and her eyebrows furrow in confusion. “Ryo-san?”
“Come with me.” He says, his chest heaving, sweat trickling down his face. Junko’s eyes widen, before her jaw sets rigid, like Hanako’s when she was displeased.
“No.” She says. “This is my dut–”
“It isn’t!” He cuts her off. “You deserve to run through open fields, play in the rivers and dance with the other children. Not, sit here, ready to be wed to a man twice your age, and bear children when you are but a child yourself!”
Silence falls in the room, as they both stare at each other, the only sound in the room being Ryo’s heavy breathing, and then Junko looks down. She fiddles with her sleeves, as if unsure of what to say.
And then she begins crying. Tiny droplets fall from the corners of her eyes and on to her hands. Her mouth trembles, and a visible lump forms at her throat but she still forces out.
“Then what do you expect me to do?” She asks.
And Ryo doesn’t have to think about it at all. There was only ever one answer. There was only ever one thing he was good at.
“Run.” He answers. “Run away with me.”
Junko purses her lips, conflicted but then she nods. “Okay.” Ryo takes the answer with stride, helping Junko up. They both turn to leave the room, when Junko stops. Ryo watches in confusion, as she walks back to the centre of the room, sitting down on her knees, and takes off the giant red headpiece placing it on the table.
“This was mother’s,” She says, and then she slips the thin gold band on her left hand’s fourth finger. Ryo watches, as Junko grips the ring, before she sets it down next to the headpiece. She then looks up at him, and she finally smiles.
“I can leave now.”
.
They both run through the empty fields, as fast as they can. Ryo has his hands bundling up the long train of fabric of Junko’s dress to help her run as they both try to make it to the old folk road. Frequent cargo carriages pass by from here for the main cities, and all Ryo hopes is that one such carriage would pass by tonight as well.
He catches sight of a glowing lantern as they reach the end of the fields, and Ryo removes his grip from Hanako’s dress and runs ahead, old pains from his times of running the jinrikisha bursting through the heels of his foot.
“Wait! Please!” He calls out. The aged man reins in the mule, halting his carriage, and looks at the two of them curiously.
“A runaway couple?” He questions. Ryo shakes his head, but realises it's difficult to explain the circumstances properly. “Can you please take us with you?” Ryo begs. Junko reaches them finally, and places herself cautiously behind him.
The man examines him over, before he raises three of his fingers. “Thirty. I’ll take you to Kyoto for thirty silver coins.” Behind him, Junko grabs his yukata, the large amount of money making her nervous. The money the man demanded was what two weeks of working had earned him. But, this was what he had laboured for. The money tucked safely in his yukata had only ever had one purpose.
“Ryo-san…” She whispers, but Ryo turns to the man and nods resolutely. “Okay.” He says. “I’ll pay you half when we reach Mukō, and the remaining in Kyoto.”
The man nods, before gesturing to the carriage. “Get in.” He says gruffly. “And just know, if you try to trick me. I’ll have your heads.”
Ryo bows. “Thankyou.” And then he turns to help Junko into the carriage, before jumping in as well. Junko settles in the corner, with Ryo at her side, a little gap between them, to give Junko the space she would need.
The carriage begins moving with light tremors of the carriage’s wheels passing over the rough road vibrating through the carriage. Ryo takes one last glance at the rice fields, and at the bright lights coming from his town, before he settles his head against the carriage’s wooden wall.
Beside him, Junko slowly begins taking out the pins and loosening her braids. They both ignore the tears that fall from Junko’s eyes, and the way Ryo’s hands tremble.
Briefly, Ryo wonders what Hanako would think once she realises what he had done.
.
It is still night, barely an hour into their journey, Junko has fallen asleep, and it’s fairly peaceful. The mule clip clops across the path and cicadas hum in the background but Ryo feels uneasy. He doesn’t know why.
He looks up at the dark sky, covered with stars, with the moon shining brightly, then at the man driving the carriage and then at the small form of Junko curled into herself, her breathing slow and steady as she sleeps. He listens to the sounds around him, the insects, the mule, the man, his own breathing. Everything’s normal, as normal as running away with your beloved’s sister to save her from a marriage could be, and yet he feels nervous.
Like the calm before the storm. Like the calm before the fire that raged through their town once. Like the calm before the river’s current grew and took the playing children with it. Like the calm before every single incident in their town in the past six months.
A black butterfly lands on the lantern in the carriage.
The black butterfly.
Ryo’s heart thumps.
“Junko.” He says urgently, grabbing her hand and dragging her up. “We have to go.” The young girl follows clumsily, still half-asleep. But, they can not be slow, Ryo harshly pulls her off the carriage with him, his heart beating rapidly.
She looks scared but she follows. Behind them, the man in the carriage shouts at them. “Where do you think you are going!?” But, he couldn’t care less at the moment.
Ryo runs. And he runs fast.
His grip on Junko’s hand remains as he drags her off the main road and into the open fields. “W-where are we going?” Junko stammers out, bundling up her dress’s fabric in her left hand as she tries to keep up with Ryo.
“Away.” Ryo answers, “As far as we can.”
All they need to do is be a safer distance away from the butterflies and they’ll be fine. Trouble only comes when you are near the butterflies. They will be alright. “Ryo-san!” Junko’s panicked voice comes from behind. “What is that?” She points to the sky.
Ryo looks up and his eyes widen. Overhead, the sky is pitch black, not a light to be seen as black butterflies cover the entirety of the horizon. Their wings flutter as they all start circulating in a whirlwind motion, and truly nothing in life has ever seemed as fearsome to Ryo as these butterflies.
“You brats!” The man from the carriage comes panting after them. “What the hell is this?” He says looking up.
A singular butterfly comes down, gliding through the sky gracefully, and lands on the man’s nose. The man frowns and moves his hand to touch the butterfly. “Don’t–” Ryo calls out, but the man has already touched it. And right before his very eyes, the man crumbles to dust, evaporating in thin air.
Beside him, Junko screams.
And then all the butterflies are flying downwards, the ground beneath them shaking unsteadily. Wrapping his arms around Junko, he dives down onto the ground between the crop plants. Junko is all but sobbing in his arms, and there’s no comfort that he can provide her, because he is trembling himself.
The butterflies keep flying towards the surface, and each time they do, the ground shakes even more. He feels the earth beneath them crack, and his grip on Junko tightens as he brings the young girl closer to him.
This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Nothing was supposed to go like this.
“I am sorry.” He mumbles to Junko, his voice cracking as he feels the tears coming. Because, Ryo knows they aren’t going to make it.
There is no Kitsune Lady with her black ribbons to rescue them.
There is no Hanako to save them.
The ground beneath them crumbles.
And they are falling.
The last thing Ryo sees is red.
And then all goes black.
Ryo runs fast,
but even he
cannot outrun Death.
Notes:
so...thoughts?
Chapter 4: and the world gets lonelier
Chapter Text
The universe shakes for a fraction of a second, minute tremors running across its entirety. It harms nothing, the planets with their beings still live, the quasars still spin, the comets still float. Nothing is amiss. Yet, Death feels it through his being, the shift growing larger.
The change that comes from a tiny backwater planet.
With the nebulas parting away, he walks through space and reaches near the planet. His sister has seated herself sideways beside the planet, her hair strewn around it, giving the illusion of fire burning beneath the dirt planet.
She has a smile on her face, as she traces her finger over its surface, the clouds on top burst and rain begins to pour on the planet. When she notices him, with the way the sun burns hotter with his anger, she looks up, her smile growing wider.
“Brother.” She says but he doesn’t grace her with a reply, instead focusing on what was amiss on the planet. An island, which the humans had named Yamato, had sunk. Millions of mortals had died. They were not to die yet, their lives were to be longer. He particularly doesn’t care. Everyone meets their end, sooner or later. But.
“Why did you do this?” Death asks. The end was his. It was for Fate to decide when they die and for him to abide. Not her. Their deaths were unjust. The balance shifts. The universe rumbles, discontent.
Life tilts her head, locks of her spilling all around. “Oh, what ever did I do?”
Death points to the ocean, where the island used to exist. Life follows the line, her sight settling on the planet and her eyes widen. “Oh, brother. How could you?”
She stands up, her features drooping pitifully; the trees on Earth wither and the heat on Venus dies a little, as Life accuses him. “We are to maintain balance, that is our pledge. But you broke it.”
The universe stills and Death stares at his sister in disbelief. For Life was aggravating, she was mischievous but Life was never dishonest. “Do not blame your wrongdoings on me.” He finally says. Pluto shirks away in fear. “It was you who meddled with affairs that weren’t yours.”
Life laughs and it is beautiful. The sun gleams and his sister looks at him shining bright. “But brother, the end of life is your domain. Their deaths are on you.”
Anger pulses through his being, behind him Kuiper breaks apart into tiny pieces. “How dare you.” He whispers furiously, as his sister watches amused. “You did this.” Death says with great certainty because it was Life who suddenly grew interest in the matters of humans. It was Life that touched him, he doesn’t know what she did with it, but it’s her. Death knows it is Life to blame.
“But I didn’t.” Life smiles. “I never bring harm. Right?” The universe hesitantly agrees with her and Death scoffs, but Life isn’t finished yet. “Brother.” She says sweetly, as she moves across the parting planets that make way for her, and comes to stand in front of him, only Pluto in between them. Death takes a step back.
“You broke the pledge. And you’ll have to pay accordingly.”
“I didn’t.” Death seethes at the absurdity of it all. But, Life remains unperturbed as she steps closer to him.
“The universe agrees.” She says, the universe turns deathly quiet and Death stares at her, for there is a limit to her ploys, for the universe is just and it would neve– the universe agrees . It’s meek and quiet – cowardly, but it is an agreement nonetheless.
Life grins victoriously, and somewhere in the universe some life births on a new planet. Life leans forward, her hand reaching for him but he steps back abruptly, glaring at his sister.
“Oh brother.” She simply laughs, before she turns to look at the small backwater planet that started this whole strife. “I’ll fix the balance.” She says and then she blows. Death watches as a replica of the destroyed island comes to existence on the planets, everything the same and yet so different.
Satisfied with her work, Life turns to look at him. “And now for you.” She says, her hand reaching to touch his neck.
She smiles,
the universe grows,
and something changes.
***
Adrien grimaces as his English tutor looks at his assignment, tutting in clear disappointment. She circles another word with her red pen and the frown only grows, and Adrien fidgets nervously in his chair.
‘Please, don’t let her be mad.’ He prays quietly. Because, it never ended well when his tutors were angry at him. And his other tutors were already angry with him this week.
“Adrien.” Miss Katherine addresses him, waving the paper in front of him. “We went over this course material yesterday. Why are there so many mistakes?”
He feels his heart sink, and his hands bundle up the fabric of his trousers and he looks down unsure of how to face his teacher. “I am sorry.” He whispers.
He hears her huff, leaning back against her chair as she reads through his answers again. “Sorry isn’t going to magically fix your answers for you.” She says, and she is right. Adrien knows it, but what else is he supposed to say in this situation? “You should have let me know that you were having trouble with past tense, when we were covering it yesterday.”
Adrien purses his lips but doesn’t say anything as Miss Katherine continues. “Oh, and I haven’t even gone over your spelling mistakes yet. We have gone over the difference between ‘effect’ and ‘affect’ multiple times, Adrien.” She flips the next page and scoffs incredulously. “Seriously? You are still mixing lowercase ‘b’ and ‘d’. This is a pathetic paper.” She flails the paper in front of him, and tears well up in his eyes, because he had really tried to do his best. He had spent hours on this assignment, but unfortunately it wasn’t enough.
Realizing that he was not going to answer her, Miss Katherine gets up from her chair and takes the paper over to the dustbin and crumbles the assignment into a ball before throwing it in. She sighs before looking up at him. And Adrien shifts in his seat uncomfortably – the disappointment that seeped through the gaze never does become easier to bear, no matter how many times he had been privy to that exact gaze from multiple different eyes.
“Adrien,” Miss Katherine begins as she bends her knees, crouching in front of his chair. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Adrien continues to look down into his lap feeling light-headed, knowing that he’ll start crying if he looked into her eyes. And he can’t cry. “I’ll do better.” He promises instead, his fists tightening around his clothes. “I’ll redo the assignment.”
‘Just please don’t –’ He thinks.
“That’s good, but I’ll have to tell your father.” She says getting up, and Adrien freezes. Because, no. Please no. His father would be upset. His father gets mad disappointed when he is upset. He is scared does not like when his father gets mad is disappointed.
Miss Katherine simply picks her bag, and turns to leave. “Cover past participles on your own tonight. We’ll review it again tomorrow. And write another essay that involves a lot of words with ‘d’ and ‘b’ in them. I’ll check that. Okay?”
Adrien nods, his hands still frozen on his lap. His throat is clogging up and tears threaten to start falling. He hears the door open and close as Miss Katherine leaves him alone in the room. He should move, he should start working on his assignment before his father summons him to his office.
Slowly, he gets up, ignoring the way his hands tremble, or the way his stomach grumbles, as he takes out the crumpled assignment from the dustbin to see over all his mistakes. That’s what he should be focusing on. Nothing else should matter.
Not the fact that his meals had been lessened since his other tutor informed father about his low grade in French. Not the fact that the last thing he ate since last night was an apple. Not the fact that his punishment would be much more severe once father learns of his English assignment.
He begins reading over the questions, the words looking blurry and fuzzy to him and Adrien is unsure if it’s the usual ‘wobbly’ way the words appear to him or if it’s the tears and the dizziness. Either way, he settles beside the bin, back against the wall, and slowly begins reading the assignment aloud to understand his mistakes.
All the while, a small flicker of hope inside him, prays desperately for things to turn out well.
.
.
.
Things do not turn out well.
.
“Your father wants you in his office.” The secretary – Mlle. Anaïs Garnier states, as she slams open the door to his room, her eyes fixed on a message on her phone. Adrien gulps, before placing the torn assignment beside the bin. He gets up slowly, knowing that if he moved any faster he would feel all dizzy.
But, his slow movement annoys Mlle. Garnier who looks up from her phone, looking viscerally annoyed from whatever was on the phone and her tone is rigid as she orders. “Come on.” He flinches at the noise but nods and follows behind her quietly as she briskly moves across the halls, her high heels clicking sharply across the quiet corridors.
Reaching in front of his father’s office, the secretary knocks on the door, opening it slightly. “Sir, your son is here.” She calls out.
“Send him in.” Comes the reply, and Mlle. Garnier pushes open the door, and gestures him to go inside. Adrien takes in a deep breath, before stepping into his father’s office. A strong chill passes through his body as he adjusts to the extremely low temperature that his father keeps in his office.
He keeps his eyes low, his gaze pointedly fixed on his shoes. He doesn’t have the courage to look up, but he already knows how his father would look like right now. He would be sitting in his chair behind the huge desk that is in the centre of the room, wearing the same white suit he always wore. His arms would be firmly on his desk, his hands under his chin. His glasses would be perched on the tip of his nose, and he would be looking at him with a
mad glare
disappointed stare, a frown formed on his lips.
“Adrien.” His father’s calm voice echoes in the room and Adrien flinches. His fists tighten at his side.
“Father.” He answers, his voice much smaller and meeker.
“What is it that I am hearing about your performance in English?” His father asks, and though his voice is level, Adrien can feel the calm fury behind the words.
Keeping his head down, he answers. “I apologize fathe–” He begins but is cut off.
“Look up, when you speak to me.” His father orders and he forces himself to look up and meets eyes with his father who gives him a one over with barely concealed scorn.
“Stand straighter.” Is the next order and his back tenses as he pushes his shoulders outwards.
“Arms behind your back.” He obeys. His father finally looks satisfied. “Always present yourself as such. You are an Agreste. Never be anything lesser.”
Adrien nods.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, father.” He answers dutifully.
His father stands up from his chair, placing his glasses on his desk as he makes his way to Adrien. “Now then. Why am I hearing more complaints from your other tutors? Isn’t your current punishment enough for you to understand what is expected of you, Adrien?”
Adrien purses his lips, and his gaze flits downwar– a hand grabs the sides of his face, forcing him to look up and meet his father’s eyes. They are green, like his, like the colour of trees and warmth, yet when he looks into them all he sees is icy cold fury.
“Look at me when you answer, or do I need to rehire your etiquette’s tutor to reteach you your manners?”
“No, father.” He answers, his jaw hurting from his father’s tightening grip. “It was a mistake.”
His father lets go of his grip on his face. “It better not happen a third time.” His father makes his way back to his desk, and picks up a document and he begins reading.
“M. Gabriel Agreste. It is unfortunate to say, but your son Adrien Agreste has shown no signs of improvement in his English.” Adrien tenses, and his nails dig into his palm but he keeps his eyes up, facing his father. “In fact, he continues to make the same mistakes over and over again despite me highlighting his errors each time. His progress is slow and I cannot help but feel that M. Adrien does not care much for his studies.”
His father looks up at him, once he finishes the report, and Adrien feels himself dying inside. He wants to rebut the claims, to tell his father that he did try his best. That he did care for his studies, that he did practice to correct his mistakes, that it was just too difficult, that all he needed was more time. But he says nothing, as his father put the report back on his desk and makes his way back to him.
Adrien digs his nails deeper into his palm, enough that the pain is searing, enough that blood could start dripping out. Enough to distract him from what was about to happen. He looks straight into his father’s eyes, bracing himself.
– SLAP –
A large resounding sound echoes through the room and Adrien is on the floor, holding his cheek feeling blood well in his mouth. His breathing is haggard as he tries to calm himself down. He had expected this. He knew this was going to happen. It didn’t make it any easier to bear through.
Looming over him, his father continues. “You will be moving to the attic. Since having your own room seems to make you think you are above your studies, you do not deserve one. You are to stay in the attic, and are only allowed to leave it when someone else comes to collect you for your lessons.”
His father then returns back to his desk and continues doing his work as if nothing ever happened. Wincing, Adrien stands up from the floor, stumbling as he feels faint. “Thank you, father.” He barely musters out, without spilling blood and spit on the floor and exits the room.
Mlle. Garnier, who is on the phone, takes one look at him, pausing momentarily, before she enters her father’s office herself. He can’t really hear anything from outside the sound proof room, but then Mlle. Garnier walks out, frowning and begins leading the way back to his room.
She stands outside the room as he hurries into the bathroom and spits in the sink watching as the red drains down. A weird feeling still remains in his mouth and he spits once more and sees a small white canine, that had previously been getting pretty loose, fall into the sink. He grabs the tooth and carefully wraps it in a tissue before stuffing it in his trousers.
He gargles once more before he returns to the room and begins stacking his books and his other belongings into piles that he crams into the backpack that he has had stuffed in the back of his closet. Felix had bought it for him when he was four, as an early advance gift for when he would begin going to school. The bag was way too big then, but right now it was perfect. He quickly finishes packing his belongings, having nothing beyond his books and stationary, a few sets of clothes and a box in which all his pictures with his family and other trinkets were stowed.
He zips the bag, and makes his way to the secretary who stands outside the door, tapping her feet. The moment she sees him, she turns around to take him up to the attic. “Let’s go.” She states leading the way, as he struggles to keep up with her, his legs stumbling and his back aching as he carries the backpack.
They finally make their way to the staircase that leads to the attic. A house staff member, M. Reimund walks down the stairs, a basket in hand. He is among the group of new hires his father had made after firing most of the old house staff. Beyond the gardener and the bodyguards, everyone in the house is new. Adrien isn’t sure what to think about all of them.
M. Reimund looks at the two with furrowed eyebrows, “The room’s ready.” He says, and he turns to leave, though his eyes linger a little longer on Adrien’s face. Adrien shuffles uncomfortably, he never really liked attention on him. But then, M. Reimund simply shakes his head and leaves.
Beside him, Mlle. Garnier looks up at the staircase leading to the attic and then down at her heels. She gulps and it’s funny, so Adrien snorts. The secretary turns to him, the moment the noise escapes his mouth and glares at him.
She looks like she is about to say something, before the words die on her tongue, and she just grumbles as she takes off her heels. “Let’s go.” She commands as she begins climbing the stairs. Adrien adjusts the straps on his shoulders before sighing. And then he begins following her.
His bag is heavy and it takes him a lot of effort to take every step without stumbling and falling. And that makes his pace extremely slow, which is something Mlle. Garnier takes issue with. Because, by Adrien’s sixth step, Mlle. Garnier, who is about five steps ahead of him turns towards him, frowning.
Adrien prepares for her to tell him off, instead she just extends her hand towards him. He looks up at him confused, and she rolls her eyes.
“Bag. Give me your bag.” She demands.
And Adrien immediately stills. Is his bag going to be taken away from him as well?
“I can carry it.” Adrien persists, hands clenching the bag straps tightly.
“No you can’t, you are way too slow.” Mlle. Garnier retorts. “It’ll take the whole day to reach up there with your pace.”
“I’ll be faster.” Adrien tries. He doesn’t want to give his bag away.
Mlle. Garnier sighs, tucking a few brown strands behind her ear. “And you’ll stumble and fall and wouldn’t that be another problem for all of us? Just give me your bag, and I’ll let you have it once we reach the attic.”
“Promise?” He asks hopefully. Mlle. Garnier pauses momentarily, amber eyes meeting his, and he probably imagines the way they soften. Because, Mlle. Garnier is everything but.
“Promise.” Mlle. Garnier confirms. And though there’s a small nagging feeling at the back, where he is worried that she’ll go back on her words, he still hands the bag to her.
.
It’s an entire three flights of stairs and Adrien’s tired by the end of it.
True to her words, Mlle. Garnier gives him the bag back as soon as they reach the attic door. There’s an awkward silence between them, where Adrien waits for her to leave, but Mlle. Garnier continues to stand there shuffling awkwardly, before she just groans and turns aways.
“Goodnight.” She says stiffly, and then begins walking downstairs.
Adrien stares after her in confusion, before opening the door to the attic and shuffling inside. He dumps the bag at the side of the door and readily collapses on the floor, breathing haphazardly.
It takes a while for his breathing to even out, and when it finally does he forces himself to sit up and examine the room. The room is large, the windows only making the attic seem airier. Huge chests covered with a plastic sheet, sit in the left corner of the room. A door is on the right that probably leads to the bathroom with a wall clock on top of the door. And in the centre, a singular mattress has been splayed out with a bedding sheet and a thin blanket.
Other than that, there is nothing else in the room. His room downstairs didn’t have much either, the walls were muted grey and there was no decoration in the room beyond a singular fake plant that he had placed on his desk and the newspaper cutouts of his mother that he had pasted on the board behind his desk. But even then, that room looked complete. This room– The attic, it looked empty.
It felt empty.
He felt empty.
Notes:
well now thankfully we can put cosmic matters to the back for a while (everything to be revealed in due time), cuz it's *checks notes* all adrien centric for the next ten chapter :))). the first few chapters are much more rough but bear with me.
(also for some reason ao3 is lagging or smthng cuz I have to manually change the posting date to today cuz it keeps on setting publication date to 18th march???? any idea how to fix that)
Chapter 5: hope
Notes:
cw. oof, this one’s a little rough. Child Abuse. It’s worse than the last one.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
an endless void,
full of vague terror;
where to,
who knows?
It takes Adrien a while to get up from the mattress the next day. The world seems to spin, with every step he takes, and he cautiously makes his way to the bathroom. It’s cramped but it has all the toiletries in place, but Adrien ignores all of that to instead open the tap in the sink, cup the flowing water in his hands and drink, down his parched throat.
Feeling better, Adrien busies himself and quickly gets ready, changing out of his pajamas. Once back in the same pair of rumpled shirt and trousers he wore yesterday, because he had only worn it yesterday afternoon so it should not be an issue to re-wear it, Adrien settles down on the floor of the attic. His classes do not start till two, so what is he supposed to do till then?
After a bit of contemplating, he decides to simply open his bag and take out all of his belongings and arrange them in the attic to make it look more like a room, than well… an attic. He takes out his school books and places them at the side of one of the windows. That shall be his study place!
He takes out his clothes and stashes them at the right side of the room, a little further from the bathroom door. That is now his impromptu closet!
The last thing left in his bag is the shoebox in which family photos and other of his most prized possessions are. Adrien scans the attic looking for a place to put this box. He wanted it somewhere hidden, where nobody could find it and take it away from him. Like the DVDs of his mother’s movies that father had taken away after the first complaint from one of his tutors.
Adrien knew he deserved that punishment and that whatever his father did was in his best interest. But, he brings the box close to his chest and hears the things inside the box rattle at the movement, he really doesn’t want father to take this away as punishment. Because once father takes away something, he never gives it back.
Father can take away everything else, just not this.
Standing up, with a firmer resolve and slight guilt, Adrien goes to the bathroom hoping there might be some place he could hide the box in, but there was none. Head down in disappointment, Adrien trudges out of the bathroom, box in hand.
Sighing he looks around the room again, and well there is no place to hide it in. Except maybe those large trunks at the side. But those were probably prohibited for him to touch. Adrien should steer clear from them. He looks down at the box in his arms.
Well… He wasn’t told explicitly that the chests were off-limits.
A little hesitant, Adrien makes his way to the chests on the left side of the room. He puts down the box on the ground, taking the plastic sheet covering the chests in his hands. There’s a momentary pause, where he turns around scanning the room, almost expecting someone to catch him red handed, but there’s nothing but silence.
With a deep breath in, Adrien pulls the sheet, dragging it down to the ground. It’s pretty huge, covering a lot of expanse of the floor beside his feet. He looks up at the grey trunks in front of him, and realizes the new issue at hand.
There are five trunks, and four out of five of them have big padlocks. And the fifth, he looks up warily, is placed on top of one of the trunks, clearly out of his reach, given that his head barely comes up to the top of the huge trunks on the floor. Frowning, Adrien takes a step back, falling short of any possible way to reach the trunk.
He could climb on one of the trunks on the floor and then open the trunk on the top. But, the question is how?
Putting his treasured shoebox on top of the bottom trunk, Adrien turns back towards the rest of the attic in hopes that there might be something he could use as a step stool to get up. He used to have one in his bedroom downstairs but he couldn’t really use that anymore. He stares at the expanse of the attic, lips pursed at the lack of anything that could be used.
There’s his bag, his clothes, the mattress and his book–
Eyes widening, Adrien quickly runs and grabs the pile of heavy books and brings them over, piling them in front of the trunk. Carefully, he steps on the books, wincing a little because those were his study books, he really shouldn’t be treating them like this. And yet, he continues on, climbing onto the trunk using the wobbly pile of books as leverage.
He feels very tall once on top of the trunk. It’s weird, that he lives in a mansion and is on the top most floor but that doesn’t make him feel tall but standing on top of a chest does. He has never done this before, and he is sure that this is improper behavior, unbefitting of the Agreste name. But, despite all that, Adrien feels excitement, to see the world from this perspective.
He supposes this is the kind of view a person has if they are tall. Adrien likes it like this; he’d like to be taller.
Turning back to the large trunk beside him, Adrien now moves to open the large trunk, it's heavy and he has to stand on his tippy toes to be able to push the lid back, and he feels hungry. It takes him a while of pushing the lid back as much as he can – even as his arms and feet hurt and he feels scared of the lid falling down on his hands and crushing his fingers – before the lid falls back entirely.
Heaving a little, Adrien turns around and picks up his shoe box and quickly takes it to the trunk. It is very much filled, to the point that multiple books and scrolls are piled up to the top of the trunk. He has to move the stuff around a little, to make some space hidden between the corners for him to stuff his shoebox in.
Once satisfied with his hiding space, Adrien moves around over the trunks that he is standing on and makes his way to the back of the trunk and pushes the lid forward. There’s a loud thunk that has him closing his eyes and covering his ears, and then the trunk is closed. With his mission now complete, Adrien makes his way back to where he climbed on top of the trunk from, only to halt in his steps when he notices a scroll lying on the trunk.
It must have slipped out as he was rummaging around the trunk. Adrien picks the scroll up and then looks at the trunk that took him so much effort to open, and is now closed. Opening the scroll, Adrien finds that beside a few stars and circles and some letters the scroll doesn’t seem to have anything necessarily important. He could draw these shapes better! Hence, it shouldn’t be that important to put it back in the trunk.
‘Well, the scroll will stay with me then.’ Adrien thinks, as he tries to get off the trunk with the scroll stuffed in his trouser pocket when the pile of books under him wobbles and he stumbles to the ground. He lands badly, his head hitting the floor hard and he hunches into himself, holding his head as the pain rolls in.
The pain is sharp and forceful and it stings so bad and it only seems to increase the lightheadedness that he already is facing. It hurts, but Adrien bites his lips, and steels himself. He won’t cry. He is stronger than that.
But, it hurts so much.
So, for a while, Adrien lies there on the floor waiting for the pain to ease out into a dull thrum that he could ignore. After that, he gets up and goes to the bathroom putting his head under the tap, holding both sides of the sinks to stop himself from falling. The water feels nice, it’s cool and soothing and his head hurts less.
He only just steps out of the bathroom, his hair and the top half of his shirt still wet, when he hears a knock and then the door to the attic opens. Adrien quickly flips his head around, his shoulders tensing as he stands up straighter, only to see M. Reimund standing there.
The man takes one look at his drenching form, before pursing his lips. “Your science teacher has arrived.”
Adrien nods hastily, quickly moving to grab another shirt to change into. M. Reimund stands at the attic door as he quickly readies himself. He grabs the Science and English notebooks from the scattered pile beside the trunk and hurries over to M. Reimund who during all of this doesn’t make a single noise of irritation at Adrien for being slow.
The man simply nods and leads him down the stairs. Adrien is about to hurry to his previous bedroom for his class, when M. Reimund calls out to him.
“A moment… sire.” The man approaches close to him, and out of habit Adrien flinches, but M. Reimund only touches his hair lightly, pushing the wet curls out of his forehead.
“Thank you.” Adrien mumbles and M. Reimund smiles before holding and squeezing his hand a little. And then he leaves. Adrien opens the palm of his hand to find a small bar of chocolate inside. His stomach growls at the side of food, but he simply stuffs it in his pocket. He has a class right now, Mme. Mendeleiev would not appreciate his tardiness.
.
“Tuh tuh tuh.” Mme. Mendeleiev tuts in disappointment. “You are nearly ten minutes late to your lesson, Adrien.”
Bowing slightly – because unlike his father, Mme. Mendeleiev did not appreciate him looking at her, because apparently it was disrespectful – Adrien apologised. “I apologise for the tardiness, Mme. Mendeleiev. Due to the change in my bedroom, it took a while for me to be informed and prepare for my lesson.”
“Ah, yes.” The woman sniffs haughtily, “I heard from your father about you being given a much smaller bedroom with less distractions to keep you more focused on your studies.” Adrien frowns at the words, because the attic wasn’t that small.
“While I personally think that is a questionable approach at best, did you go through your course reading for today?” Mme. Mendeleiev finishes.
Adrien squeezes the books closer to his chest, his eyes still fixed to the ground. He hadn’t studied it beyond the ten-minute read he did before Miss Katherine had arrived, he had been too tired to be able to do anything yesterday. But, that reason isn’t going to go over well with his tutor.
“I did try. However, I couldn’t really understand the concept well enough.” Adrien ends up saying because he did study a little but not enough, and he feels extremely guilty doing it. He has done a lot of wrong things today, but he really doesn’t want more punishment right now.
The excuse is believable enough for Mme. Mendeleiev who gestures to the seat beside her for Adrien to sit on. “Well, that is alright. Even my fourth-grade students struggle with Forces, I just need you to at least try, now then let’s begin.” And thus, the class begins. It’s long and a lot of the concepts that Mme. Mendeleiev ends up covering, fly right past his head. But, he nods and takes notes dutifully, making a resolute promise to himself to revise everything tonight, no matter what.
The class ends on a satisfactory note and Mme. Mendeleiev even smiles saying that she’ll let his father know of his improved performance.
Huh– maybe he will get a proper meal tonight.
Determined to ensure that happens, Adrien waits for Miss Katherine to come. He passes the time by reading through his English notes, only to pause once he remembers the assignment she had given him for today. He was supposed to write an essay, and he forgot to do it.
oh no oh no oh no
he can’t finish it in such a small amount of time
oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
his father will be so
mad
disappointed
oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no
oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh
he is scared
no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh n–
“Good afternoon, Adrien.” He snaps his head around, heart jumping in his chest and his palms unbelievably sweaty. The headache has returned full force and he feels light headed.
“Good afternoon, Miss Katherine.” He is barely able to muster out. Miss Katherine simply nods, as she places her bag on the ground, settling onto the chair. Miss Katherine takes feedback over his assignments towards the end of the lesson. He can only hope, she forgets it today.
“Now then,” Miss Katherine says as she takes out a book from her bag. “Since you are still struggling with past tenses, I figured we should try a different approach.”
Adrien blinks, looking at his teacher confused. She opens the book and puts it in front of him. “We haven’t done reading in quite a while. So that’s what we are going to do today. What I want you to do is identify any verb in the past tense in the novel, alright?”
Nodding, Adrien scoots his chair closer to the desk. Most of the time, both in French and English lessons he was made to read essays or reports, not novels. He has read picture book stories before but that was when he was way younger.
Carefully, Adrien begins to read the title of the book aloud. “Bridge to Ter–Tera–Teb.”
“Terabithia.” His teacher ends up saying it for him. He nods, pronouncing the word again. And then he begins reading the book, his pace is very slow as he struggles with understanding and pronouncing each word. But the story’s interesting. Learning about Jess’s school and home life, both being so vastly different from his, is intriguing
and makes him envious
.
But what really captures his attention is when he meets Leslie and their interactions. Friends, Miss Katherine calls them when they finish the fourth chapter and close the book for the day. And Adrien knows what they are. Of course, he does. But reading is different from knowing.
He’d like a friend. A friend he can also talk to, like Jess can with Leslie. Of course, he cannot get one, but he can hope.
“Adrien, did you finish the essay that I assigned you?”
.
.
.
Hope, he is learning is pointless.
.
He is standing back in his father’s office, eyes up straight looking directly at his father. Who once again is sitting on his chair behind his desk, staring at him.
“Adrien.” His father says.
“Father.” He acknowledges in return, standing up straighter, arms behind his back.
“Is it too much to ask you to behave well for once?” His father says standing up. “Must you disappoint me every time?”
“Father, I apologise. It was a mistake on my part.” He says, his voice wavering as his father approaches him.
He is angry disappointed angry. Father is angry.
“Mistake?” His father says, voice lowering and Adrien realises that was the wrong thing to say. “All you are making are mistakes these days.”
“I had to receive a call while I was at work from your teacher complaining furiously at your inability to take her seriously.” Father’s voice raises with each word and Adrien flinches but still looks up ahead. “Do you think you are above everything?”
“No, Father.” He mutters out. He swallows down the forming lump in his throat, threatening to slip out as a sob.
“Do you think the Agreste name is something to take lightly? To disrespect? To tarnish?”
“Never, Father.” He says. The Agreste name is to be held up high, to be honoured. It is his privilege to be an Agreste, he would never dare try to disrespect it. His father stares at him for a moment, and then his hand raises.
“Then why do your actions prove otherwise?”
And Adrien is on the floor once more, like yesterday, his cheek throbbing. But his father isn’t done yet.
“Stand up.” He orders. And there’s a moment where Adrien hesitates, because he knows what’s coming. And he’s a coward who shies away from punishment that he deserves. His father catches that second of hesitance, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt to drag him up.
“And now you are taking my orders lightly?” His father says, as Adrien is standing up once more, cheek red, legs trembling, eyes watering and his head hurting. “Does disobedience make you feel superior?”
“No, Father.” He forces out. Adrien watches as his father’s hand raises once more, and it is funny how many times he has been on the receiving end of his ire, but Adrien has never learned to be able to withstand the force hitting across his face to stay upright.
“One more complaint, Adrien.” His father warns. “And you shall face severe consequences.” Adrien nods looking up at his father from the floor, his heart pounding against his ribcage, both his cheeks aching, his nose bleeding and his head so severely light headed.
It hurts.
He gets up. “Thank you for your generosity. Father.” His father barely acknowledges him as he settles back down on his desk looking through other reports, as if Adrien isn’t there anymore.
It hurts. It hurts.
Adrien manages to stand up, stumbling as his feet do not seem to follow his command. He walks out of the office, and comes face to face with Mlle. Garnier, whose eyes widen when she sees him.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
“You–” She begins but Adrien runs. It's un-Agreste like. It is improper as his etiquette instructor would say. He can only hope she doesn’t tell his father about it. But, he isn’t sure if hope even matters.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
Rushing his way up the staircase, Adrien trips a little, managing to catch himself by holding on to the railing, before continuing on reaching the attic room. It's almost night, the room is dark and cold, with only the light coming from outside the window, bringing any brightness to his room. But it’s comforting, more so than the bright lights in his father’s office.
It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts. It hurts.
Adrien closes the door of the attic behind him and settles down on the floor. To catch his breath, to stabilise his heartbeat, before he begins his assignments that is. He has to study, to be better, so that his father would not be angry with him anymore. He has to study because his father has given him one last chance.
Is it a last chance? Hasn’t he already faced consequences?
His face is wet, from his nose bleed so Adrien moves to clean it only to find his cheeks damp and why are his cheeks damp, why are his eyes watering and oh–
He is crying.
And once he realises that, the tears don’t stop. His body is shaking as sobs rack through and he tries to swallow down the ugly noises that leave his throat but it's uncontrollable and he is just so sad .
He hoped that this day would get better. He had hoped for a full meal tonight. He had hoped that his father would be happy. He had even hoped for a friend.
Nothing really came true.
Hope, as it turns out, doesn’t exist.
And that makes him cry harder. And for a while that’s all he can do, cry in the dark empty attic, isolated and alone. Crying doesn’t make him feel better like his mother used to say when he was younger, it only makes him even sadder and lonelier, but for some reason, despite knowing all that he isn’t able to stop.
It is only much later, when he is so tired that he feels himself slip in and out of consciousness that the tears stop. His head feels so heavy, and his body so tired that Adrien wants to pass out in front of the attic door.
But he has to study, he can’t fall asleep yet. He moves to take out a tissue paper from his pants to wipe his face, even as his hands feel limp. But as he rummages through his pockets, all that comes out is that scroll, that tooth rolled up in a tissue paper and the bar of chocolate.
He should move, to clean himself up in the bathroom. But his body refuses to listen, so Adrien uses the rolled-up tissue paper to wipe away the caked-up blood around his nose, before discarding it next to the scroll that he has laid down on the floor in front of him.
Adrien eyes the chocolate bar, before letting it slip and fall beside him as well. He feels tired, he wants to close his eyes and never wake up. Maybe even go to wherever his mother, uncle and Nathalie are.
He lies down on the floor beside the scroll and balled up tissue paper with his tooth inside, and there are tiny stars forming in front of his eyes. He reaches his hand out to catch one, but his hand only falls in front of him, over the scroll.
He can barely hear the sound of his heartbeat, everything around him is static, and his body feels light. It feels oddly nice, as if once his eyes close, everything will cease to exist. It will be alright. His eyelids droop low and Adrien is ready to let it all go.
Except it would have been nice to have someone with him right now. His mother, who would have sung him lullabies. Or a friend.
But, this is fine.
And Adrien Agreste closes
His eyes one last time,
Ready for Death to take him.
.
.
.
.
Only.
.
.
.
.
There’s a flash that Adrien can see even with his eyes closed, and Adrien feels arms around him, which is weird because nobody around him does that anymore. But, he cannot find it in himself to fight it or get up from the arms that hold him against something. A chest, maybe, but there’s no heartbeat.
Adrien peers his eyes open and comes to face golden eyes with black pupils in the middle. The man who is holding him has long pitch-black hair that drape across his shoulders and fall far below what Adrien can see. The man has sharp features and skin that shimmer, almost translucent white. There’s something about the air around him that feels terrifying, but Adrien finds the man beautiful.
The man looks down at him, peering at him, eyebrows raised. And Adrien has never met the man before, but even in his less than conscious state or perhaps because of his half unconscious state, Adrien knows who this man is.
He knows this man so personally, despite never having met him. He knows this is the man who took his mother, his uncle, Nathalie. And now he is here to take him. And Adrien doesn’t mind. It’d be nice to have someone with him right now. In fact,
“Death.” He says, rather than asks the name of the man. His tongue is parched and his voice comes out weak.
The man smiles, all sharp teeth that are supposed to be terrifying but remind Adrien of a cat instead. His father looks scarier without smiling.
“Yes, child. You have summoned me.” Death says and his voice is low, it reminds him of oceans and stormy skies. “What is it that you want from me?”
And Adrien is already ready to drift back to the dark void that he saw with his eyes closed. But, he wants someone with him there, in that empty space. And Death is asking him, even if all Adrien has ever seen him do is take. So, if he is offering, and if Adrien is already dying then there’s no harm in asking.
So, with all the courage that he could muster in his body, Adrien asks Death.
“Will you be my friend?”
And then his eyes close.
Notes:
While Life is (sort of) hyperpigmented in human form, Death is THE DEATHLY PALE, translucent as Adrien said. I am talking paper white, no pigmentation whatsoever because he is the state of ‘deathly pale’ rather than being deathly pale. It's like how Death is akin to darkness so in outer space he is the darkest (pitch black) being in existence.
for anyone wondering, (probably not) but this is adrien's class schedule
Monday – English, Science
Tuesday – Science, Math, English
Wednesday – Math, Science, Social Studies, French
Thursday – Math, Science, Social Studies, French
Friday – Math, Science, Piano, French
Saturday – Piano
Chapter 6: till death do us part
Notes:
cw. references to child abuse, some signs of the beginning of a panic attack
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Can Death be your friend?
Never.
When Adrien opens his eyes, he expects something else. Maybe endless darkness, maybe blinding white, maybe large open fields and clear blue skies. He had hoped he would see his mother.
But, no. It’s the attic. He is lying on the mattress in the attic, with daylight peeking through the windows. He blinks, staring at the ceiling in confusion. Do people’s spirits just stay in the room where they died even after death? Or perhaps, his mouth turned downwards, he didn’t die.
But, he did remember seeing Death. Or was he just hallucinating?
Sighing, Adrien turns to his side, looking down at the mattress. “That sucks.” He mumbles.
“What sucks?” A deep voice calls out, and Adrien freezes before looking up and seeing Death sitting next to his mattress, eyeing him curiously with a chocolate bar in hand that he has half eaten.
His first thought is to scream, but his second more prominent thought is, “That’s mine.” He points to the chocolate as he slowly sits up straight, wincing at the headache. Shouldn’t being dead mean no more pain?
Death looks at the chocolate bar in his hand, then at Adrien before taking another bite. “I am taking this as compensation for your wish. And for the fact that you summoned me and then passed out.”
“I summoned you?” Adrien asks, eyebrows furrowing. “Am I not dead?”
Death raises an eyebrow. “Of course not. You were injured and tired but no way near your end. I healed you.”
And disappointment fills through Adrien’s stomach. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy. It's not that he wants to die, he hadn’t even thought about it ever but… last night, he hadn’t really minded that. Welcomed it, in fact.
Death seems to notice his change in demeanour, as he sits cross legged, face squished against one of his palms as he stares at him, an eyebrow raised. “You do not look very happy about me healing you.” At Adrien’s lack of answer, he continues. “Do you want me to just kill you? I can make it painless.” He says, black matter dancing on his hand as he bares all sharp teeth.
“Can you?” Adrien asks hopefully, leaning forward.
And Death blinks, looking at him surprised. He tilts his head, staring at him. “How old are you?”
“Seven. I turn eight in December.” Adrien responds and Death frowns at his answer. And did Adrien say something wrong again?
“Even for mortals that is a very young age.” He states. “And you wish to die?”
Death’s voice sounds incredulous, as if Adrien’s words were the most ridiculous thing he has ever heard. Adrien shifts uncomfortably. With the way Death is looking at him, Adrien knows that the answering yes would not go over too well.
And yet, Adrien nods slowly, carefully, keeping an eye on the man for the moment he gets angry at Adrien as well. And he sees it, as Death’s eyes widen, and then his eyebrows furrow and his jaw sets. Death is angry. At him.
Adrien braces himself for whatever punishment that is about to come, but there is nothing. Death just leans back one of his hands going to pinch the bridge of his nose as he sighs. “Of all the things you could want from me, you want death?”
“Is death hard to grant?” Adrien asks boldly, seeing that the man had yet to harm him. He feels confused at the man’s reaction, he is Death. Isn’t this normal for him?
Death simply shakes his head. “Of course it isn’t. I just don’t want to take your life.”
“But you take people all the time.” Adrien argues. “You took my mother, my uncle, and Nathalie.”
“It was their time to leave.” Death waves his hand carelessly, as if their deaths were one of many, as if all three of them weren’t people, Adrien cared deeply about.
“Then, why not me?” Adrien questions, feeling angry at Death.
The man simply stares at him, before shrugging. “Because I said so.”
“That’s not fair.” Adrien argues, moving to stand up, and make his way to the man who is so adamant on not doing anything to help Adrien. Adrien had asked for one simple thing, one thing that Death should be able to do instinctually. Something that Death has done before to tear down his family. “Why can’t you do this for me?”
Death simply stares at him, as Adrien stands looking at the man angrily, fists forming at his side. He doesn’t say anything. “You said you’d grant me a wish.” He stumbles a little, his feet still unsteady and Death moves forward grabbing him and bringing him down to settle down on the mattress again.
“Just because I ensured you lived, doesn’t mean you are entirely healed. Settle down.” Death states. “And, I already did grant your wish.”
And Adrien pauses, because he doesn’t remember making a wish to Death. He blinks at the man confused. “I did not make a wish.” He ends up saying.
“You did.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
“Did not.”
“Did.”
And Adrien sighs. Death didn’t look even the least perturbed or tired of this conversation. In fact, he looked ready to continue on. So, Adrien has to be the bigger man, and break away from the childish fight to ask. “What did I wish for?”
“A friend.”
Adrien blinks, little hazy bits of memory flicking past from last night, about him lying in Death’s arms and asking him something before he passed out.
“So, where’s the friend?” Adrien asks, looking around his room.
“Already here.” Death says, and Adrien stares at the man who points to himself. “Me.”
Adrien stares at the man in front of him who is more than triple his size, who is looking down at him all serious looking like every other adult he knows. Who has a sharp smile and glinting eyes and looks every bit unapproachable. Who looks like he wouldn’t know how to do magic tricks like Felix, give warm hugs like Nathalie, tell stories like his uncle and aunt, and sing songs like his mother.
“No.” He declares.
Death raises an eyebrow at him. “No?” He questions.
“I don’t want you as a friend.” He states firmly.
“But you asked me to.”
“That was before, now is now.” Adrien says resolutely.
“Why?” Death asks, tilting his head curiously.
Adrien scrunches his nose, trying a way to gently explain to Death about why he wouldn’t make a good friend. “You don’t look… like a friend?”
Death seems to look confused at the statement. “What does a friend look like?”
“Huggable and kind and fun?” Adrien says, unsure. He hasn’t really had any friends to know what exactly makes a friend.
“Those are the qualities of a friend.” Death states. “Not the appearance of one.”
“Well…” Adrien feels stumped. “I don’t know. But you are not a friend.”
Death pauses, simply watching him and Adrien just shifts uncomfortably. He really doesn’t know what to do and Death is sitting in front of him, peering down at him with his golden eyes and–
Growl.
There’s a moment of silence in the room as Death stares at him and Adrien flushes, covering his stomach as he brings his knees closer to his chest. The man in front of him tilts his head.
“Are you hungry?”
Pursing his lips, Adrien looks down. He nods. The man in front of him waves his hand and the discarded wrapper of the chocolate bar on the floor floats up. Chocolate magically appears as the wrapper wraps around the chocolate bar before it falls into Death’s hands, looking entirely brand new. Death extends the chocolate bar in his direction, but Adrien just looks at the chocolate bar and then at the man.
“The wrapper is dirty.” Adrien points out. “It was on the floor.”
Raising an eyebrow, Death shakes the chocolate bar in his hand and the wrapper disappears and then reappears. “Is this fine now?” The man asks.
Adrien nods even if he isn’t sure it makes a difference, but still doesn’t move to take the bar. At Death’s questioning glance, Adrien fiddles with his shirt’s sleeve, looking down. “I am not allowed to eat.”
“But you are hungry.” Death states.
“It is a punishment.” Adrien explains. “I am supposed to be hungry.”
Death hums, taking away his hand as he leans back. “That is incorrigibly stupid.” But the punishment is not stupid. His father gave him the punishment. And–
“My father is not stupid.” Adrien glares at the man. Everything his father does is for his sake. To make him better.
“Your father?” Death asks. “He punished you?”
At Adrien’s nod, Death questions. “Why?”
Adrien looks down at the question. It feels embarrassing to explain how many mistakes Adrien had made, leading up to his father having no choice but to punish him. “I… I got a bad grade in French.”
“And?” Death asks. Adrien looks up at the man, who tilts his head, his long hair falling onto his shoulder. “That’s it?”
And Adrien blinks as the words sink in and then he feels mad. “It’s not it . It’s a big deal!” Death still looks fully unbothered at the outburst and Adrien doesn’t understand what it is about this man that sets him on edge. He inhales sharply. He should ignore Death, he can do whatever he wants, but Adrien has other things to do.
Like his assignments.
He freezes. Oh no.
He quickly whips his head around to look at the time. It’s nearly 12. His classes on Tuesday start at 1. And he still hasn’t finished his English assignment. Standing up, Adrien is about to rush to the side where his books are scattered near the chests, only to remember that he hadn’t brought the English and Science notebooks from the room downstairs. He is not allowed to go downstairs unless he is told to.
And it shouldn’t scare him as much as it does. He has seen Death. But–
(“One more complaint, Adrien.” His father warns, his eyes cold and distant. “And you shall face severe consequences.”
It’s a promise.
One that he knows his father will see through to the end.)
He is scared.
He is scared.
He is scared.
A hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Adrien flinches, taking a step back. Death retracts his hand. “You should sit down.” The man suggests. “You are shaking.”
He is not. He is fine. He looks down at his hands and they are trembling. His breathing is shaky and his heart is pounding loudly against his ribcage. He tries to settle down but his legs give under him and he would have fallen on the ground if not for Death waving a hand to help him float.
It’s a weird feeling of weightlessness, where his brain tells him that he is about to fall but his limbs feel safely secured in the somehow tangible particles of air that feel plushily soft around him, like an almost warm embrace.
Beside him, Death sits on the floor looking at him with barely concealed amusement as Adrien moves his body trying to sit upright. Death waves his hand once more and he feels pressure on his back that helps him sit up in the air. Once in a much more secure position, Adrien peers down and finds that he is taller than the huge chests now.
“Whoa.” Is all Adrien is able to say.
“Whoa indeed.” Death agrees. “Are you alright now?”
Adrien blinks, surprised at the question. He looks down at his hands which had stopped trembling and breathing didn’t feel difficult anymore. He is alright. He nods.
Death seems pleased with the answer as he waves his hand and the chocolate bar that lay at the side of his bed floats up to Adrien. “You should eat it.” When Adrien moves to protest, Death shakes his head. “That punishment is utterly ridiculous. From my understanding, food is a basic necessity that mortals need. You need to eat it.”
(He’s sitting in the dining hall. The chef has long left. A singular fork and knife clinks and clanks as his father cuts his steak and takes a bite.
Adrien’s stomach growls. But his father hasn’t told him to eat yet. He wouldn’t be letting him eat tonight. His score in French had dropped again.
Later when the chef will come to clear the plates his father will give reason about Adrien’s ‘tantrum’ to explain his empty plate and Adrien would duck his head, lest he cry.
He does his best on the French test the next day.)
“But that’s the point of a punishment.” Adrien protests.
“What is the point of punishment?” Death asks.
“To improve.” Adrien answers, reciting the words father had told him before many times. “To be better.”
“And not eating will make you better?”
“Yes.” Adrien says resolutely.
“Are you better?”
Adrien frowns at the question. Of course, the answer should be yes. Punishments are there to correct him. They help him be better.
‘Do they?’
He hasn’t improved in French since his meals were stopped. In fact, he feels more tired and thus is unable to study more.
“I… don’t know.” Adrien answers and Death takes that as a sign to push the chocolate closer to him.
“Then eat.” Death says. “It’ll make you better.”
“Chocolate will?” Adrien frowns looking at the man who nods solemnly. So, he hesitantly takes the floating chocolate bar. When he struggles to open it, Death just moves his hand and the chocolate unwraps.
Adrien stares at the milk chocolate in hand and then at Death who nods encouragingly, and after a moment of deliberation, Adrien does take a bite. Albeit a small one.
But even though he barely nicked the side of the bar; the sweet taste fills his mouth. He has eaten chocolate before, at a gala last winter where his father had let him eat dessert. That melted chocolate had been rich and creamy as it flowed out of the lava cake. This bar of milk chocolate isn’t as sweet or as creamy as that one. And yet, it’s delicious. As Adrien takes one bite after another.
Before long, the bar is finished and Adrien has melted chocolate on the pads of his fingers. He thinks to lick them, but his etiquette instructor had taught him otherwise. So, he turns to Death who only hums as he waves his hand once more and Adrien’s hands become spotless once more.
“So, do you feel better?” Death asks. And Adrien nods, he is still hungry but he feels infinitely better now and he feels energised.
“Thank you.” He says to the man. “But, can you put me down? I need to drink water.”
Death tilts his head as if contemplating, before snapping his fingers. A large water bubble floats out of the bathroom up to where Adrien is sitting in the air. It’s fascinating how the bubble is able to hold its shape, with water inside swirling around. Curiously, Adrien reaches his hand up and probes the bubble with his finger.
Instead of popping like a normal bubble, the water bubble only scatters into smaller bubbles floating in the air. Adrien reaches out and pokes the smaller bubbles and they break into even smaller bubbles and now Adrien is surrounded by bubbles that whizz around him.
Death watches him, before waving his hand making one of the smaller bubbles float up to his nose. The bubble barely touches his nose before it pops but unlike the others where they split into smaller ones, this bubble explodes and water falls onto him. It’s so sudden, and he is drenched and Adrien looks up at Death who just shrugs at him, and Adrien laughs.
It’s tiny delighted chortles that leave his throat as he bends into himself, giggling.
Death raises a curious brow at him, to which Adrien replies by pointing to his wet clothes. “The bubble popped!”
“I see.” Death says, and with a swish of his hand more bubbles of water come from the bathroom and soon there are thousands of bubbles floating around him and the sunlight in his room reflects on the bubbles and then there are rainbows in his room. It’s pretty. Adrien reaches his hand out to pop one bubble, then another. There are tiny ‘pop’ sounds as the bubble explodes and the water spills. It’s fun.
Adrien is about to pop another one, when his eyes land on Death who is still sitting on the floor, silently watching him. He has a little quirk to his lips. It’s not exactly a smile, but it's something close to it. Though, Adrien doubts Death knows of this.
Sort of waddling in the air, Adrien makes his way toward the man, who looks at him curiously. Feeling unnaturally bold, Adrien reaches his hand out and pokes the bubble right on top of Death’s hair.
It explodes and water falls on top of Death. Death looks up at him, and well, there’s a limit to how much bold Adrien can be. Death’s face becomes expressionless, and Adrien is sure he messed up. The man raises a hand up towards Adrien, and out of habit Adrien tenses up, but then Death pops a bubble next to Adrien and it splashes on his face.
Adrien blinks confused. And Death simply states. “The bubble popped.” And then before Adrien can really register anything properly, Death pops another water bubble near Adrien’s head. And it is when he reaches his hand to pop a third one, that Adrien begins to move, quickly shuffling out of the way.
Death waves his hand and a few water bubbles collide with him, popping. And Adrien turns towards the man, trying to glare but failing badly with the large grin donning his face. “That’s cheating.”
“Is it?” Death asks innocently, as he points his finger and more bubbles burst around Adrien.
“Hey!” Adrien exclaims, curling into himself. He glares at the man in front of him, who looks fully unperturbed and waddles back near to Death, and begins bursting bubbles around Death, laughing as Death’s hair gets wet and he shakes his head trying to get tiny droplets away.
Death’s eyes are on him and they are expressionless once more, but this time Adrien knows that he isn’t going to do anything beyond exploding bubbles around him.
And, perhaps, Adrien can admit, Death isn’t that bad.
In fact, Adrien would like to continue playing like this for a while. Until his classes start, and oh. His mood sours instantly. Death seems to notice. “Your mood changed again.” He observes.
“I have classes in less than half an hour. There are assignments I haven’t finished yet.” Adrien explains, fidgeting nervously as he looks down into his lap. Feeling readily guilty for not studying right now. “I’ll be in trouble for not completing my work.”
“Will you be punished?” Death asks.
Wincing, Adrien nods.
“What are their names?” Death questions once more. Adrien frowns at the question but still replies slowly. “Mme. Olga Mendeleiev and Miss Katherine Wilson.”
Death snaps his fingers. There’s a moment of silence, and then Death nods. “You have nothing to worry about anymore.”
“Huh?” With furrowed eyebrows, Adrien looks at the man, who simply directs the many floating bubbles into a long ribbon like structure. The weightlessness that held Adrien upright, gradually disappears and Adrien slowly settles back down onto his mattress.
“You are still thirsty, correct?” Death asks as he brings one end of the stream of water close to Adrien, who nods at the question. “Then, drink.” The man says as he conjures a plastic cup out of seemingly nowhere and fills it with water.
He then floats the cup to Adrien, who takes it gratefully and downs it down. “Thank you.” Adrien says gratefully after finishing his drink. Death nods, vanishing the cup. Adrien smiles and is about to request more bubbles, when.
A knock sounds on the door and then the door opens. There’s a moment of panic, where Adrien worries what will happen if someone happens to see Death, but then M. Reimund steps in and there’s nobody in the room but Adrien.
“I have been told to inform you that your classes have been cancelled for today.”
“Oh, umm okay.” Adrien mutters hastily. “Is everything alright?”
M. Reimund hesitates for a second, his mouth pulling into a grimace before he shakes his head. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with, sire. Also,” He bends down and puts down his Science and English notebooks at the side of the door. “Your books were left downstairs. I figured you might need them. And,” M. Reimund hesitates before he looks at Adrien directly, "I'll be bringing you your meal in about half an hour.”
“Ah– yes. Thank you.” Adrien says, and M. Reimund smiles as he gives a little nod before leaving. Death appears again the moment the door closes. The man looks at him, golden eyes gleaming proudly.
“See?” He says as he folds his arms across his chest.
Nodding, Adrien stands up and makes his way to Death. Maybe, Death will not appreciate Adrien touching him when he’s so drenched, but nevertheless.
Adrien hugs Death.
His arms wrap around the man’s neck. Adrien has to stand on his tippy toes to be able to do so and Death stiffens at the touch. Death doesn’t reciprocate the hug, but he doesn’t push him away either and that is enough for Adrien.
“Thank you.” He whispers. And Death hums before he replies.
“You’re welcome.”
Can Death be your friend?
Maybe.
Notes:
Death when he first meets Adrien: *all growly and trying to be scary*
Death two minutes in, realising that the kid was severely traumatised who somehow wasn’t scared of him: okay child, do you want bubbles? What about chocolate?Bubbles and chocolate, the best part of childhood fr. Like this chapter had me giggling and kicking my feet in joy. Also, Gabriel my dude, what are you doing, that your kid feels safer with Death like two hours after talking to him. Pleaseeee. Death bouta file for custody at this rate
Also Death tilting his head every three minute like a cat is just- I had to do it.
Chapter 7: names hold power, unlike any other
Summary:
death gets a name
Notes:
cw. this is a pretty tame chapter. I mean beyond the very teeniest reference to child abuse, there’s nothing bad.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
what would I choose if I had my own way,
closer to the pulse?
Today, in Adrien’s opinion, had been the best day he had since the family gathering when he was four. He got to float, play with bubbles and he had no classes! And he even managed to finish all his assignments. And it was all thanks to Death. Which is weird to say or think. And that is why,
“Is Death really your name?” Adrien asks at night, as he lies on his mattress with Death sitting cross-legged at his side.
Death tilts his head a little, as he takes in the question. “I suppose. It is what I have been called since my existence.”
“But, Death is...” Adrien waves his hands in the air. “It’s not exactly a good name. Death is not nice. Nobody really likes it.”
“Thank you.” Death replies, his voice monotone.
“You’re welcome?” Adrien replies, unsure of what Death was thanking him for. “So, you don’t have any other name?”
“I don’t think so.” Death says. “Throughout the universe, Death is what I have been called as, albeit in different languages.”
Adrien nods, his mouth frowning. “But, Death is a common noun. Not a proper one. And names are proper nouns. Miss Katherine taught me so.”
“Then, I am the exception.” Death says simply.
And Adrien supposes that’s true. But, it still does not sit right with him. Death is not how Adrien imagined, and he sort of likes Death. Calling him the word, that he relates to the end of the people he holds dear, is something that settles uncomfortably in the bottom of his stomach, the longer he thinks about it.
Unaware of Adrien’s internal musings, Death instead twiddles with the moonlight peeking through the window. Somehow, his hands are able to hold the thin lines of light, and he moves his fingers cutting through the light making various circles and triangles from the light itself that are projected onto the wall in front of the window.
“How are you doing this?” Adrien questions, trying to do the same but only ends up with shadows of his hands.
“Because I can.” Death states, and Adrien isn’t really sure how much of an actual answer that is, but he doesn’t deliberate much on it. Because there are much more pressing matters at hand. Like,
“Can you make stars?” Adrien asks. Death tilts his head, before humming in affirmation, as he moves his finger cutting the light into a large circle. Adrien waits for him to continue, but Death just settles his hand at the side, finished with his work.
Adrien looks at the circle confused. “That’s not a star.”
“It is.”
“It’s not.” Adrien says defiantly, sitting up. And he would know. Because he used to have those glow-in-the-dark ones stuck on the ceiling of his old bedroom. The previous housekeeper took them off though, when he was cleaning the ceiling. He didn’t put them up again, and Adrien didn’t really have the courage to ask him where he put the stars. It took him a while to get used to sleeping without them.
“I have been through the entirety of the universe, this is how stars look like.” Death declares. Adrien can’t really fight with that, but still. Pursing his lips, Adrien turns away from Death and settles his gaze back at the big circle of light on the attic wall.
Silence hangs over them, but only for a moment or two. “How do your stars look like?” Death asks him.
Adrien pauses, considering. Stars are stars. He never really thought beyond it. But, if stars were to be described as something, then, stars look,
“Like magic.” Adrien decides. “My stars glow, but they do not shine white but dim neon green. And, they are on the ceiling instead of the walls. And they are shaped like this.” He raises his finger and clumsily tries to outline the shape of a five-pointed star.
Death replicates his hand movement, tracing his finger across the light, and then there are tiny neon green oddly shaped stars across his ceiling. They are crooked and bent and they are the wrong shade of neon green and a tad too dim. But, Adrien stares at them in awe.
“Your stars are strange.” Death notes.
“They are.” Adrien agrees, even as he rakes his eyes across the ceiling, still in disbelief. “But, they’re mine.” He says. These are the stars he put up with Nathalie. They are his stars and he finally got them back. He smiles.
Death peers down at him, before he turns to look at the stars himself.
“I suppose that is reason enough.” Death settles for. “You should lay back down now.”
Without really taking his eyes off the ceiling, Adrien leans back until his head rests back on the pillow. He stares at the ceiling for a while; Death having ‘magicked’ the stars to slowly move across the expanse of the ceiling makes it easier for him to give the stars his undivided attention.
It is after a while, Adrien isn’t really sure how long after, that his eyes begin to feel droopy, and Adrien yawns turning to his side. Death is still sitting there quietly, looking down at him. Adrien cannot really read his gaze, but it is not anger or disgust, so it is fine.
Adrien yawns once more, and he knows he is about to fall asleep. But, he can’t fall asleep before thanking Death! His eyes disagree though, as he has to forcefully blink to keep them open. It’s a struggle, but he has to do it. So, he can properly say thank you to Death for the best day in so long.
How can he properly say thank you to Death though?
In the galas he attended with father, many people gave father gifts as thank you, so maybe he should give Death one too. But, what?
His eyes drift close once more, and it takes more effort to keep them open.
What could be a gift that he could give to Death? Something that Death doesn’t have already.
Death.
Gift.
Sleep.
Death.
Gift.
Sleep.
Death.
Gift.
Oh.
“Death,” Adrien begins, his voice coming out in a low mumble, but Death hears him from the way he raises his eyebrows inquisitively.
“Can I give you a name?”
Adrien’s eyes close before he can hear Death’s answer, and this time he isn’t able to stop himself from falling asleep. But it’s fine. Death will be here in the morning, and they’ll talk this through and maybe Death will show him more magic.
For now, Adrien lets himself dream of chocolate bubbles and disfigured stars.
.
When Adrien does wake up the next morning, Death is nowhere to be seen.
.
.
.
There are times when Adrien confuses dreams with reality. Not much these days, but around the time when his mother died, he’d dream about his mother sitting next to him humming songs to help him fall asleep.
In the morning, he would wake up searching, asking everyone around the mansion where his mother was. His father would get angry, and Nathalie would whisk him away in her arms, slowly petting his hair, until Adrien finally remembers. And then he’d cry until Nathalie’s shoulder was wet and Adrien was tired enough to stop.
This reminds him of that.
He isn’t crying. But there’s bitter resignation that blankets over him. He couldn’t have imagined the whole thing, right?
The floating, the bubbles, the stars.
When he really thinks about it, those all do seem like a dream. Perhaps… perhaps he really did nearly die and everything was just a prolonged dream that he in his less than conscious state had decided was true.
And that makes sense. Much more sense than Death giving him chocolate to eat and water to drink. So, really. It was a dream.
…
…
…
.
For all it’s worth. Adrien decides. It was a pretty good dream.
.
And just like that, life should go on.
.
.
.
And it does go on.
Adrien wakes up in the morning, he brushes his teeth, washes his face and gets ready. And then sits waiting for his class to start. He sometimes does his assignments, sometimes he just stares at the clock, and sometimes he draws.
And every time, his drawings, that he draws on the back of his notebooks, resemble stars and bubbles, albeit with wobblier outlines. Because, unlike how he has learned to let go of most of the dreams he has, this one sticks.
He doesn’t really know why, and he doesn’t try to understand either. He simply tears the pages filled with drawings and stuffs it inside the cover of his pillow, because he doesn’t want to throw them out and neither go through all the effort to hide them in the chest like before.
After that Adrien attends his class, which feel monotonous as always – except the part where Mme. Mendeleiev came with a bandaid on her chin, which she dismissed saying ‘she had it much better’ – most of the subject matter that his tutors teach flying over his head.
Once his classes would end, Mlle. Garnier takes him till the staircase looking at him with pursed lips and furrowed eyebrows instead of her phone. And Adrien makes his way upstairs, where he does some work that his tutors gave him, and then M. Reimund would bring him a warm meal, because his father decided to lift the food ban without even summoning him to his study to inform him as he usually does.
Then, Adrien changes into his pyjamas, washes his face, brushes his teeth and settles onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling, imagining fluorescent crooked stars.
And like this more than a week passes. Till it is Friday.
He had met Death last Tuesday night, and now it is Friday.
And Adrien is still unable to put that encounter behind him.
.
“Adrien, is everything alright?” Raphael, his piano instructor, asks, concern clear in the way lines form on his forehead. Raphael had only begun teaching him two months ago, because his teacher Mlle. Couffaine had to take a maternity leave. Normally, piano is the class that he looks forward to the most, because music comes easily to him, it’s the only session that he actually enjoys, but right now nothing really makes him happy.
“I am alright, Raphael. Thank you for asking.” He replies, feeling uncomfortable by not adding honorifics before his tutor’s name, but Raphael always acted sad when he called him Monsieur. So, he tries to oblige by Raphael’s request.
Raphael smiles at his answer, hand reaching up towards his face his head. He pats him on the head gently, ruffling his hair, and Adrien tries to stop himself from either freezing or giving a full body flinch. It leaves him in this weird hunched position where he isn’t sure of what to do with himself.
“Adrien.” Raphael begins, his hand still in his hair. “It is not good to lie.” His tone is kind and gentle, but Adrien still winces.
“I am sorry.” Adrien whispers.
“It’s okay. If you understand, then it is fine.” Raphael says, his hand leaving his hair and settling on the piano keys instead. And Adrien breathes a sigh of relief. “Now then, what’s on your mind?”
Death.
But, he can’t really tell him that. Or rather, he doesn’t want to.
Death, not the one that took people but the one who made stars for him, was his secret to keep. Adrien doesn’t want anybody else to know about him.
He looks up at Raphael’s inquiring brown eyes, and fiddles nervously with his sleeve. “Would it be alright, if I did not tell you about it?”
Raphael hums in a way that doesn’t really explain to Adrien whether he is saying yes or no, before placing music sheets on the music stand. “How about we play the Swan Lake Theme today? That’s your favourite one, yes?”
Not really. But Adrien still nods. And Raphael takes that as enough affirmation to begin the lesson. They start from the beginning.
Despite how sour Adrien's mood is these days, the moment the music begins to play, he feels himself float. Not in the way Death did, but in the way that the music flowed. Every note carries over to merge together in harmony that can only be described as beautiful.
Music was beautiful. In the way it told stories and emotions. In the way it carried something magical.
When they finish the piece, Raphael turns towards him smiling gently. “Now, did you enjoy that?” Adrien nods, truthfully. He did feel better. Much better.
Raphael’s smile grows larger at his response, his teeth displayed. “Sometimes, letting out whatever is inside helps. Did playing music help?”
Adrien nods. Raphael settles a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, squeezing it, in what Raphael may assume to be reassuring but it only makes Adrien tense up. “The same applies for letting words out. Speaking your mind always helps.”
Adrien isn’t sure how true the comparison holds up, and he really doesn’t want to talk about it. But, Raphael doesn’t look ready to let the matter go. So, with a small sigh, Adrien tries to deflect once more.
“I don’t think it is anything special.”
Raphael laughs lightly, hand leaving his shoulder to ruffle his hair. “Of course it is. It is bothering you, Adrien. So that means it is special.”
Pursing his lips, Adrien looks down in his lap. He is only feeling… something . That’s nothing special. He doesn’t even know what it is. Sadness? Not really. He is used to people leaving. Anger? Not that either. Death didn’t owe him his company. Death had no reason to stay once he ensured Adrien lived.
There’s no emotion he can think of that encapsulated this feeling of emptiness that draped over him. Why did Death have to leave? Death looked like he enjoyed being with him. Was he mistaken? Did he do something wrong?
(“All you are making are mistakes these days.” His father says, looking down at him with piercing green eyes.)
He probably did. He doesn’t know what it is. But, he must have done something wrong. Like he always does.
Guilt.
He realises. That’s what it is.
Guilt about forcing Death away. Guilt about ruining everything.
“I…” Adrien forces out, even as his throat clogs up. “I did something wrong.”
“Wrong?” Raphael asks, surprised. “What did you do wrong?”
Adrien shakes his head, hands gripping his trousers. “I don’t know.” He mumbles. “But I messed everything up.”
“Oh.” Raphael says, looking away thoughtfully. “Hmm, do you think it’s something bad?”
Adrien frowns at the question. “Isn’t wrong always bad?”
“Not quite.” Raphael shakes his head with a small smile. “You can do something that everyone says is wrong with good intentions.”
“But if what you did is good, then is it even really wrong?” Adrien asks.
Raphael blinks at him, before laughing. “Well look at you, little Plato with his revolutionary ideas on morality.”
“Plato?” Adrien repeats the name. “Who is that?”
“He was a philosopher who talked a lot about human morality, about how no one does wrong willingly or knowingly.” Raphael says. “If you don’t know any better, then of course you are going to do wrong.”
Nodding, Adrien deliberates. Plato’s words sounded right.
“And do you think that what you did is truly bad, if you did it unknowingly?”
“It could be.”
“But it also couldn’t.” Raphael rebuts. “And something tells me that whatever wrong you did isn’t truly bad.”
Adrien shrinks at his last words. Raphael hasn’t been here for long so he doesn’t know any better. “You don’t know that.”
“Oh, I know.” Raphael smiles, settling his hand on Adrien’s knee, rubbing circles at the inner side of his knee. Adrien shifts slightly, uncomfortable. “Just trust me on it. Whomever you wronged, just talk to them. Learn what you did wrong, and correct it. I am sure they’ll listen and forgive you. Alright?”
But he doesn’t know how to make Death listen, when he doesn’t even know where he is. Nevertheless, Adrien nods and Raphael seems content with the response. Their lesson ends shortly after, and Adrien makes his way back to the attic.
He does his assignments, he eats his dinner, he changes into his pyjamas, he brushes his teeth and then he sits on his mattress, staring at the ceiling where Death had once made stars for him. There’s nothing there, as the moonlight falls onto the wall with the attic door.
He has his English notebook in hand, open at the last page where he is drawing the stars once more. They are straighter now, less crooked, less like how Death made them. His drawings are improving, and somehow that thought makes him pause, and then his mouth turns downwards.
Because, there could very well be a day, where his stars no longer resemble the ones Death made, where Death is but a distant memory to him.
He doesn’t want that. Not yet.
Talk to them. His piano instructor had said. Talk to Death.
How?
“Death.” Adrien mumbles under his breath.
“What?” A voice asks. It is low, gravelly, like rugged seas. It is familiar.
Adrien quickly scrambles up, whipping his head around to see Death sitting on one of the windowsills, leaning against the side. One foot is perched on the windowsill, while the other dangles. His hair is loosely spilling on the windowsill and on the floor, and his golden eyes are fixed on Adrien.
“You came.” Adrien says. Unsure of whether he is just hallucinating once more. But, the man in front of him looks real, even if his skin is translucent and his figure casts no shadow on the wall.
“You called.” Death replies simply. Simple. It was this simple.
“You came because I called you?” Adrien asks. Death nods. “You weren’t here for the past week because I didn’t call you?” Adrien confirms. Death nods again.
“So, that’s why you weren’t here? No other reason?” Adrien asks once more, and his voice quivers. “You weren’t mad at me?”
Death tilts his head. “Why would I be mad at you?”
“I don’t know!” Adrien exclaims with a sob, his voice choking up. And warm tears start rolling down his cheeks. Death sits up straighter, eyes wide and vigilant.
“Did I say something wrong?” Death asks and Adrien sobs loudly once more.
“No!” Adrien says, as he wipes his tears, that do not look like they are about to stop anytime soon. Adrien hadn’t done anything wrong. Death wasn’t mad at him. He hadn’t ruined anything yet.
Death looks at him, eyebrows furrowed. He hesitates before he draws an outline with his finger and fluorescent stars appear on the ceiling. They are just as crooked as the last time Death made them. The stars are back. A new stream of tears leave his eyes and he hastily rubs at them.
The tears make Death wave his hand once more. Bubbles float out of the bathroom, and a pile of chocolates fall onto his mattress. The bubbles whiz across the attic, and Death snaps his finger and one bubble lands on his nose and pops.
Adrien blinks at the bubble, then at Death who says unsurely. “It popped.”
And then Adrien laughs wetly, sniffling. “It popped.” He agrees. He reaches out to poke at more bubbles around him, that explode splattering water onto him. His clothes soak, and it feels a little too cold on his skin especially since it is late into the night, but Adrien doesn’t really mind it.
Every sensation, every shiver he feels, everything just stands as a confirmation. This is real. This isn’t a dream. It couldn’t be.
“I am sorry.” Death begins, getting off the window sill to sit in front of Adrien. “For not coming earlier.”
“You should have.” Adrien sniffles. “I thought you left.”
“I am sorry.”
“I thought you were just part of my imagination.”
“I am sorry.”
“I thought you weren’t real .” Adrien stresses on the last words, and his cheeks turn blotchy red and eyes water and Death purses his lips. Death hesitates, before he brings his hand forward, slowly, carefully, as if to not jostle him, and his thumb wipes away the beginning of Adrien’s tears.
“I am sorry.” He says again. “I won’t leave again.” And Adrien wants to believe him.
But still, there’s that nagging feeling in his chest. Just because he apologised doesn’t mean he’s here to stay permanently. His father used to apologise after he hit him before; the apologies died down with time, but the bruises never did. Mother used to say that they’ll always be together, but then she left and she’ll never come back.
Words aren’t always truthful. Words aren’t always to be trusted.
“Okay.” Adrien whispers in reply, nevertheless. Trust is built on hope. And Adrien has never been able to fully let go of hope.
There’s a moment of silence between them, before Death breaks it. “So. Were you able to come up with a name?”
“Huh?” Adrien looks at the man confused.
Death eyebrows arch upwards as he tilts his head. “You said you’d give me a name.”
Adrien furrows his eyebrows at the man, before it hits him. Oh. The night before Death disappeared. The gift. The name.
Oh no. Adrien hadn’t thought of one.
And Death is looking at him expectantly.
If he says he hadn’t thought of one, would Death leave?
No no no no no no no no n–
“Child?” Death says, and Adrien snaps his head up to look at the man who is frowning now. “Are you alright?”
Adrien nods hastily, hands clamming. “Uhh, yeah. I have a name for you.”
A name. For Death.
Something that should encompass what Death meant. What Death is.
Death is cruel. Death is terror. Yet, Death is beautiful. Death is kind.
Death, from Adrien’s understanding, is a paradox. It’s everything and nothing. It’s good and bad. Adrien is reminded of what Raphael laughed about in the afternoon.
(“Little Plato with his revolutionary ideas on morality.” Raphael had said, eyes crinkling in amusement. “He was a philosopher.”)
In Adrien’s mind, philosopher sounded distinguished, esteemed, and prestigious. He isn’t truly sure what it really means, but with what Raphael told him about Plato – he likes the sound of it.
“Have you now?” Death asks, the creases on his forehead disappearing as he awaits Adrien’s answer.
Adrien nods, this time with much surety. “Yes. It’s Pla–” And then he pauses. The whole purpose of giving Death a name was for it to be a gift. Something different from the many names Death already has. Should Death be called by a human name?
Adrien’s words trail off, as he ponders over it. Only, Death takes it as a name and runs with it.
“Pla–ugh?” Death tries the name, that isn’t really supposed to be a name, on his tongue. “Pla–gg? I have never heard of this name before. What does it mean?”
Adrien freezes, looking at the man nervously. He hasn’t heard this name before either! He doesn’t know what it means. Death is still staring at him expectantly, and Adrien fidgets nervously.
“I… I made it up.” He admits. Accidentally, of course. But he still made it up. Adrien hopes Death wouldn’t be too angry with him.
Except. “Really?” Death asks, and his voice is light. Softer than he would have imagined. “You made it yourself?” Death’s eyes are wide and they are shining gold and Adrien stares at Death, who looks like he had seen Santa in person.
“Do you like it?” Adrien asks incredulously. Death nods. “B-but, I made it up.”
Death tilts his head once again, observing Adrien. “Doesn’t that mean you put effort into it? You created the name, doesn’t that hold more value?”
“But, it’s ‘Plagg.’” Adrien flails his hands. The name seemed ridiculous. Like a joke. Death deserved a better name. “Anybody could come up with it.”
“But they didn’t.” Death says simply. “So, I do not see why this isn’t a name you’d like to give me.”
“But.” Adrien trails off, bunching the fabric of his shirt in his hands, lips pursed as he glares down at his feet. “I don’t know what it means.”
Plagg meant nothing. It had no meaning to it. Every name had a meaning to it. Like, Adrien’s name means the dark. Adrien doesn’t like the meaning of his name. At the very least, he wanted to give Death a name that meant something great. Something befitting of Death.
“You can decide what it means.” Death continues easily, unperturbed.
Adrien looks up at the man in disbelief. “I can do that?”
Death nods. “You made the name. You decide what it means.”
“Then, shouldn’t you decide its meaning?” Adrien asks. “It’s your name, afterall.”
Shaking his head, Death declines. “I’d rather the creator of the name decide what it means.”
“...I can make it mean anything?” Adrien confirms.
Death reassures. “Anything.”
What is a meaning that suits Death the most? When it comes down to it, words synonymous or affiliated with death come to mind. Destruction. Despair. The End.
And if Adrien looks at words on the opposite end. Creation. Joy. The Beginning.
Adrien has seen all of these. He has seen Death destroy his family, bring everlasting despair and be the end to the lives of people he holds dear. But he has also seen Death create magic, bring fleeting joy and be the beginning of hope for Adrien where he had thought he had lost it all.
Death was both. It felt wrong to choose one singular word from either side. It felt unimaginative to choose words from both sides and declare them both the meaning of his name.
Adrien created the name. Albeit accidentally. He wants to give it a special meaning.
And oh .
He made the name.
He glances up at Death who waits patiently for Adrien to come up with a meaning to his new name.
This name is something only between them.
This name is something that is theirs. Nobody else's.
He doesn’t need to name him something befitting of how Death is seen by all. Death could be pain, or it could be relief, for someone.
But, for Adrien,
“Friend.” Adrien says, it comes out more as a whisper, but Death hears it all the same. His eyes widen, and his mouth parts in surprise.
“You said I wasn’t your friend.” Death states. It’s not an accusation, but an observation.
“But that’s what you said you were to me.” Adrien shuffles, cheeks reddening. “You said you were my friend.”
“I am your friend.” Death agrees, before he traces his name and the light breaks to form the shadows that spell out PLAGG. “Friend, huh–” Death mutters as he looks at the name formed on the wall.
Adrien stares at the wall and then at Death, no, Plagg, before tugging on Plagg’s sleeve.
Plagg looks down at him, eyebrow raised.
“Plagg.” He tries the name on his tongue. It feels different, but Adrien knows he’ll get used to it in time. “Can you write my name too?”
Plagg hums in response, before his fingers trace, and a swoopy fancy version of his name appears in the shadows next to Plagg’s. The rest of the night, Adrien kept making demands for different shadows, and Plagg kept making them for him. They kept doing as such, until Adrien’s eyes felt heavy and Plagg guided him back to his mattress.
Adrien fell asleep content, with a hand gripping Plagg’s sleeve.
Notes:
When two emotionally stunted people find each other.
Does Plagg mean piece of clothing? Not anymore. >:)
PLAGG MEANS FRIEND AND NOBODY WILL CONVINCE ME OTHERWISE THIS POINT ON FORWARD. Like I know it originates from plague and is supposed to carry negative connotations but like- we in here stan destruction. And we gonna give our new Daddy Death a respectable name.Adrien: I didn’t do anything wrong. *sobs in relief*
Death: oh no, what did I do. *makes stars*
Adrien: stars! they are back. *sobs in happiness*
Death: oh fuck no. uhh, what to do now? *conjures him chocolates and bubbles*
Adrien: it wasn’t a dream! *sobs in joy*
Death: …am I the problem? *starts apologising*Death: *asks as a conversation starter* did you come up with a name for me?
Adrien: *boss music starts playing dun dun as he sweats nervously* oh uhhhMe when insomnia hits so my characters sleep. Hahaha am I projecting or fantasising idk. I need sleep.
Did I butcher up Plato’s philosophical words or whatever, haha yes. Do i have any right (as in any prior knowledge to bullshit like i did in this chapter) to do so? Abso-fucking-lutely not. :D Chat GPT gave me a few list of names that could possible have Plagg as a nickname (or in this case the butchered up final name by a smol kid) and it was either Plato or Pelagius. And frankly I feel like I am even moreso lacking to start cracking down on Christian theologies. So…yeah. ;-;
Also the way I wanted to drag the separation between them for a chapter longer, but like it legitimately hurt me too much to do that. Like forget my brother threatening to kill me (haha siblings amiright?), I was about to start crying if Adrien didn’t get his Dad ™ (fu gabrishit) back asap.
These two are going to be inseparable now dw.
I have my limits. (famous last words)
also guys! really appreciate all the comments on this fic! like it was the main motivator for me to continue writing since this idea felt so out of my comfort zone for me but thankyou <333
Chapter 8: music is melody, i do not want to hear
Notes:
cw. attempted sa of a minor. please beware.
If you wish to skip the more graphic parts, stop at “Say, Adrien.” Raphael says, smiling as he stands up. “Do you want to play a game?” And do not read till the end. A very small censored (kind of important to the next chapter) summary will be in the end notes.
This is in no means glorification of sa.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Adrien likes music.
Music feels free. It feels like power in your hand. Power to create. Music can be anything. It can be the sound of birds chirping, or the tapping of one’s feet, or the hums under one’s breath or the keys on his piano.
Especially the keys on his piano. He likes the way the notes flow with each dip of his finger, how the piano allows even someone like him to be able to create.
“Good job, Adrien.” Raphael praises, when Adrien finishes the Swan Lake. “I am impressed. This much progress in one day. That’s astounding.”
Adrien flushes under the praise, even if it gives way to anxiety when Raphael’s hand comes to rest on his head, patting him. He grips his shirt and bears through it.
Raphael is why Adrien has Deat– Plagg back. Raphael helped him a lot yesterday. And Adrien owes it to him, to bear through Raphael’s touch.
Even if any contact he doesn’t initiate himself, makes his skin crawl. Even if a mere head rub makes him expect the worst.
“I am assuming everything worked out for you yesterday, then?” Raphael asks, taking his hand away.
Adrien nods. “Your advice really helped. Thank you.” Adrien says sincerely, bending a little in a formal bow and Raphael laughs.
“You do not need to do that with me, Adrien.” Raphael quickly says, amusement lingering in his tone. “I am not that old, that you need to start bowing to me. You are what? Seven. I am twenty-one. That’s like a fourteen year gap.”
“But that’s a big age gap.” Adrien frowns.
“Ouch!” Raphael says, hand clutching his chest. “Way to hurt a man’s ego.”
“I am sorry?” Adrien tries. He isn’t sure how he hurt Raphael. Twenty-one is old. That’s three times Adrien’s age. He learnt that in maths.
“It’s fine.” Raphael waves him off, grinning. “You are too adorable to be mad at.”
“I am?” Adrien asks. His aunt used to call him that a lot when she used to visit. Nobody else calls him that anymore. So, it comes as a surprise to him when Raphael does.
Raphael chuckles. “Of course you are. You are very adorable, Adrien.”
It feels weird being complimented as such, but a good type of weird, that has his cheeks flushing in embarrassment. “Thank you.” He mumbles.
And Raphael only smiles.
.
When Adrien enters his attic in the afternoon, after his piano lesson, Plagg is there, lying on his mattress that is too small for him, so his legs are splayed on the floor.
“You didn’t leave.” Adrien blurts out.
“I told you I wouldn’t.” Plagg says simply.
It still surprised him, nonetheless, and Adrien stands at the entrance of the attic room for a couple of seconds before placing his books at the side. Plagg watches him with curious eyes, as Adrien takes off his shoes and then comes to settle on the mattress beside Plagg. There’s barely any space left for him to sit on the mattress as Plagg’s large figure covers most of the expanse of it, but Adrien pushes Plagg’s arm away and sits down.
“The mattress is too small for you.” Adrien observes.
“It is.” Plagg agrees.
“Can you make it bigger?” Adrien asks, and Plagg snaps his fingers and the mattress expands and stretches until it is covering most of the room. It squishes against the books and clothes at the side and reaches till both the doors in the attic.
Adrien stands up. His feet feel comfortable over the soft mattress and it reminds him a little of the bouncy castle that his aunt had arranged in the mansion’s great courtyard for his fourth birthday – just much more softer. Tentatively, he tries jumping over the mattress, but he doesn’t bounce as high as he does in the bouncy castle, and when he lands back on the mattress, his feet sink into the mattress a lot.
Frowning, he looks down at the mattress, realising that it’s too thin for him to jump properly on. Almost instinctively, he turns towards Plagg, imploringly, and he doesn’t even have to say anything for Plagg to wave his hand, causing the mattress to thicken extremely.
Adrien tries jumping on the mattress and this time, he bounces higher and when he lands it is still firm under his feet. Delighted, he jumps again and again, until he stumbles on the small bump under the mattress formed by his shoes, that the mattress had stretched over.
He falls down, the soft mattress cushioning his fall. Plagg immediately sits up, shuffling towards him. Peering down at him, Plagg asks with furrowed brows.
“Are you hurt?”
Adrien looks at the man, and then stands up quickly on the bed, before diving back onto his bed, laughing. “No!” He replies, grinning up at the man. “See! Totally fine!”
Plagg nods. “I see. You’re having fun.”
Adrien nods, before standing up again. Beginning to jump on the mattress once more, and it’s so fun, and Plagg just watches him as he sits on the mattress, cross legged. Adrien thinks it's probably boring to sit on the mattress and only watch when one could be enjoying themselves as well.
“Plagg.” Adrien stops, turning towards the man. “Will you jump with me? It’s fun.”
“I am too tall to do that.” Plagg says simply.
“But, can’t you make yourself smaller?”
“Smaller?” Plagg asks, confused. “How do you do that?”
It is Adrien’s turn to be confused. He brings his hands in the air, trying to gesture. “Well, y’know, you can just go from this.” He brings his hands further apart. “To this.” He brings his hands close. “And then you’ll be able to jump.” He finishes his explanation but Plagg doesn’t reply, as he only tilts his head curiously, and Adrien embarrassedly brings his hands down to his side.
“That’s probably dumb. I am sorry.” He apologises. Maybe Plagg cannot do all types of magic. He didn’t know that. Still, it’s wrong of him to assume. Miss Katherine always says that when he misspells a new English word without learning it first.
“Why do you think it’s dumb?” Plagg asks, voice calm and steady.
Adrien shrugs, looking down. “Well, I don’t know. Because I am wrong, maybe?”
“Even if you are wrong, how does that make it dumb?”
Adrien looks at him, befuddled. “But… it’s wrong. I made a mistake.” He tries again. Wrongs aren’t always bad. That much he has learned from Raphael. And it’d be dumb of him to think that all wrongs are dumb. But, most of Adrien’s wrongs are indeed dumb.
He makes mistakes that can easily be corrected, if he thinks a little more and does a little more.
“If wrongs as simple as this are dumb, then what about bigger wrongs?” Plagg asks.
“They are… dumber?” Adrien says unsurely.
Plagg’s lips tilt upward into that almost, but not really smile, before he shakes his head. “When you do something wrong, do you correct it?”
Adrien nods. “I try to.”
“Then it isn’t dumb.” Plagg states. “Your wrongs are just a part of your growth. Something that makes you better. I don’t believe that deserves to be called dumb.”
“But people do call it dumb.” Adrien mumbles, gripping his shirt.
“Well.” Plagg says, “Then we can only hope they grow from their own wrongs one day.”
He then raises his hand over his head. “Now then.” He snaps his fingers, and Adrien watches as Plagg shrinks into a more humane form. He stands up and he is still taller than Adrien, very taller in fact. But it’s nothing compared to his towering form before.
“And that’s another thing.” Plagg begins. “Sometimes, your ‘wrongs’ are not always truly wrong. Be a little confident in your answers and in yourself.” There’s something soft about the way Plagg says that, and Adrien believes him.
“Okay.” Is all Adrien is able to say, before he frowns. “But, you said you couldn’t shrink.”
“I never said that.” Plagg replies.
“You did!”
“Did not.”
“Did!”
“Did not.”
“Did!”
“Did not.”
Adrien pouts, looking up at the man, crossing his arms on his chest. “But you implied it.”
Plagg replicates his movement, crossing his arms on his chest as well. “I was merely… teasing.”
“Teasing?” Adrien blinks at that.
“Isn’t it some sort of thing you mortals do?” Plagg says, and when Adrien doesn’t reply, he elaborates. “Where you poke fun in a teasing manner.” When Adrien still doesn’t say anything. There’s a momentary pause, before Plagg’s eyebrows furrow. “Have I perhaps misunderstood mortal customs?”
“Nope!” Adrien finally declares and breaks into a huge grin that he had been keeping in from the moment Plagg began to elaborate what teasing was. “You are right!”
“But, then why did you not reply affirmatively?” Plagg tilts his head, confused.
Adrien doesn’t know what ‘affirmatively’ means but, “I was merely… teasing.” Adrien answers, trying to replicate Plagg’s deep voice.
“Ah.” Plagg makes a sound, in realisation. “So that’s how teasing works.”
Adrien nods. He and Felix used to do it a lot when Felix still visited. With Plagg, it’s a little different, but Adrien enjoys it nevertheless.
“So, can we jump now?” Adrien asks excitedly, already jumping on the mattress. And Plagg nods lightly before jumping as well. It’s kind of funny to see Plagg jumping on the mattress with a stoic expression, his hair bouncing in the air as well.
Adrien sees the moment Plagg’s golden eyes widen, and his mouth parts slightly in surprise. “This is fun.” The man says, and Adrien laughs as he lets himself fall on the mattress. “It is!”
And so the two continue to play like this, until M. Reimund brings his dinner later at night. After which, Adrien prepares for bed, and falls asleep with his hand gripping Plagg’s sleeve with fluorescent stars on the ceiling.
The mattress bouncy castle becomes a part of their ‘after sunset ritual’, as Plagg labels it.
.
“You seem quite happy today?” Raphael asks, when Adrien sees him again on Friday. With a bounce to his step, Adrien quickly makes his way over to his seat beside Raphael, nodding to Rapahel’s question.
“Mhm!”
“Well, is there any reason for it?” Raphael asks, clearly amused.
“It’s been a good week.” Adrien replies. Though, the word ‘good’ doesn’t seem sufficient to describe the week.
He got three meals per day and he managed to finish all his assignments on time because he doesn’t feel as drowsy and tired. Plagg and him played every night and he slept comfortably on the mattress that Plagg had kept thick, while shrinking it back to its original size when needed.
“Well, that’s good to hear.” Raphael smiles, ruffling his hair. Adrien doesn’t flinch as much as he does normally. Plagg sometimes holds his hand or places a hand on his back to steady him whenever they are playing with the mattress bouncy castle. And M. Reimund always takes his hands in his, and sneaks in a little chocolate bar when he brings him dinner, winking that ‘it’s their little secret’.
So, he likes to think that he’s getting used to it. A little at a time.
“So, how about we go through an upbeat piece today?” Raphael grins, as he digs through his folder to bring out the music sheets for a new piece. Adrien peeks at the music sheets curiously.
“We are doing Für Elise?” Adrien asks. He had covered the first half of the piece with Mlle. Couffaine before, and while it wasn’t his favourite piece, he did enjoy playing it. Albeit, he isn’t sure how upbeat he’d call the piece.
“Correct!” Raphael grins. “Anarka already told me that she had you cover the first half, so we shall work on only the second half today. Alright?”
Adrien nods determinedly, and the lesson begins.
The first half of Für Elise, as far as Adrien remembers, is easy. It’s simple, and he can perform it flawlessly. The second half though, is a far different story. For some reason, the difficulty of the second half happens abruptly, and while the music merges harmoniously between the transition, Adrien finds himself struggling to perform the piece well.
After the sixth time he messes the piece up, he stares down at the music sheet, frowning. “I just can’t get this part right.”
Raphael hums and then plays the exact part where he messes up. “That’s alright. We can work on it slowly. It’s only your first lesson with the second half of Für Elise. Now how about, we try this again slowly?”
Nodding, Adrien tries again and again and by the fourth attempt, he has stopped messing up as much as he did earlier on. Raphael claps when he finishes the piece.
“That was a good attempt. You are getting there Adrien.”
Flushing pleased, Adrien gives a small embarrassed smile. “Thank you.”
“I am honestly surprised that you got the hang of it so quickly. Given that this half was made to be intentionally hard.”
Adrien’s curiosity perks up at those words. “Intentionally?”
Raphael grins, bending down towards him. He looks around the room, then leans in to whisper conspiratorially. “Beethoven wrote this song for his crush.”
“Crush?” Adrien frowns, head tilting sideways. “Did he want to crush someone?” And then after a moment of solemn contemplation, he nods. “Well, the song would crush anyone.”
Raphael blinks at him for a moment, before he bursts out laughing. “Oh, that’s. Oh my god, Adrien, you are so adorable!” The man’s chuckles slowly subsidise, before he explains. “Crush is what you call when you are in love with someone.”
“Then shouldn’t it be called a… ‘lover’?” Adrien suggests. His mother used to call father that.
“Ah- you see. His love never came to fruition. Crush is when you love someone but they aren’t yours.” Raphael explains. “Beethoven loved his student so he made this piece easy enough for her to be able to play it. But then, she betrayed him by being with another so he made the second half difficult out of spite, so she would never be able to play it.”
“Oh.” Adrien wasn’t sure how he felt hearing the story. But, at the very least, now he is completely sure that the piece could not be classified as upbeat, as Raphael had said before. “But couldn’t she just practise the piece enough times to become good at it.”
Raphael pauses, contemplating. “Well, you are right. That could be the case. But I suppose his student wasn’t hard working enough like you to make the effort to perfect the piece.”
Then he pauses again, his feet tapping lightly against the floor. “Say, Adrien. Would you like me to make a piece just for you?” Raphael smiles genially, his hand settling just above Adrien’s knee. “Like how Beethoven wrote for his own student?”
Adrien fidgets nervously, Raphael said nothing wrong, and yet… there’s something about the way he said it
and the hand that keeps trailing upwards
that Adrien doesn’t feel particularly okay with the current situation.
“Thank you.” He mumbles. “But, you don’t have to.”
The hand on his thigh, tightens a little, the thumb rubbing at his side. “Ah, but I want to. Think of it as a gift from a teacher to his dear pupil.”
And Adrien knows when it’s pointless to refute, he simply nods.
Raphael smiles, and his hand glides just a little more up his thigh, fingers brushing against… in a way that makes Adrien freeze. “Tomorrow, you don’t have any other lessons, right?”
“No.” He wants the hand off. He wants the hand off. He wants it off. Off. Off. Off. Please.
“And your father is away on his business trip again.” Raphael remarks, fingers pressing against him. Adrien shifts uncomfortably. But Raphael only adjusts his grip around his inner thigh. “Doesn’t it get lonely sometimes?”
“I’m fine.” He wants this to be over. He wants to leave.
“Ah, but you must need friends right? Friends to keep you from feeling alone. Friends to play… games with?” Raphael croons.
“I have friends.” Adrien replies firmly. It’s only a friend. But it’s fine. He wants to go to Plagg right now. He doesn’t want to stay here any longer.
“But you could always do with more!” Raphael exclaims, cheerily. “Say, Adrien, do you wanna be friends?”
‘No,’ Not right now. Not when Raphael was being like this. Was making his skin crawl, and heart race and his stomach sink. He nods, nonetheless.
“That’s good.” Raphael ruffles his hair, hand finally leaving his thigh and that marks the end of the lesson.
Adrien almost bolts out of the room.
.
Plagg has his French textbook in hand, when Adrien enters the room.
“Hi.” Adrien mutters as he drops his books at the side and quickly shuffles to settle beside Plagg. Plagg glances at him, humming in response, before returning back to the book. Adrien peers down at his French textbook as well, because there must be something to it, if Plagg is reading it so intently, right?
But, it’s just a long essay about a flower, with questions related to the paragraphs written at the bottom. It’s the same one that he had been struggling with in class yesterday. “Why are you reading this?” Adrien asks.
“Because it seems interesting.” Plagg simply states.
“But it isn’t interesting.” Adrien argues, pouting. “It has so many difficult words. It’s hard.”
“Just because something is hard, doesn’t mean it’s not interesting.” Plagg says, putting the book in between them. “If everything even slightly hard was disregarded as being not worthy of any effort. Your mankind would have never progressed.”
Lips pursing, feeling slightly abashed, Adrien turns his head to the side, avoiding to meet Plagg’s eyes. However, Plagg seems to know exactly how to get his attention again.
“Look.” Plagg says, nudging him gently to bring his attention towards where Plagg has his palm stretched open. A small sprout forms through his palm, growing into a pretty red flower in a matter of seconds.
“Woah.” Adrien breathes out, as he reaches out to feel the soft petals of the flower that felt all too real and velvety to the touch.
“Middlemist's Red, it’s the flower mentioned in your book.” Plagg begins, as he breaks the stem of the flower out of his hand and hands it to Adrien. “Your book calls it the rarest cultivar of the common camellia.”
“What’s a cultivar?” Adrien asks, peering down at his open French textbook, feeling much more interested in the content than he had been just moments prior.
“Something that has especially been made. Where humans meddle with nature to purposefully create something different.”
“Isn’t that a bad thing?”
“It could be. It could be not. It’s a case by case scenario.” Plagg answers simply, his hands glow as different flowers erupt across his palm.
“That’s confusing.”
“A lot of things are.” Plagg states simply, letting the subject drop. “You can ponder over that once you’re a little bit older. Right now, what do you think about these flowers?”
The flowers sprouting from Plagg’s palms are of different shapes and colours. Some have tiny petals and some have big ones. Some are pink in colour, some are yellow, some are blue and so on. They are all different and they are all–
“Pretty.” Adrien says. “They are all very pretty.”
“How about using a word from your book?” Plagg suggests.
And Adrien, who normally dislikes having to read his French textbook with its difficult words, looks down to find a word that would fit the pretty flowers.
“Be-beguiling.” He pronounces.
“Good.” Plagg praises and plucks one of the small blue flowers from his palm and hands it to him. “These are forget-me-nots.”
Adrien pinches the petals of the small delicate flowers, and raises the flower to his face to stare at it. Plagg watches him with a raised eyebrow for a moment before asking, “What are you doing?”
“Remembering.” Adrien answers solemnly, eyes fixed on the small yellow centre of the flower. Upon Plagg’s confused look, Adrien elaborates. “You said the flowers are called forget-me-nots. I am making sure I don’t forget them.”
“I can make them again and again for you if you want. Why bother remembering what they look like?”
“Because if the flowers are telling you to not forget them in their names, they really don’t want to be forgotten.” Adrien says, cupping the tiny flower in his hand. “I want to do this for them.”
“Just because they said so?” Plagg asks. “Not even asked? You’d do that for someone.”
Adrien nods. He knows to listen and to accept, that’s what his etiquette teacher taught him. And besides, remembering flower names, because the flower asked, is one of the things he’d be glad to do.
Plagg looks thoughtful at his answer, his head tilting in the way it always did when he stared at Adrien in some form of consideration. And Adrien waits for him to find whatever words he means to say to him. He hopes it’ll be quick, because he’d like Plagg to tell him more about the different flowers.
“What if it’s something that you don’t want to do?” Plagg finally asks. “What if you are asked to do something you dislike?”
Adrien frowns at the question. It was straightforward. “I’ll do it.”
“But, why?”
“Because I was told so.” He repeats. Something his father and his teacher had taught him.
It is being disciplined. They would say. To be able to take and follow instructions.
“And what about ‘no’?” Plagg asks.
“No?” Adrien’s eyebrows furrow at the question.
“When do you say ‘no’?” Plagg elaborates.
Adrien scrunches his nose, as he thinks over the question. “...When my tutor asks if I have done my homework and I haven’t.”
The answer has Plagg huffing in an almost laugh. “I suppose that’s correct. But have you never said ‘no’ when you are asked to do something that you don’t want to do?”
He had.
Before.
But that never ended well.
And Adrien finally learnt that it was easier to accept, than to refuse.
He doesn’t say anything in response to Plagg’s question, and that seems to be an answer enough for Plagg who hums, eyebrows furrowing. “If you don’t want to do something, why not say no?”
“But…” Adrien searches for words to describe the reactions he’d receive for not wanting to do something he had been told to. “They don’t like it.”
“It doesn’t matter if they like or dislike it.” Plagg states, his voice firm. “If you say no then that’s the end of it.”
“But, what if I’m being unreasonable?” Adrien asks. “What if what I am refusing is actually good for me?”
“Then they should communicate and convince you to agree. If it’s something truly helpful for you, I am sure you’d agree. You are intelligent enough to understand that, afterall.”
Adrien’s eyes widen at the words. The last few ones that is. It’s not that he didn’t understand what Plagg meant by the ones said before but the last ones– “I’m intelligent?” He asks, shuffling closer to Plagg to level him with hopeful eyes.
Plagg looks back at him, the creases of his golden eyes softening. “Of course, you are.”
“Really?” He asks again, because as happy as he is to hear that, he has never been good at studying and from his understanding, intelligence and studies go hand in hand.
Plagg is quiet for a moment before he picks up the French book and hands it to Adrien. “Give me another word to describe the flowers.”
Eyes raking across the paragraphs, intently searching, he finally settles on another word. “Luscious.”
Plucking another flower from his palm. This flower is also small, but it’s bright yellow and its centre pokes outward. “This is a daffodil. And it represents honesty.” Plagg begins. “So, when I give it to you, any words that I say are ones that are true.”
“Adrien you are intelligent as you are kind.” Plagg says as he hands the flower to Adrien. “And you are kind as you are brave. And you are brave as you are.”
“Oh.” Is all Adrien is able to say, clutching the flower tightly in his hand. It’s one of the nicest things he’s heard. There’s something tight in his chest, and his throat seems to constrict. He feels like crying. And just like the time he cried when Plagg came back, he doesn’t feel like crying because he feels sad. It’s the opposite. “Thank you.” He chokes out.
“Always.”
.
“Well done, Adrien!” Raphael claps him on his back. “I am impressed at how better you did today compared to yesterday. You know normally students take multiple classes before they get the hang of it.”
Adrien nods, flushed at the praise. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” Raphael grins, his hand sliding down to rest at the small of Adrien’s back. “You really managed to capture the essence of what Für Elise is. Do you know what its essence is?”
Adrien shrugs, hands fiddling with the sleeves of his shirt. “Revenge? You said that Beethoven wrote the second half to spite the woman he loved.”
“That’s true.” Raphael hums in agreement. “But don’t you think it could also be considered as a piece of pining? He loved her so he made the start easy for her, a sign of affection, but when it turned out she betrayed him, it became resentful. It embodies the evolution of his love.”
Adrien nods, eyebrows furrowing. “I suppose.” He didn’t really understand what Raphael was trying to say. Did every piece have such complicated meanings behind them?
“Ah– I am getting the feeling that the topic is boring you.” Raphael laughs as he puts the music sheets in his bag. “I suppose it is a little mature topic for you.”
Adrien nods, he’d rather this conversation end already. It’s too confusing and Adrien would rather study up some more French and English in the attic with Plagg, since he doesn’t have any other classes after this.
“Well, I think it’s a wrap for a music lesson today.” Raphael says. “But, hey, Adrien, you don’t have any other lessons today, do you?”
Adrien shakes his head, dutifully. He swings his legs lightly, waiting for Raphael to dismiss him. That doesn’t happen. Instead.
“Say, Adrien.” Raphael says, smiling as he stands up. “Do you want to play a game?”
‘Do we have to?’ Is on the top of his tongue. But that’s rude, especially when Raphael is smiling as he holds out his hand for Adrien to take. “Okay.” He ends up mumbling as he lets Raphael bring him to the couch next to the piano.
“I think you’ll enjoy it.” Raphael explains, as he settles beside Adrien pressed close, thigh to thigh. Adrien moves to shift slightly away, but Raphael loosely settles a hand on his thigh, keeping him in his place. “It’s something all boys do. Do you know anything about it?”
Adrien shrugs. He doesn’t have many friends. And well, Plagg most definitely doesn’t count as a boy. Adrien scrunches his nose. Plagg doesn’t even count as a human, so Adrien really doubts any game Raphael is about to share is one that Plagg knows. And Adrien most definitely doesn’t know.
There’s a moment of uncomfortable silence, as they both sit on the couch. Adrien waits for Raphael to explain the game to him. Raphael's breathing is slightly heavy, and he fidgets a little beside him.
“Adrien.” Raphael begins, his voice lower than normal. Adrien raises his eyes to meet his piano instructor, only to feel taken aback when he sees the absence of the usual happy smile on the man’s face that gave way to an expression that Adrien couldn’t really understand. There was a bright red blush across the man’s face. “We are friends, right?”
Maybe. But Adrien’s heart is racing, he doesn’t know why. ‘No,’ it’s on the tip of his tongue but he can’t say that. He knows it won’t go over well. So he simply nods. Not trusting his mouth to say anything right.
It is the correct answer, because Raphael smiles, but then his hand trails up his thigh and Adrien visibly shudders. Raphael had done this before, but it didn’t stop the way his skin erupted with goosebumps, the way his skin felt dirty, the way he wanted this to be over. “And friends play games and tell each other secrets. Right, Adrien?”
He nods once more. And Raphael’s hand rests against the waistband of his trouser. Adrien freezes, as fingers grip the waistband of his trouser and underwear. “U–um.” He finally forces out. “What’s– what are you doing?”
Raphael only grins, “It’s the game. Everybody has played it before. C’mon Adrien you trust your friend, right?”
He nods. And Raphael coos. “You’re so adorable. Like literally so cute. Being embarrassed over this. But, if you feel weird about it, we can do it together.”
‘You don’t have to.’ or ‘Please don’t’ are all things he wants to force out, but before he can even the first word, there’s the sound of a zipper being undone and when Raphael pulls his underwear down, Adrien quickly turns his head away, eyes squeezing shut.
“Oh come on, what’s there to be embarrassed between us boys.” Raphael laughs, and his fingers around Adrien’s waistband finally pull downwards. “I mean you have the same as mine.” And Adrien still keeps his eyes squeezed shut, when Raphael laughs again. “Ah, but yours is much smaller. It’s cute like you.”
And then there’s a hand touching him. Gripping him between large hands that stroke while cooing and Adrien finally snaps his eyes open. He had been fine till before (No, he wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t. He wasn’t–) but, this was too far. He doesn’t like this. He wants it to stop.
“W-what’s happening?” Adrien manages to stutter out as he tries to push Raphael’s hand away. There’s a man looming on top of him, and it’s Raphael. And it should be alright, because Raphael’s his piano instructor who helped him get Plagg back.
Raphael is all smiles, and kind gestures, and fun music.
But the man in front of him is not.
“It’s alright.” Raphael croons, one large hand settling around his waist, while the other still gripped around him. “This is how the game goes. Alright, Adrien? Nothing bad. You trust me, don’t you?”
“No.” He finally says, heart racing, pushing away the hand of the man who simply takes both of his hands in one, clutching his wrists tightly to the point that it hurts. He didn’t feel safe, he didn’t trust the man right now. He isn’t sure what’s happening but he doesn’t want it. “Stop it. No.” The word comes out easily. All the other times, he’d bite it down because he should listen and obey. But right now, his heart is hammering against his ribcage and he doesn’t want this.
Raphael’s hand is still down there, stroking.
“I promise you, Adrien. This is good. You are gonna like it.” Raphael says, hand reaching to touch his face, but Adrien flinches away, eyes tightening shut.
“Stop it. Please.” He says, whimpering at this point.
There’s a hand down there and it hurts. It hurts . And he wants it to stop. But Raphael isn’t listening. Nobody listens, except–
“ PLAGG! ” He screams.
There’s a loud crack. Raphael’s grip on his wrists loosen, as the man turns around confused at the sound. “What the–” A strong gust of wind crashes into the man, and he goes spiralling into the air, colliding with the piano.
There’s a strum of dissonant keys that sounds horrifying to the ear.
Raphael’s form slumps down and hits the floor, and a pool of blood forms around his head.
Adrien takes one look at that and immediately vomits. He hears someone banging the door behind him, of feet running, of keys rattling in the door lock, of a door being pushed open. There’s someone gasping, someone right beside him, a hand reaching towards him and he flinches, curling into himself.
“No, no. Stop it.” He sobs, hands tightening around himself.
He can see the blood from the corner of the eye. He can feel Raphael’s hands all over him. He can hear the cacophony of music.
It’s all too much.
Adrien liked music.
He doesn’t anymore.
Notes:
Summary for those who skipped the more graphic scenes: To stop Raphael, Adrien called out for Plagg who ended up killing the man (without appearing in the room).
Also I am so sorry for the inappropriate use of Fur Elise…
Btw, not sure if it’s correct for the tone of this chapter. But if anyone wants to read a short story about a boy dealing with the trauma that comes with sexual assault and attempted rape while also dealing with his gender identity, I highly recommend reading Boy Meets Maria by Kosei Eguchi. It’s a short six chapter BL manga but it delivers a pretty strong message quite eloquently and beautifully. In a weird way that's the story I kept thinking back to when I wrote this.
Chapter 9: it takes a village to raise a child
Notes:
cw. A little graphic details of Raphael’s dead body. if you wish to avoid it, stop at "Nothing had prepared him for the sight in front of him." and continue at, “Cyril.” Reimund had forced out. “Bring me a blanket. Anne, call the emergency services.”
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
And sometimes a mansion to raise a boy.
“Yes, yes.” Anaïs replies, rubbing her temple incessantly. “M. Agreste has been informed already. Yes, your application is being considered. No, unfortunately, I am not privy to such information. Yes, thank you.” The moment she hangs up the call, she slumps onto the chair, sighing.
A cup of lemonade is placed in front of her, and Julia leans against the table next to her, eyebrow raised as she sips her own drink. “I thought, today was your day off.”
“Tell that to the M. Billionaire Agreste.” Anaïs grumbles, picking up the cold glass. “And the many people he has appointments with.” She downs the cup, and it is refreshing enough, that the cold sourly sweet taste of the drink, betters her mood instantly.
“Can’t you just, I dunno, mute your phone and ignore them, for today.” Julia says, fingers reaching out to catch a stray strand from Anaïs’ hair, twirling it around her finger.
“If only it was that simple. At least he pays me extra for this bullshit.” She says leaning into her touch, closing her eyes a little as Julia’s fingers glide across her hair. She’d rather be here comfortably with her wonderful girlfriend who makes wonderful lemonades and has wonderful fingers, but no. She has to be busy with M. Agreste and his… son.
That particular topic always brings her to a more sombre state.
Adrien Agreste. The small kid trapped in a big mansion.
She didn’t think of it that way when she first newly became the secretary for M. Agreste. Because, from experience, children take after their parents, and pompous rich adults have bratty rich children. Take Chris Bourgeois as an example.
Adrien Agreste, however, was far from it. He was timid, shy and quiet. The antithesis of every kid with his level of status and wealth. The boy kept to himself, spoke only when spoken to. And he flinched. The boy flinched a lot. Like he was always waiting for a shoe to drop in front of him.
And Anaïs blames her less than friendly attitude towards the young kid the first time she met him, for the way he cautiously approached her. Like a tiny terrified kitten, almost.
She had remedied her stance on the kid shortly after (it didn’t take a genius to see what was happening under broad daylight), and had went out of her way to play nicer, even if ‘gentle’ was not something she ever was; but first impressions always stay the longest and Adrien Agreste couldn’t really think of her in any other light than the one he had originally seen her in.
Julia leans forward, her hand squeezing her shoulder lightly. “Earth to Anaïs, everything alright?”
Shaking her head lightly, she brushes it off. “Nothing particularly. Just…say do you have any idea how to befriend a–” Her phone rings again. Julia rolls her eyes, and Anaïs does the same as she picks up her phone ready to hear another spiel from some business person looking to get in touch with M. Agreste, only to pause when she sees the caller ID on screen.
Frowning, she accepts the call. “Hello, M. Agreste?”
“Anaïs.” His tone is clipped, but there’s an edge to it. “I need you to come down to the mansion right now.”
“Sir, pardon me, but it’s my day off today.” She says sharply. It’s already bad enough that she has to deal with the multitude of calls, but there’s no way she’ll be going to the mansion right now.
“You’ll be compensated for it. Right now, I need you to come down to the mansion and deal with the reporters.”
“The reporters?” She says, getting off her seat. Julia trails behind her, concerned.“Why are there reporters there?” She asks, quickly putting on her coat as Julia hands her her purse and keys.
There’s an irritated sigh from the other end of the phone. “Somebody died. I’ll be sending the PR team over soon, till then hold off the press.” And with that, the call cuts off and Anaïs stares down at the phone, her heart sinking.
Somebody died. Who?
She sprints out of the house, haphazardly putting the key in ignition as she drives through the city. It’s reckless of her to call someone while driving, but M. Agreste’s statement hangs over her head like a guillotine. “Pick up, pick up. Pick up.” She mutters rapidly under her breath rapidly, her nerves growing the longer the ringtone drags out. And then finally he picks up.
“Hey.” Reimund says from the other end of the line, his voice is tense. “I guess you’ve heard the news already.”
“No, I have fucking not.” She clips back, her grips tightening on the steering wheel. “Gabriel said somebody died. Do you have any idea how vague and equally terrifying that statement is? All I can think of is the worst possible thing to happen.”
There’s only one worst possible thing to happen in that mansion. And with M. Agreste’s statement, there’s only one person that comes to mind. One person who looked like he could break so easily. One person who is so so so tiny. One person that everybody in the mansion had to work together for, to just keep alive.
It’s really the only worst possible scenario.
Reimund is quiet on the other end, before. “Raphael, Adrien’s piano teacher, died.”
And it’s disgusting how the tightening in her limbs and the sinking feeling in her chest dissipates. It’s disgusting that she feels relief hearing that. But it’s fine. Anaïs had never been a good person, and she can live with that. It’s all fine, because thank goodness it’s not him. It’s not the kid.
It’s not the worst possible scenario.
“Oh.” She breathes out. “Oh, that’s. That’s bad.” She trails off, struggling on what to say. She feels sympathetic towards the dead man, but all her thoughts are jumbled and it’s a miracle she hasn’t said anything truly sociopathic like ‘Oh, thank fuck that guy died and not anyone else.’.
But then, Reimund continues. “...You should save your sympathies for the man.”
And Anaïs stills, because among everyone else she knew, nobody was more empathic than the man she was on call with. “What do you mean by that?”
Reimund lets out a deep breath and then he speaks, and it’s the most furious she has ever heard him. “He…tried to have his way with Adrien.”
“Excuse me!?” Anaïs almost shrieks out, her car skirting as she steers left a little too dangerously. Cars behind her horn incessantly, but she ignores them as she picks up the speed of her car. “Please tell me you’re fucking joking.”
Because there’s no way. No fucking way.
“I wish I was.” He says, and there’s muffled sounds in the background. “Just– just get here. It’s a mess.” And with that the call cuts out and Anaïs breaks several traffic laws as she races her car to the mansion. All the while, her heart hammers in her chest.
Turns out. It is the worst possible scenario. Just not one she could have ever even thought of. Never wanted to think of.
.
There’s ambulances, police cars and news reporters all standing outside, when Anaïs reaches the mansion. Quickly stepping out of her car, she makes her way to the front door, where the mansion guards were holding off the news reporters, who had already gotten wind of what was happening. It’d be better to call them paparazzi with the way they were shoving their cameras everywhere trying to get something. A scoop of anything.
Of what? A dead guy? A traumatised child?
God, what she’d give to roll up her sleeves and start absolutely going haywire on these assholes. Instead, she ends up straightening her coat as she signals to one of the guards to help her over. M. Gorille quickly pushes the reporters to the side allowing her to make her way up the steps of the entrance.
Some of the reporters, recognizing her from her right hand position at most of M. Agreste’s public appearances, instantly begin bombarding her with questions.
“Mlle. Garnier, do you have anything to say on the current predicament?”
“Is it true that somebody died in there?”
“What do you think could be the cause behind it?”
Their questions are truly as ridiculous as their obnoxious faces, and Anaïs ignores them as she turns towards the guards to get something to satiate the hungry press. “So, what’s happened so far?”
“Paramedics and the police are already inside. The corpse is to be taken away as they are trying to seal up the music room for further investigation.” M. Gorille informs her. “The staff has been asked to stay inside for questioning.”
Rubbing her temple, she sighs. There’s no way the press isn’t already aware of this. What they want is something dramatic, something to headline their articles tomorrow. “And? So they’re just treating it as a murder case?”
“It’s…certainly a possibility.” M. Gorille answers grimly, already foreseeing the absolute mess PR is going to be for the next few weeks. Security will have to be strengthened around the premises and around M. Agreste.
And that answered mostly everything she needed to know before she dealt with the impatient press. Except she did have one more thing to ask. Just one she particularly didn’t want to, given the last thing Reimund said to her. “And… what about the kid?” She says, almost mumbling the question.
M. Gorille doesn’t react for a moment, and Anaïs almost takes it as a sign that either M. Gorille didn’t know or that Reimund could fortunately have been wrong for once. Only, the next moment, his face shifts, and something between a scowl and a frown forms on the man’s face. As if he is struggling to decide whether to be angry or devastated.
“He’s…he’s not good. The paramedics are trying to move him out of the room, but he isn’t budging.”
And Anaïs stills. “For the love of all that is unholy, please do not tell me that the kid’s still in the room where that man died.”
The grimace that takes over M. Gorille’s features answers her question for her, and it takes everything in her to not explode that very second. She’d have marched in and demanded for him to get out or something, if not for the fact that she knows that that’s the last thing Adrien would need right now. Comfort is not something she can offer the boy, instead.
She sighs, before turning towards the press, her heels clicking sharply on the tiled entrance. At the very least, she’ll hold these assholes off, while Reimund deals with the kid inside. Oh and she will kill anyone who lets any information about the kid out.
“Alright then.” She says, stone-faced. She hopes the cameras do not make her look too bad on TV, especially since Julia would definitely be watching. “I shall begin by saying–”
***
Reimund hadn’t been the one to discover what had happened in the room. In fact he was quite far from it. He had been in the kitchen playing cards with Cyril, their resident chef, when Anne, a fellow housekeeper, had rushed in, a worried look on her face, breath caught in her lungs.
“Everything alright, Anne?” Reimund had asked, getting up from his chair.
And Anne’s mouth opened and closed as she had tried to form words. “Adrien… His teacher… The lesson room is locked.” She had said and Reimund had raised an eyebrow at that. That was unusual. “And…I am not too sure with the sound proofing of all the rooms, but it sounded like there was a huge bang in the room.”
“Bang?” Reimund had questioned, standing up. He had made his way to the set of room keys hung at the small key hook beside the fridge and plucked it off. Cyril had picked up the safety kit from the bottom shelf under the sink. With Anne leading them, they had quickly made their way to the room.
Reimund had knocked on the door loudly and when he received no response, he had made quick use of the room keys to unlock the room and push it wide open. The three of them had entered inside, and had immediately frozen.
When Anne had mentioned a locked room and a bang, Reimund didn’t really know what to make of the two circumstances paired together. Nothing had prepared him for the sight in front of him.
Adrien’s piano instructor had been on the floor, his neck twisted with blood flowing from his mouth and his eyes popped wide open. He had looked harrowing, but somehow. Somehow that hadn’t been the worst thing that they could see.
Because the man, Raphael , Reimund remembers, had his trousers shimmied down to his thighs, his penis still erect. And Reimund had felt his heart stutter and drop, and slowly, with dawning horror he had turned towards the sound of sobbing that had been coming from the sofa at the side of the room.
Adrien Agreste had been curled into himself, his bottom half naked as sobs racked through his tiny body. The floor beside him, covered in vomit. And at that moment, Reimund who had never been particularly religious, prayed to whatever God, prayed to perhaps Death himself, thanking him for killing the man that lay in front of him before Reimund had done it himself.
There could never be any forgiveness for a child rapist.
“Cyril.” Reimund had forced out. “Bring me a blanket. Anne, call the emergency services.”
Cyril had nodded before quickly rushing out of the room, cursing under his breath. Anne had fumbled through her pockets, before taking out her phone to hurriedly call the emergency services where she explained the situation as best as she could, despite how shaky her voice had become.
And Reimund had taken on the task to approach the young boy.
Adrien had looked terrified, from the way his hands, with their reddened wrists, had trembled; from the way he had been muttering apologies under his breath; from the way he had flinched when Reimund tried to reach for him.
Adrien hadn’t looked to be fully coherent, and no consoling and soothing words, that normally did wonders for the child, had worked on him.
In the end, Reimund had taken a few steps back, and only made his way back to Adrien to hand him the blanket that Cyril had brought, that the boy had latched onto with a deathly grip, before they had both stepped as far away from Adrien as they could without leaving him alone in a room with his dead predator teacher.
.
And now almost two hours in, the body had been removed but the paramedics and the police together hadn’t been able to get Adrien to budge.
“M. Reimund, I understand you’re trying to protect the boy, but we can’t delay this any longer. He needs a full medical evaluation, both physical and psychological.” One of the paramedics stresses.
“He is currently terrified of everything that moves near him. You are only going to further traumatise him if you forcefully move him.” Reimund argues. He stands adamantly between Adrien and the paramedics. He knows that they are saying what’s best for him, but the kid’s been through enough. At the very least, he wants Adrien to feel safe before he is taken away for screening.
“We’ve tried everything. Coaxing, reassurance, giving him space. Nothing is working. If we don’t act soon, he’s at risk of shock or severe distress.” The paramedic says. When Reimund still doesn’t budge, she sighs. “Look, we don’t want to scare him. But if he refuses to move, we’ll have no choice but to transport him as he is. M.Adrien’s guardian has already authorized us to take him to the hospital immediately.”
“Just. Just give me another chance to make him listen.” Reimund tries. And the paramedic purses her lips, but relents nevertheless.
And Reimund takes in a huge breath before once again approaching Adrien who was huddled close to the edge of the sofa. He takes his steps slowly, treading softly. It reminds him of something a friend that worked with rescue animals used to say.
“You have to be approachable. When you’re huge towering over them, of course they’ll feel cornered and scared. You have to let them know you mean no harm.” Was one of the many pieces of advice she had given him, when he had volunteered to help her out at the animal rescue shelter.
So, Reimund moves carefully, cautiously. “Adrien.” He says softly to let the boy know. There’s a small flinch as Adrien squishes his face further into his knees. “Adrien, it’s Reimund. May I talk to you?”
He receives no response. But that’s to be expected. So, instead, Reimund settles on the ground before the sofa. “Adrien, hi.” He tries. “I am Reimund. One of the housekeepers in your house. Do you recognize me?”
The boy only sniffles, but doesn’t say anything beyond it.
But Reimund still persists. “I am in charge of bringing you your breakfasts, lunches and dinners, remember? And sometimes, before you head off for your classes, I sneak in a couple of chocolates as snacks.” And, it’s the moment he says chocolate, that Adrien shows any sign that he had been listening. He raises his head from his legs, just enough to peek at him. He is still sniffling, and his eyes are red rimmed, but at least he is listening. And it’s painfully innocent how the first thing that he acknowledges is talks about ‘chocolates’ above anything else.
“Adrien, would you like me to bring you some chocolate?” Reimund asks. The boy hesitates, his grip on his knees tightening, but then he nods meekly. Reimund dives his hand into his trousers pocket to procure one of those cheap gas station chocolate bars that he has stocked up on because Adrien always seemed to appreciate them greatly. “Here.” He offers the unwrapped chocolate to him.
Adrien reaches out a hand tentatively, and Reimund waits patiently with his hand held out as Adrien cautiously reaches out to take the chocolate from him. The boy slowly nibbles through the chocolate and Reimund lets him finish before offering. “Would you like more?”
He sees Adrien hesitate before he finally speaks. “Can I?” And his voice is still shaky from all his crying and he looks so incredibly small wrapped in that blanket with his blotchy red cheeks and puffy eyes and all Reimund could say is, “As many as you want.” And he takes out another to give to Adrien.
When Adrien is done with this one as well, he takes out another but Adrien shakes his head gripping his blanket. “Thank you.” Adrien mumbles.
“Of course.” Reimund smiles. “Is there anything else you want?”
Adrien shakes his head.
“Nothing? There must be something. We can have it arranged.” Reimund offers. Now that Adrien was actually responding, it was in his best interest to get him to agree to go to the hospital. But Adrien shakes his head. “Anyone?” He tries and the boy stills, so Reimund pushes on. “Is there anyone you’d like with you right now.”
He is quiet for a moment, but then he whispers. “I want Plagg.”
Reimund blinks, trying to think of any person who might be called Plagg. He feels like he’d remember it given the uniqueness of the name. “Do you know where we can find Plagg?” He ends up asking when he comes up with nothing. Adrien looks hesitant upon that question, conflicted really. “Or would you like to get Plagg yourself?” He suggests.
Adrien bites down on his lips, curling into himself again. “I want Plagg.” He repeats. And his eyes well up again and his lips tremble. And oh, Reimund messed it up spectacularly. Behind him, he can hear the heightened whispers of the paramedics that range from talks of the need to take Adrien away to pretty much scoffing at him.
“Plagg.” Adrien sobs. And then before Reimund can do anything to begin comforting him, the air in the room turns cold. The hair on his neck stand up and all he can feel is dreary cold and ultimate doom.
He gulps, turning around, only to see the paramedics frozen in position, almost as if time has stopped, and the outline of a tall dark figure with gleaming gold eyes staring down at him. The figure tilts his head, his haunting eyes fixed on him and he’s so eerie and out of place, like an eldritch horror come to life that all Reimund wants to do is run. To run as far as he can. Away from whatever it is in front of him.
But then a small sound comes from behind him, and oh, Adrien is still here. And he knows Adrien is still averted to touch, but right now they have to leave, to get as far away as they can. It’s like something so primal in his brain has unlocked that even without knowing anything about the figure in front of him, he knows they have to leave. Or else –
Reimund knows he has to stand up, to grab Adrien and run. But his legs shake, his hands tremble and his body doesn’t move. He’s like a deer in front of headlights. Like a rabbit caught in a snare. Like a man about to die.
The figure moves forward and Reimund instinctively flinches, his heart hammering in his chest. He’s going to die .
But then. “Adrien,” The figure says. And their voice is deep like thunderstorms at sea but somehow, the way they pronounce Adrien’s name, is so unbelievably soft. The name is said with familiarity and care – with affection. And that jarring difference has Reimund reeling in whiplash.
“Plagg.” Adrien responds.
‘Plagg? That’s Plagg??’ Reimund thinks, watching with bated breath as Plagg, still standing away from them, raises their hand. The tip of their index finger glows a mixed hue of pitch black and molten golden before bubbles start erupting everywhere. One stray bubble floats over and pops on the bridge of his nose.
Behind him, from the couch, he hears a small giggle. He whips his head around to see Adrien, with his lips stretched into a tiny grin, poking one of the many bubbles that have gathered around him.
And, that’s the sight that finally calms Reimund down.
Because no matter how dangerous the figure in front of him seems to be, if… if Adrien right now finds comfort in them, then so be it. That being said, “D-did you freeze time?” Reimund finally stutters out.
The figure’s gold eyes fix at him, narrowing into slits and Reimund gulps wondering if speaking was the wrong thing to do. But, “Yes.” The being answers. Reimund waits for an elaboration of sorts, but nothing. So, Reimund forces himself to continue.
“When will you unfreeze it?” He asks. “Adrien needs to be taken for a checkup.”
The being pauses, doesn’t answer him, but rather fixes their eyes on Adrien settled on the couch behind him. “Adrien.” The being says, and the difference between how they addressed him and how they addressed Adrien is stark.
The small boy looks up, wide red rimmed eyes, at the figure with easy trust.
“Do you trust this man?” The being asks.
Adrien looks down at Reimund, and slowly nods. And despite the still present pit of nerves in his stomach, he feels warm at the gesture from the boy.
“Then, will you go with him?”
“Where?”
The being turns to him, and Reimund answers. “The hospital. Adrien, the medics will take you to the hospital. I will come along, if you want.”
Adrien nods, lips pursing, before he looks up at the being. “Will you come with me?”
The being nods. “You won’t see me, but I’ll be there.”
“You won’t leave?”
The being pauses. “This will be the last time that I’m not next to you at all times. I’ll protect you.” Another pause. “Of course, exempt any times that you do not want me there.”
“Promise?” Adrien asks, his voice becoming softer.
And Plagg’s gold eyes visibly crease at the side as he nods lightly. “I swear on my existence.”
And that seems to be a satisfactory answer to Adrien whose eyes flit towards Reimund. Reimund gulps as Plagg’s eyes also land on him, but then Plagg disappears, time unfreezes, the coldness that suffocated the room vanishes and Reimund can breathe again.
Adrien, now much better than he was just moments ago, finally looks up to meet the paramedics eyes; he is still nervous, still meek, but he mumbles out. “I’ll go with you to the hospital.”
The paramedics nod, gently coming over to take the boy away, albeit confused at the sudden shift in the boy’s demeanor, but they don’t ask questions, and simply carry on, though some stare at their watches befuddled at how much time had passed in a blink of an eye. Reimund follows after them, until Adrien is safely in the ambulance, before he returns back to the kitchen.
“So?” Cyril asks as he passes Reimund a drink.
Shaking his head, Reimund stares down at the water, wishing it was alcohol. Anything to make him put behind everything that happened today. “Don’t ask. Not right now.” And he gulps.
Notes:
plagg didn't freeze time, only people, that's important.
Reimund (Having a very understandable freakout about seeing death in front of him.): I am about to die.
Death: i make bubbles
Adrien: Plagg!! (Dad!)
if this doesn't show how absolutely different a normal person's reaction to death and adrien's, then idk what does.i planned on posting this chapter like two days ago, but procrastination hit hard. but no fear! next chapter is due soon! >:))) also guys appreciate the comments very much like it gives so much motivation to write this fic because it's genuinely out of my comfort zone and your comments are literally what keeps me going. so thankyouuu<3333
Chapter 10: i don’t know, but i’ll try (for you)
Chapter Text
The next week or so pass by in a blur. There’s police, detectives, lawyers – pretty much every relevant profession involved in this. Anaïs spends most of her time in the office, working overtime with the PR team to deal with the press.
It’s bad, so bad, and Anaïs feels her head pounding as she finally screams at one of the ‘reporters’ that dared to call her and fucking hint at whatever Raphael had tried to do to Adrien. How he had even gotten wind of it, she doesn’t know, but by gods was she close to breaking the receiver when she heard the taunting voice of the man on the other side.
Sighing, she leans back on her chair, massaging her temples. A knock sounds from outside the door.
“Enter.” She calls out. The door creaks open and Reimund walks in, two cups in hand.
“Tea?” He asks.
“It better be chamomile.” She warns as she makes her way to the coffee table in the middle of the room.
Reimund smiles as he passes her a cup. “But of course.” It’s a blatant lie. It’s one of those cheap tea bags, but it’s warm and scorching hot and all she wants right now is to burn her fucking throat down. She gulps, hissing when the tea does indeed burn her tongue.
“Slow down. What’s the hurry?” Reimund asks, always the composed one.
There’s nothing to hurry for, except she wishes time would hurry. She wishes the days would pass by quickly, until the tabloids stop talking about ‘the murder at Agreste mansion’ and move onto some celebrity’s scandal. She wants everyone irrelevant to forget about this incident. To move on.
She shrugs. “Dunno. Just want to drink it down before some other fucker decides to call.”
“Hubbub still hasn’t died down?”
She clicks her tongue. “Not until the police officially close Raphael’s death as an unfortunate ‘epileptic seizure’.”
“That’s what they are deciding on?”
“Mhm. At least that’s the last I heard.”
Reimund hums noncommittal, slowly sipping his tea, eyes distant lost in thought. She should let him continue to ponder. But, “How’s the kid?”
That snaps him out instantly, and a series of emotions flurry across his face in rapid succession before he finally smiles, forced. “He’s doing better.”
“Yeah?” Anaïs wouldn’t know. Not when she had gone out of her way to avoid meeting the kid.
Reimund nods. “Yeah. His therapist seems pleased with his development. According to her, he seems to have a great support system–”
And that. That finally makes her laugh. “‘A great support system.’ Really?” She scorns. “His dad has been out of the city on one of his business trips. The only company he has is us mansion staff who haven’t ever properly interacted with the child, and she says he has a great support system?” She asks, incredulous.
Reimund doesn’t say anything, looking down at his cup. And it frustrates her more. She has a short fuse, it’s one of her lackings that Julia has always pointed out. And right now, she is overworked, annoyed and this whole situation is so so shitty. And she, gods, she just wants to lash out. And that’s her state, as someone who wasn’t even involved in the situation, and the therapist has the gall to say that Adrien is doing better when there was no reason for him to. When everybody had failed him. Over and over again.
(When she–)
“Do you not want him to be better?” Reimund asks.
She laughs at the absurdity of the statement. Did she want him better? “Of course I fucking do. I want the kid to forget this ever happened. For him to be able to move on.” For everybody to move on. For every single one of those tabloids to forget it. For this to not be an incident that plagues him for the rest of his life.
“Then? He’s doing exactly that. Moving on. What’s the problem?”
“That’s what the therapist thinks.” Anaïs finally breathes out. “Who's to say she doesn’t know everything? Who's to say that the kid is only pretending right now? Who’s to say she isn’t being neglectful?”
Reimund pauses, looking up to meet her gaze, eyebrows furrowing. “You’re projecting.” He finally decides.
And she scoffs. Because, “Oh wow, great revelation.”
“You couldn’t have known.”
“Couldn’t or didn’t try to?” Anaïs says bitterness seeping into her words. When Reimund doesn’t reply, she continues. “It took us so fucking long to just piece together how absolutely fucking shit his father is.”
(Anaïs walks into the kitchen. The only place where everyone is able to wind down. Except tonight, her nerves are high and not even Cyril’s low humming and the bubbling pot of milk tea can make her ease down. Not when she had just seen the kid run out of his father’s office. Not when she had seen tears streaming down his face. Not when there was a clear red print across his cheeks. Not when this time it couldn’t be an accident. It couldn’t have been him accidentally running into the desk.
Reimund looks up from his novel, eyebrows raised in question. And before he can even begin to ask, Anaïs forces out. “Gabriel hits Adrien. Did you know that?”
The room is quiet.
“What?”
And it only unravels from there.
.
“Wait, that means he hasn’t eaten properly since he moved to the attic?” Anne asks, once Reimund mentions how Adrien hadn’t left the attic for anything besides his classes.
“It’s been more than a day,” Cyril thinks over the timeline quickly, grimacing as he speaks. “He refused to eat breakfast yesterday and only ate an apple for dinner the night before.” Which is supposed to be a stereotypical tantrum, normal of a seven year old.
Except. Everything about how Gabriel manipulates information related to Adrien–
Reimund says it for her. “Refused to or was forced to?”
They are all quiet for the next few minutes as they let the information sink in.
.
“Why was he moved to the attic again?”
“Anaïs?”
She shakes her head, all the while her head pounds. ‘A temporary punishment.’ Because he was supposedly acting out in his lessons. The kid, who looked at everyone with big terrified eyes, was acting out in lessons.
How did she not question that statement? How did she think that even then it was okay?
How was she so blind?
She wasn’t blind, she just ignored it.
It was easier to deny it was happening.
Until she couldn’t.)
When she had learned of Raphael, she had been functioning on adrenaline and it was so easy to gear up into ‘protective mode’, to act like she had any right to show concern for Adrien. To act like she cared.
“Look, we were all idiots.” Reimund agrees, “Abhorable idiots for not figuring it out beforehand. But there’s not much we can do about the past.” She opens her mouth to argue, but he raises a hand quieting her as he continues. “And yes, that doesn’t mean the past doesn’t exist and that we get to just act like it never happened, but right now we need to help Adrien. To support him. Because as you said he doesn’t have anyone who will. And giving him a support system means all of us need to play equal parts. Which means you too.”
She grimaces, her neatly manicured nails digging into the palm of her hand. “He hates me.”
“He’s scared. Of everyone.”
“Not you.”
Reimund smiles at that. “And you think I got there by avoiding the kid?”
She sighs, tongue wetting her lips as she looks down at her now cooling cup of tea. She really should have hurried. This wasn’t a conversation she was prepared for. “What do I do?”
“Give him a gift.”
“What?”
“A gift. Peace offering of sorts.”
“You’ve completely lost me.”
Reimund sighs, finishing the last of his tea. “You know how you lure cats with kibble?”
“So you’re basically treating the kid as an animal?” She challenges.
“Better animal than human.” He states simply, and she quietens at that. Well, that…what was she to say to that?
She stares at him as he picks up his now empty cup and the coaster he brought alongside it. “He likes sweet things and bubbles.”
She still doesn’t reply even as Reimund makes his way to the door. “Just think about it.” Are the last words he says before he is pushing the door open and leaving Anaïs alone with her thoughts and her cup of cold tea.
She groans, sinking further into the sofa. She digs through her pockets for her phone, and makes a call.
“What?” Julia asks as soon as she picks up. Anaïs runs a hand through her hair, digging fingertips where it hurts more. She could feel a migraine incoming.
“Do you happen to know a toy store where we can get one of those bubble making guns?”
A pause. “...what?”
***
He’s back in his old room.
It had been a surprise when he returned from his hospital visit and had made his way to the spiraling staircase only for M. Reimund to call out to him, stopping him in his tracks. He had then been ushered into the same grey room, everything exactly as he had left it.
His books and his clothes had been brought in later, by a maid named Anne Boucher and Adrien had leapt to help her but instead the lady had laughed as she waved him off. “Please rest.” He had been told, and Adrien had gotten back into his bed.
“It’s weird.” He says. Plagg looks up from his book. His feet dangle off on the window sill.
“What’s weird?”
“Everything!” Adrien exclaims. His studies hadn’t improved so there’s no reason his punishment should have been lifted. In fact, he hadn’t been studying at all! His teachers hadn’t come for the past week. Instead, a lady with odd frog themed glasses would visit him and have him do activities like painting and twenty questions. He doesn’t get it.
“Do you hate it?” Plagg asks, walking off the window sill to sit on the bed beside him.
Adrien shakes his head. It was nice. He liked the drawings Mme. Dubois made him do, he liked the numerous desserts he was getting in his meals, he liked how everyone was paying attention to him. But…
“Why is it happening?” Adrien asks. “I didn’t do anything to deserve it.”
“Do you have to do anything to deserve being treated well?” Plagg asks.
Adrien purses his lips and then nods. “You have to earn it.”
“Why?”
Adrien blinks. “Because…” He comes off short. Why? Well, he had never thought about that. But, surely the answer would be simple. Why does he need to earn the right to be treated well? His etiquettes teacher would say that that’s how it is and move on. His father… He had given him the answer before. “Because life is not fair?” He meant to say it as a statement but it comes across more as a question as he looks up at Plagg.
Plagg simply nods, but he doesn’t say anything in response and Adrien knows it as a sign to continue his train of thoughts. And so he does. “Because everybody cares for themselves… umm, so, you have to…make them care?” Plagg nods encouragingly, even though the more he speaks, the less he thinks he is making sense. His father made much more sense when he had scolded him about this a few months back. “And, so I have to do well in my tasks and make people care so that I get treated well.” He finishes.
“Then what about babies or pets?” Plagg questions. “Most of them do no tasks and yet are treated well.”
“That’s because they’re babies and animals.” Adrien argues. “They have no tasks.”
“So, doesn’t the idea that good treatment is earned become meaningless? Because some get it without.” Plagg states simply.
“Babies and animals are the exemp-exempt.” He struggles with the last word. “Exemption.” Plagg finishes for him. And Adrien nods. “Yeah that.”
“Why can’t that extend to everyone?” Plagg rebuts. “Would you be mean to a beggar? A homeless person? They are not doing their tasks.”
Adrien fidgets. The answer should be yes.
But.
Last year during the winter gala, the streets had been crowded, and their car was parked ahead. His father had walked quickly, angry at having to walk to their car instead of it being at the entrance of the gala. Adrien had stumbled and ran, trying to keep up with his pace. They had been near the limousine, M. Gorille standing with the car door opened, when a man stumbled out of the alley, frostbitten hands cupped in his direction. His father had sneered and walked ahead, beckoning Adrien to follow.
And Adrien… He didn’t have any money. He did have gloves and the man looked terribly cold. So, he had slipped the warm white gloves he had on. They were probably too small for the man, and he flushed, embarrassed that that’s all he could give. The man had thanked him nonetheless, and Adrien had walked back to his car, feeling unnaturally warm.
“No.” Adrien relents. He feels nervous when he says this. “No, I wouldn’t.”
“Why?” Plagg asks again, and Adrien glares up at the man who only tilts his head, awaiting his answer.
It’s obvious why. “Because, that’d be mean. Nobody deserves to be treated unkindly.”
“Exactly.” Plagg agrees. “Kindness–” And then he pauses, and Adrien thinks he almost looks taken aback by his own words. But then he wets his bottom lip and continues. “Kindness should be the default that you offer to others and thus it should be the default you should expect to receive from people.”
“This.” Plagg gestures to the room. “Is what you should consider normal.”
“But.” Adrien begins, hands clenching into fists. “But, it isn’t.”
“Then I’ll make it.” Plagg says simply. And Adrien nods, but he doesn’t truly believe it. Plagg doesn’t know Adrien’s father. But, it’s alright. Adrien is fine with this. Even if it’s for a while.
Plagg raises a curious eyebrow in his direction, and Adrien wonders if he is going to push on this subject further but he doesn’t. Instead. “Though…some people do deserve to be treated unkindly.” Plagg says this slowly, almost hesitantly. And there’s a tonal shift in the way he speaks and it’s so familiar and Adrien instantly knows at once where this conversation is going.
Because, everyone speaks like this, like they are walking on a tightrope and Adrien has the scissors to cut it, when they bring up…Raphael.
“That man deserved what he got because he treated you badly first.”
Adrien nods, suddenly very uninterested in the conversation. Plagg hadn’t brought this topic up before. But everyone else had. And they all repeated the same thing over and over again, without fail. And it all came down to two points.
- Raphael was a bad man.
- It wasn’t Adrien’s fault.
He gets it. Really, he does. At least to what he can understand. Adrien had been terrified. He had cried because he didn’t like Raphael touching him. It scared him. A lot. It didn’t feel okay. It didn’t feel alright. And for the first time, everybody agreed.
In the hospital, once Adrien had calmed down enough, his heart much more steady knowing that Plagg was with him, that he had Plagg to rely on, he felt much better. He was still scared, but he knew it would pass.
A doctor had come in and had gone through a health exam with him and she had been the first one to say it. She had gotten on eye level with him, and she had spoken clearly and perhaps sincerely. “Adrien, what that man did to you was wrong. Alright?” He had blinked, and then had felt weirdly emotional.
And he had burst into tears in front of this stranger he didn’t even know. But she hadn’t told him to straighten his back or wipe his tears because it was un-Agreste like. Instead, she had asked him if she could hold his hand and when he nodded, she had squeezed it as she promised that it wasn’t his fault.
And Adrien had felt…He doesn’t know the word for it. But, there was relief, something akin to joy and sadness blended in together at the realization that people agreed with him over Raphael. That people, other than Plagg, thought he was in the right.
But, that excitement was short lived when he had to listen to the same thing being repeated over and over again. And at one point, Adrien lets it in one ear and out the other.
Because here’s the thing, he doesn’t understand and he isn’t sure how he is supposed to bring it up to adults whose faces turn grim as they mention Raphael – what comes next?
He accepts the two points. They must be true since everybody repeats them over and over again. And so, what is he supposed to do with that?
Mme. Dubois had mentioned it early on in one of her visits that the aim of her visits is to help him move on from that ‘traumatic event’ as she had put it.
And Adrien likes to believe he has moved on.
No, really he has.
(The lady with the frog themed glasses asks uncomfortable questions sometimes. Sometimes he feels they come out of nowhere. This time is no different.
“Do you feel safe?” She asks.
He looks up from the jigsaw puzzle she had given him to do, startled at the question. “That man, Raphael, he did something bad to you, that was in no way your fault. But, that doesn’t take away from the fear he may have caused.”
He nods, even though he barely understands half of what she is trying to say.
“Do you feel alright? Do you feel scared of him?” She asks.
And Adrien shakes his head. He is scared of many things. He was scared when Raphael had been close. But, Plagg had promised.
“I have Plagg.” He says. The woman blinks, confused. But there is nothing to be confused about. Plagg said he won’t leave. Plagg said he’ll be here.
And if Plagg is here, then he is fine.
It’s true.)
“You’re not listening.” Plagg makes an observation, and Adrien breaks out of his reverie to stare up at gold eyes. He almost feels nervous when he realises he had been ignoring Plagg, but the man is only staring at him curiously and Adrien knows that Plagg isn’t going to be mad at him for it.
“Sorry.” He mutters, nonetheless. He fidgets with his hands, and looks down apologetically.
“That’s fine.” Plagg accepts. “But, do you not want to talk about…him?”
“Raphael?” Adrien asks, his voice calm and collected, and Plagg nods.
“Umm…everybody has discussed it over many times already. I am fine now.”
“Then, why did your hands tremble when you said his name?” Plagg asks. And Adrien looks down at his hands, they look fine to him. They don’t even have any of the imprints Raphael left, when he had grabbed him. There’s nothing that Raphael has left behind. So that means, it’s all in the past.
This is the one thing he is more than happy to leave in the past.
“They didn’t.” Adrien states, wanting this conversation to be over soon.
Plagg pauses for a moment, and then he raises his hand, opening his palm in Adrien’s direction. Flowers bloom all over it.
“A word.”
Adrien blinks and then realises what Plagg wanted. He gets up and rushes to get his French textbook. He quickly flips through the pages, landing on the one about the Middlemist's Red one. Skimming through the text, he lands on one word. “Fragrant.”
Plagg plucks a flower off his hand. It’s fairly big with many purple petals and oh.
“This one is called–” Plagg begins but Adrien cuts him off.
“Peony.” It’s one of the few flowers that he knows well. “It’s a peony.”
Plagg blinks, question clear in his eyes so Adrien purses his lips but then slowly explains. “Peonies were my mother’s favorite flowers.”
Pausing, Plagg stares down at the flower, before handing it to him. Adrien almost doesn’t want to take it. The flower is light in his hand. He doesn’t know why he expected it to be heavy. “Then, do you know what it means?”
Adrien shakes his head.
“Purple peonies represent healing.” Plagg begins. “And do you know what everyone wants you to do?”
“Move on.” Adrien says. “And I’m doing that.”
“Moving on is a part of healing. Everyone wants you to heal.”
“And I’m doing that.” Adrien repeats, almost frustrated.
“And the first part to healing is to accept that it cannot be rushed.” Plagg carries on, ignoring what Adrien says. “Healing is coming to accept what happened was bad and coming to terms with–” And Plagg is now repeating what Mme. Dubois said.
“And I’m doing that!” He doesn’t scream, he isn’t sure when was the last time he did, but his tone is louder and angrier. And for some reason he feels close to tears, sad and angry ones, not the happy ones that Plagg mostly brings. His hand tightens around the purple peony in hand, almost breaking the stem.
Plagg pauses, he looks down at him. And Adrien almost expects him to stop. Because Plagg cares. At least, Adrien thinks so. But then,
“Adrien, why do you think everyone keeps repeating this to you? In many different words, in many different ways?”
Adrien sniffles, realising that this discussion isn’t stopping anytime soon. Adrien looks up at Plagg hoping it conveys the betrayal he feels towards him.
“Because, nobody believes me.” Adrien answers, nonetheless. He doesn’t want Plagg to leave. “They don’t believe that I’m fine. And neither do you.” He glares at Plagg with his last words and Plagg’s eyes widen.
“I do believe you.” He says.
“If you did, you wouldn’t be talking about this.” Adrien argues. “Amn’t I supposed to get over it?”
“You should. At your own pace.” Plagg affirms.
“Then?” Adrien asks, and he feels tears slipping. This is dumb, why is he near tears over this? He quickly rubs at his eyes. “I am taking it at my own pace. I am fine. I want to move on.”
He’s not lying. He understands what everyone is saying. And he’s ready to put it all behind.
He doesn’t want to talk about Raphael. Doesn’t want to remember eyes raking over and hands trailing around. Doesn’t want to remember blood pooling on the floor and metallic smell shrouding the room. He doesn’t want to remember the sound.
(Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop thinking. Stop. Stop. Stop–)
And that’s fine, right?
Because he’s supposed to move on.
So, why does everyone keep bringing him back up?
“Adrien.” Plagg says, and he’s calm as he walks around the bed to crouch at Adrien’s side. “How long has it been since Raphael?”
Adrien pauses at the question but then shrugs.
“It’s been thirteen days.” Plagg answers for him. “It’s been a short while, even by mortal standards, so everyone is just worried that you may not be taking it all well.”
“But I am.” Adrien argues. He had been taking it better. Much better than he did with Nathalie and mother.
“You’re crying.” Plagg points out.
“Because.” Adrien says, hand flailing and his grip on the peony loosens and it drops to the floor. Both he and Plagg pause. Adrien moves to pick it up, but Plagg is quicker and he easily brings the now wobbly peony, with a broken stem and loose petals that fall to the floor, back to Adrien.
Adrien takes the peony and stares down at it. At the flower that is supposed to mean healing. It looked broken right now.
He bites down on his lip and then he speaks. Most of his outburst and tears forgotten, as he whispers. “I don’t like the talks.”
Plagg doesn’t speak, and Adrien doesn’t look up to meet his eyes, and instead continues, voice quiet. “When mother died, nobody wanted me to speak about it. When Nathalie died, it was the same. And now when Raphael died…why does everybody want to talk about it?” And tears are pooling around his eyes again, and his lip is wobbling, his throat clogging up. “Mother was nicer, so was Nathalie. I want to talk about them. Not him. I don’t want to talk about Raphael.”
He wants to move on.
(The smell of metal. The color of blood. The sound of a piano. The hands of a man–)
Please.
Plagg is quiet, and Adrien wonders if he’ll press on. Maybe he will. Because Plagg thought it was important to discuss. And Plagg was normally right.
But then.
“Okay.” Plagg relents. “We won’t talk about him.”
“But everybody else will.”
“I’ll make sure they don’t.” Plagg says. And Adrien raises his head to meet gold eyes that blink slowly at him. “We won’t talk about it. Not until you’re ready.”
A pause. “Promise?” Adrien asks, hopefully.
Plagg leans closer, his hand passing over the broken peony in Adrien’s hand, fixing the stem. The petals still remain fallen. He’ll pick them up later. A daffodil sprouts in Plagg’s palm. “Promise.”
Notes:
Guys I know the attempted rape is still pretty underdeveloped in terms of recovery afterwards. And I promise it will NOT be brushed aside as merely this. It’s just for now and just a way of showing a (mostly harmful) coping mechanism of just ignoring everything that Adrien very clearly has. Did Plagg just want his kid to come to terms with everything as he wants to? Yes. Is it maybe not the smartest thing to let something like this go mostly unaddressed and helped through? Also yes. Ik maybe this isn’t the approach you’d be expecting but…just bear with me. I do have plans to address all of his attempted assault trauma properly but if any of you have constructive criticism about the approach, I’d be more than happy to take it into consideration.
Small thing to note, next chapter is up this weekend and then it’s a minor hiatus for two months for my exams. Soooo yeah.
Chapter 11: you give me a reason to cry
Chapter Text
I cling to our memories, tattered and worn,
my fingertips are all over the edges.
I thought about lighting them on fire–
but they are already burned,
in my mind.
The number rings, and it rings and it rings. In her lap, Juleka cries, demanding her attention. Anarka holds her to her chest, rocking her but it doesn’t deter her one month old from screaming her lungs out.
‘Sorry the number you’ve dialed is not responding at the moment. Please try again la–’ She cuts the call before she has to listen to that grating voice and grating message for the seventeenth time. Throwing her phone to the side, she squeezes her eyes shut lest she starts to sob alongside her daughter.
James should’ve been here. He promised he would be this time. That this time, they’ll make it work. That he’ll figure out how to balance his home and work life. He promised that the most important thing to him in the world was his kids, was her, was the life they had dreamt of building.
So, why is she stuck in this dingy apartment, holding her sniffling baby, on her own, while her boyfriend left last night to go back on his tour?
‘I’m sorry. But this is going to be my big break. You have to understand.’ Was all the note left on her bedside table had said. The coward hadn’t even bothered to say it to her face. Because, of course she wouldn’t understand.
Why would she?
When she had made sacrifices over sacrifice to make this work. To take the role of the supporting girlfriend. To take the role of a mother. To discard almost every other identity of hers to make this family work.
And he couldn’t be bothered to try once.
Her throat clogs up. And it’s the damn hormones, because Anarka has been through whatever life throws at her and she has come out stronger. She doesn’t cry. But right now, she feels weak. It’s the postpartum weakness. It has to be. Because if it’s not all physical, then what does it mean for her? That she has finally given up. She feels tired, she feels the exhaustion seep into her very bones.
She wants to sleep.
But she can’t bring herself to.
She hadn’t slept properly all week. Hell maybe not for the past month. Not since that call. And the one night she does, James leaves.
Leaves to become Jagged Stone for the masses instead of a partner for her.
He–
Her phone rings.
It’s pathetic how quickly she leaps to pick it up. It’s pathetic how she shushes her daughter as her jostling sends her in another one of her crying fits. It’s pathetic how she turns the phone over, almost desperate to talk to James. It’s pathetic how tears leak at the corners of her eyes when it’s not him.
She takes in a shaky breath. Steadying herself. She pats Juleka on the back until her sobs become small hiccups.
And then she answers. “Hello?”
“Anarka.” Gabriel acknowledges. “I hope you are doing well.”
She grimaces looking down at her stained shirt, but forces out nonetheless. “Yeah. What about you?”
Gabriel hums. Always the ‘mysterious’. As Émilie used to say when asked what she saw in the man.
(“I’m telling you he’s the one.” Émilie whines, slinging her arm around Anarka as they both make their way to meet the other two in the corner of their university’s amphitheatre. Anarka laughs, ready to snark at her for being too easily enticed by the stoic man but Émilie is quicker.“Don’t you get that endgame feeling with James?”
At that she pauses, and Émilie grins cooing as she flushes.
The wind blows and it’s a summer she’ll never forget.)
She shakes her head, quickly pushing back any old memories. She almost misses what Gabriel says, his voice lost to the weak signals and low droning of the pipework down on the street. “–Raphael?”
She blinks. “I’m sorry?”
“On what basis did you recommend Raphael to me?”
Raphael? The young aspiring musician from the music academy who was filling in for her? “He… He was a good pianist and he had been one of the best grads from the Conservatoire. He had been looking for a job to get some experience so he was the perfect fit.”
“And there was nothing that you may have known beforehand related to his…behavior?”
Frowning, Anarka goes through every interaction she has had with the man. Anything she may have heard from colleagues or his peers. And nothing clicks. He had been well-liked, respected in the academy. A decent gentleman. “No. Did he do something?” She asks.
There’s a frustrated sigh from the other end, and it irks Anarka. He has always been like this. Talking in circles, acting like he knew better – his way of communicating always carried an air of superiority and Anarka knows that the small effort he made to be ‘cordial’ with her came down to her friendship with his late wife.
“What did he do?” She asks again.
“He tried to rape my son.”
Her heart stutters and stops. Her ears ring, and it seems like everything goes blank. “...what?” She breathes, forces her lungs to work. “What did you say?”
Because, she must have heard wrong.
Because Adrien is seven. She knows this because he is a year younger than Luka. She knows because she had been at his fifth birthday, and that was two years ago. Adrien is a child. A child like her own son. Her own daughter.
“Raphael tried to rape Adrien.” Gabriel repeats, his voice stoic and controlled like what he said was just another cold hard fact that she has to swallow and accept.
(She has barely learned to accept the first one.)
“Oh my– I– I didn’t know.” She finally stutters out, and then a series of apologies rolls off her tongue, like water but they are sincere. “I’m so sorry. I am so sorry Gabriel, I didn’t have the slightest inkling that he was that kind of man. If I had, I wouldn’t have–” She comes to a halt at the ‘ifs’, because thinking she’d have done differently doesn’t change the fact that it has already happened. It doesn’t change the fact that Adrien…
(A hand tightening around hers. Thin fingers with too little strength left pressing down. Eyes hollowed out, looking at her desperately. A face sunken in, almost kissing death.
“Please.”
And she easily promises.)
She feels sick.
“I said ‘tried’.” The voice on the other side speaks up. “Not succeeded. He died before anything happened. Adrien’s checkup gave him the clear.”
There’s relief seeping through her bones. She takes in a shaky breath. It doesn’t change what happened. It doesn’t mean that what Adrien went through wasn’t traumatizing. But, there’s still relief. She doesn’t know what to make out of it.
She grasps from something. Something else to keep the conversation going. To understand what to make of this all. “Ho–How’d he die?”
Gabriel quietens for a moment, static on the receiver before he answers. “The larger consensus from professionals has been that it was an…‘untimely’ seizure.”
‘Untimely’. Is it really?
“So… what now?”
“Adrien has sessions scheduled with a therapist. He’s doing okay. I just wanted to inform you that under these conditions, I would be expecting you to rejoin work by at most mid-November.” And they are back to work. Everything unattached, unemotional, un-everything.
“And other than a therapist, what else?” She asks, ignoring his comment of having her cut her maternal leave short. She’ll be coming back in December. He’ll give her this much respect because of Émilie. Instead, she focuses on the more glaring issue. “Have you made an effort to connect with him or have you left it all to a stranger?”
A pause. “That stranger is equipped to handle such situations.”
“You are his father. He’d want his parent to comfort him as well.” She argues. “Give him some extra care and attention. God knows how much he needs it.”
“He’s getting all the care that he needs. He is doing better.” And his tone is no longer just stoic, it’s cold, which in Gabriel’s tea-spoon sized range of emotions, is basically equivalent to rage. “I’m here to inform you of when you are to return, not to hear how you think I should raise my child.”
“Goodbye Anarka.” He says stiffly. And the call cuts.
Anarka sighs. She sinks into the raggedy old purple couch, weary and tired.
The only good thing about the call was that she had finally stopped thinking of James. But now, all she can think and imagine is a small child and a large man. It’s a horrifying thought. No, it’s a horrifying reality.
A small noise comes from the bundle in her lap.
She looks down at her daughter, who is staring up at her. Light brown eyes looking at her curiously. Somewhere during the call, she had stopped crying completely. Anarka pets her hair, and Juleka’s chubby baby arms reach for her fingers. Her entire hand barely wraps around one of her fingers and Anarka finds herself laughing wetly as Juleka tries to bring her finger to her mouth.
“That’s not healthy, Jules.” She says, guiding her hand away from her mouth. Juleka makes a small noise of dissent. Anarka laughs wetly. “You’re only a month old and are already such a complainer. Y’know your brother didn’t complain half as much.” Juleka makes another sound as if complaining and Anarka smiles, emotions rising up. Her throat clogs as she brings Juleka to her chest, pressing her face in her curls. “Please grow up well. Please grow up safe.”
And it’s a prayer. A hymn that only she knows.
Please, for all the kids in the world, may they grow up well.
Please, for Adrien, may he grow up strong.
Please, for her own kids, may they grow up happy.
Another kid comes to mind, one whom she hasn’t seen since the funeral.
Please, for–
“Mom?” The bedroom door creaks and Luka stumbles over to her, eyes half closed. His dark hair is unruly and his pajama shirt rides up over his stomach. She goes to fix that, it’s only early October but the winds tend to be colder in the morning. He grumbles against her fretting, pushing her arms with Juleka up, making space for himself in her lap. She shuffles a little, until all three of them are somewhat comfortably tangled up together.
“You’re up early. It’s a Saturday, you can sleep in.” She offers to the boy, who snuggles against her lap, a tight hold on his worn snake plushie.
“W’nna be here. With you.” He mumbles. He looks up at her, and then adds as an afterthought. “And Jules.”
“Yeah?” She asks, fingers running through his curls, trying to smooth them out to resemble anything other than the bird’s nest they currently look like.
“Mhm.” He nods, his face burying against her stomach. “D’you get up so early?”
She smiles, even if it’s pinched at the sides. “Habit.”
“Why?”
She shrugs. “Maybe it’s a grown up thing.”
He doesn’t like the answer, evident with the way he frowns as he looks up at her. “Grown ups are stupid.”
It’s the way he says it, with the confidence and self righteousness of an eight year old, that startles a laugh out of her. Luka looks at her indignantly, and she has to purse her lips to bite down the smile that threatens to spill out at the sight of his puffed chubby cheeks. And then because of everything in the past hour, she finds herself agreeing. “You’re right.” She tucks a few strands behind his ear. “Adults are stupid.” So stupid, so remarkably stupid.
Luka pauses at her words. His free hand, the one not clutching the snake plushie, bundles into the fabric of her shirt. “Not you.” He says it with utmost sincerity.
Anarka smiles ruefully. ‘Especially me.’ She wants to say. But then Luka, with his sweet innocence would fight her on it, would deny her with the same sincere eyes that he is looking at her with now, and she might break into tears. So instead, she nods. “Thank you.”
Luka nods back solemnly, and then because he is an eight year old who woke up too early, he yawns. And then, because yawns are contagious, she and Juleka do too. Luka giggles at that. “We’re all sleepy.”
“Mhm. You wanna go back to bed?”
He thinks and then shakes his head. “Wanna be here.”
“I can come with you to the room if you’d like.”
He still shakes his head and buries his head against her torso. “T’is is fine.”
“Yeah?” She asks. “Anything you might want?”
Luka pauses, before shuffling off her lap and running to the bedroom. He leaves his snake plushie behind and Anarka catches it before it falls off the couch. The plushie is old, being given to Luka on his third birthday. It still has the card tag on it.
‘With love, Sabine and Tom!’ It reads.
(Her due date is nearing. She should be resting. Instead she is waddling through the apartment searching for her ringing phone since Luka and James are both out on a father-son trip to the record store.
She finally finds it. “Hello?”
Static and then. “It’s Gina. Tom’s mother. I called you be–”)
There’s a clattering noise that has her snapping out of her thoughts. She looks up from the plushie’s tag to see Luka carrying her guitar over to her.
She reaches forward and easily takes it out of his struggling grasp. “You could’ve just told me to get it, Luka.” She smiles as she settles back down.
“You were holding Jules.” He responds dutifully.
“Well, she wouldn’t mind lying in her carrycot for a little while. Will you, Jules?” She asks, poking her daughter on the nose. Juleka coos and Anarka exchanges a look with Luka.
“I think that’s a yes.” Luka whispers conspiratorially.
“Right? So do I.” Anarka agrees, and Luka quickly runs to bring Juleka’s carrycot, settling it on the floor next to the couch. Juleka miraculously makes little complaint as she is placed in it. Luka takes this as his chance to latch to Anarka’s side on the couch.
“Now, which song do you wanna hear?” She asks, readying her grip on her guitar.
“The stars one.” Luka says instantly.
She blinks, her hand stills. “You haven’t asked for that in a while.”
He grins. “Exactly.”
And she returns the grin back, but her hands don’t move to play. It’s a coincidence that Luka requested this song today, when she was missing everything from her past. It’s not his fault that this song reminded her of too much. But..
Luka looks up at her with expectant eyes. From her carrycot, Juleka does the same.
Anarka takes in a deep breath, and then she strings the first few chords of the lullaby. It comes to her easy, muscle memory taking over.
(She’s twenty two, skipping her Anth131 to hide in one of those shadowy corners of the amphitheatre. A tune on her tongue.
Nathalie looks over nervously. “Should we be doing this?”
“We’re in uni. Nobody cares.” Sabine rolls her eyes.
Émilie gasps. “Oh my god, who are you and what have you done to the four time ‘Student of the Year’ Sabine Cheng.”
Sabine sticks her tongue out. “She died back in highschool.”
“Are you rebranding?” Émilie raises an eyebrow. “Cause, there’s some pointers you cou–”
Anarka ignores the noise in the background and focuses on the melody rampaging through her head. She strings the first few chords, music on her fingers, and it falls silent.
She looks up to see three pairs of eyes fixed on her.
Émilie is the first one to speak, startling grey eyes sparkling in excitement. “Continue.”
And so she does.)
The words fall out of her tongue, “Oh little star. Oh littlest one.”
Luka listens enraptured, hands squeezing the plushie in hand. And that. That she finds is enough. It makes breathing easy. It makes singing this lullaby easy.
To forget everything else.
Later she’ll sit him down, Juleka asleep in her bassinet and tell him that his father had to leave. Later she’ll hold him to her chest as he cries and make excuses for why James did so. Later she’ll deal with the world and everything that comes with it.
Right now.
Right now, it’s just her and her two kids and the song from her past. And right now, that’s all that matters.
***
A butterfly flies across the Parisian skies.
It passes by people.
An old couple walking in a bustling park, their dog running ahead. A man crouched in an alleyway, a cigarette to his lips. A group of teenagers huddled in a corner in a school ground, a magazine splayed out between them.
It flies and it flies. Its wings flutter with the wind.
It has to find something. Someone.
It has to–
Its antennae perk. And it lands on a balcony. A boy sits between wilting potted plants, staring ahead.
It flies close, landing on one of the dead leaves. The boy blinks, blue eyes fixing on it.
He frowns. “A black butterfly?”
And the butterfly takes off. It flies and it flies. Its wings flutter against the wind. And it returns to where it came from.
‘Found him.’
Notes:
ominous? i really hope so.
jagged stone's real name is james in my hc. like lemme have it. i really enjoyed writing anarka and I just desperately needed one good parent in this story and it's her.
Anyways, this is officially where the story goes on hiatus till mid june so that I focus on my exams. 😔😔 BUT dw when I come back, I'll do it with A LOT of chapters. so look forward to that. >:))))) thank you all for enjoying this story. <3333
Chapter 12: all it takes is a step
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The lady with the frog glasses doesn’t come back.
He sits on the floor, back against the wall as Plagg shows him more flowers sprouting across his palm. Adrien has his workbook out, coloured pencils strewn across the floor as he tries to sketch the flowers on the blank pages at the back. But, all the while, his eyes keep drifting to the clock. Mme. Dupois comes at around 4 and she stays till 6. And she has been coming every other day. So, she should be here soon.
But the minutes pass, the clock ticks on and the lady never arrives.
“She didn’t come.” Adrien finally says, when it’s nearly 5.
Plagg, who has kept his palm spread open for the past hour or so for Adrien to draw, just hums. “I promised you, didn’t I? No questions until you want them.”
And Adrien nods relieved, looking down at his sketch. It’s mostly done. He doesn’t think he can make it any better. But, he frowns, it doesn’t look any good. In fact, when he compares the flowers sprouting in Plagg’s hands and the ones that he drew, they didn’t look alike at all. He had tried sketching and then re-sketching and then he thought that maybe colouring them would make them look better but they didn’t.
The flowers were shaky, their proportions abysmal. The shading he had attempted to do with the colours looked mismatched and the colours didn’t blend at all. And Plagg’s hand… It looked…bad.
“Are you done?” Plagg asks. Adrien isn’t sure how he knows, but he nods. “Can I see?”
And Adrien immediately shakes his head. Clutching the picture close to his chest, so that Plagg wouldn’t peek.
“Why not?” Plagg tilts his head.
And Adrien feels his cheeks flush red, feeling embarrassed. “It’s not good.”
“Well, you only improve with time. It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t look good. You only grow from your mistakes.” Plagg says simply.
He still hesitates, but it’s only Plagg and he hopes he wouldn’t be offended by how Adrien drew his hand. Slowly, he brings the drawing away from himself and towards Plagg. He doesn’t look. His eyes fixed downwards, as he refuses to see what Plagg’s reaction might be.
But then Plagg lets out a light, “Oh.”. And the way he said it, doesn’t sound disgusted or angry. He sounds surprised. And Adrien snaps his head up, and freezes when he sees Plagg stare down at the drawing with wide eyes. His big hands, thumb at the edges of the paper carefully as if it’s some special one-of-a-kind picture, maybe the Mona Lisa, and not Adrien’s horrible drawing.
Adrien feels warm at the gaze. Like something pools in the bottom of his stomach. He wants to feel happy at the way Plagg is looking at his work but Adrien knows it’s undeserved. “It’s not good.” He mumbles out, feeling the need to point it out since Plagg made no mention of it.
“It is.” Plagg denies. He looks up from the drawing, and stares at Adrien with gold eyes that seem to twinkle. It almost resembles the way Plagg had reacted when Adrien had given him this name. “It’s beautiful.”
“B-but.” Adrien argues, shuffling closer to Plagg, pointing his finger at all the failings of the drawing. “It doesn’t look anywhere close to how the flowers actually look. And your hand…” He trails off, looking at the wobbly, balloon-like fingers that he had drawn.
“You gave it your own…touch.” Plagg’s lips tug upwards as those words into his ‘almost but not really’ smile. “It’s perfect as it is.”
Adrien feels confused at that. It’s one thing for Plagg to say it looks good, which is false on its own. But it’s another to say it’s perfect. “Wouldn’t it be considered perfect if it looked exactly like the original?”
“Not necessarily.” Plagg answers. “When your world was birthed, one of the first flowers to be made was Montsechia.” He closes his palm letting the previous flowers die and then he reopens it to show a singular flower. Adrien isn’t even sure if the plant counts as a flower since it didn’t have any petals. It looked like a weed. “In its own right it’s perfect. And so is every other flower that came after. Not all of them look alike, not all of them are the same. And that’s alright. Nature doesn’t measure perfection by similarity. Every flower, every form of life—it’s all perfect in its own way. Your drawing is no different.”
“So…basically. Everything is perfect as it is.” Adrien concludes.
Plagg pauses at that, and he looks deep in thought but then he shakes his head. “Well, you can say that. It’s more complex than that, but we can discuss that once you’re older. For now, all you need to understand is whatever drawing you make, whatever creativity you show, it’s perfect.”
Adrien nods, but he’s not entirely satisfied with the answer. “But, what if I want to draw better?”
“You can do that.”
“But then doesn’t it mean, this isn’t perfect?” Adrien points out. “Because I want to improve. That means there is something lacking that needs to be improved.”
Plagg extends his palm forward again. And other than the first flower, which’s name is too difficult to pronounce, many others sprout as well again. “Evolution. You can admire a newer species of flowers but still say the previous ones are beautiful. The same applies to your drawings.”
“So, they’ll all be perfect?” He asks to confirm.
And Plagg nods.
So, Adrien nods as well. He supposes that makes enough sense. He closes the workbook, ready to put it on the shelf, since he is done with drawing for today. Maybe Plagg can make their jumping ritual early today.
He is about to ask that, when Plagg asks. “Can I have that drawing?”
Adrien pauses, and turns to stare at Plagg. “What?”
“The drawing.” Plagg simply states, pointing to the book in Adrien’s hand. “Can I have it?”
“Why?”
“To preserve it.”
“Preserve…?” Adrien questions, even as he reopens the back of his workbook to the page he drew on.
“It’s an important piece.” Plagg elaborates easily. “I want to have it as a keepsake. If you’ll allow me.”
Offering the book to Plagg is easy enough since Adrien has not much attachment to the drawing, and Adrien watches as Plagg carefully tears the page. And then the drawing glows in his hand and disappears. Adrien blinks, and then turns to Plagg confused and only a little bothered. Okay, he was wrong, he did have some attachment to his drawing. “Did my drawing just vanish?”
Shaking his head, Plagg pulls the fabric of his robe back a little further back his arm, and Adrien’s eyes widen. Etched across Plagg’s pale skin, is Adrien’s drawing. “Woah.” Adrien touches the arm in awe. He has seen some people with tattoos before. His mother had one just above her collarbone – an elegant cursive, a quote in English that Adrien never understood. But this one was his drawing, an exact replica or maybe the actual one, embedded in Plagg’s skin.
“Did it hurt?” Adrien meets Plagg’s eyes. Because, he had been told it did.
Plagg’s eyes widen momentarily before he shakes his head. “No. My method is painless.”
Adrien nods in appreciation and continues to stare at the drawing, almost expecting it to fall off Plagg’s skin like a sticker would. But it doesn’t.
“Do you want one?” Plagg asks.
“Can I?” Adrien asks, excited. He jumps on the balls of his feet. But then he pauses, lips pursing. “But, my father wouldn’t approve of it.”
“We can make it invisible.” Plagg offers. “How about something that only appears when you’re alone?”
“Or.” Adrien has an idea. But he isn’t sure if it would even be possible but then again it’s Plagg. So maybe it would be. He doesn’t stop to think, why he’s so alright with doing something that his father would most definitely dislike. “Can I have star tattoos that only show and glow in the dark?”
Plagg pauses at that and Adrien wonders if it was too huge of a request and immediately goes to rectify. “Or maybe we can do the ones you suggested. Stars that only appear when it’s you and me.”
“No, we can do the ones you want.” Plagg shakes his head, and his finger glows. “Where do you want me to place them?”
And Adrien grins. He knows where he wants the stars. It’s easy enough. He lowers his shirt collar a little on his right side. “Can you make them right above my collarbone?”
Plagg’s fingers easily touch his skin and he jolts at the tingly situation that bursts across the expanse of his skin. It feels like tiny fireworks. It isn’t painful by any means, in fact it’s pleasant. It tickled—tingly and light. Is this how Plagg’s powers felt? Because it was nice. And gentle. Like Plagg.
“Done.” Is what Plagg says as he moves his hand away and Adrien immediately bounces over to the bathroom to stare at his new tattoo in the mirror. Only, of course, since it isn’t dark yet, there is no tattoo to see. Plagg fixes that easily, one snap of his finger and the room shrouds in darkness and then there it is. Just above his collarbone, five stars placed haphazardly across, similar to how they are in the night sky. They are crooked and wobbly and they glow neon green like the first time Adrien had asked Plagg to make them and Adrien loves them.
He immediately turns around, away from the mirror and he can make out Plagg standing a little distance behind him from the tiny amount of light being produced from his collarbone and he runs and clutches Plagg’s legs. Plagg is too tall for Adrien to hug anywhere else, but this’ll do. He digs his hand in Plagg’s robe, his grip around his leg.
“Thankyou.”
Plagg is quiet for a moment, but then a hand, slowly and carefully, touches the top of his head. And Adrien leans in to the touch and Plagg’s hand brushes against his strands and then Plagg is outright stroking his hair.
“Always.” Plagg easily answers.
.
That night after bubbles and jumping on mattresses, Adrien falls asleep with a hand on his collarbone and crooked stars across the ceiling.
.
“Umm, Plagg?” Adrien calls out. His legs are on the bed – well at least the heels of his feet are, since the bed is too tall – but his head and back rest firmly against the floor. Plagg had been worried initially, having scooted off his chair, only to realise that Adrien had chosen this position intentionally.
But in his defense. He was bored.
He never thought he’d miss studying, but he did. He was doing nothing, but drawing and coloring and solving the same puzzle he had over and over again. M. Reimund was bringing him his meals, and would scooter off as soon as he caught Plagg’s eye, who for some reason had stopped disappearing whenever M. Reimund would appear.
So, the point is. He is bored.
And he wants attention.
Plagg’s attention.
Plagg hums, not looking up from his book. It’s not a book that Adrien owns, and Adrien doesn’t really care where he got that book. It has a red cover with a picture of a pig and there’s English text over it.
He reads it. ‘George Orwell. Animal Farm.’
“Plagg?” He calls again. And once again Plagg only hums, clearly absorbed in the book. “Is that book about animals?”
Finally looking up from his book, Plagg opens his mouth and then shuts it. “Not entirely. It’s a book that uses animals as a very clear allegory in regards to humans and their political systems and revolutions.”
Adrien scrunches his nose. That didn’t make much sense. “So, the humans turned into animals?” Is that even possible? He doesn’t think it is. But he didn’t think that glowing tattoos were possible but then they were so maybe Plagg can turn humans into animals. Can Plagg turn into an animal?
“Not quite.” Plagg replies, shutting his book. And he looks ready to start a spiel on exactly what the book entailed with difficult words and even difficult-er concepts. And Adrien doesn’t want that right now. Instead, he cuts in.
“Plagg. Can you turn into an animal?”
Plagg gapes. That’s the only way to put it. His mouth opens and shuts and he resembles a goldfish. Does that count as turning into an animal? Probably not.
“I…suppose I can.” Plagg relents. And Adrien immediately twists around. His legs fall off the bed, and it only slightly hurts before he is running over to Plagg.
“Which one?” He asks, excited.
Plagg sighs, setting the book on the desk. “Which one do you want?”
Adrien has to think about that. He should probably choose an animal that can fit in the room and actually suits Plagg. Even imagining Plagg as a horse or a golden retriever sets him into a fits of giggles. Because that would not suit Plagg at all!
Adrien looks up to meet gold eyes. Plagg is quiet, and sort of brooding. And there’s not a lot of animals that come to mind that are like that. Maybe there are, but Adrien can only think of a handful. Snakes and cats. And Adrien doesn't want a snake in his room.
A cat would be nice. Adrien had wanted one as a pet when he was four until Nathalie had to gently explain to him that both his parents were allergic to them. Somehow, Adrien hadn’t gotten the same ailment. He was fine with fur. Feathers were the real problem.
So, it’s simple enough.
“A cat. Can you turn into a cat?”
Plagg stands up from his chair and then he snaps his fingers. He glows gold and then he shrinks and then suddenly there’s a fluffy black cat standing all regal and poised, swishing its fluffier tail around. The cat is huge, much bigger than any cat Adrien has seen before. When Adrien is sitting, the cat is almost up to Adrien’s height. Adrien doesn’t immediately believe that it’s Plagg, until he sees the eyes. They are gold.
“Plagg?” He asks hesitantly.
And he receives a meow in return. It’s adorable. Adrien reaches a hand forward, and Cat-Plagg doesn’t move so Adrien gently rubs his head, then scratches under the chin, then beside his ear. And then before he knows it, Adrien is sitting against the wall cross-legged with Cat-Plagg laid out beside him as Adrien gives him belly rubs.
“Is this okay?” Adrien asks, curiously.
And then he startles when he gets the deep voice that he knows to be Plagg. “It’s bearable.”
“I thought you could only meow.” Adrien notes. Cat-Plagg turns around on the floor, until he is sitting, fluffy tail swishing around. “I have only shapeshifted, I haven’t actually turned into a cat.”
Adrien flushes. “But, you meowed.”
Cat-Plagg’s gold eyes twinkle mirthfully. “I was teasing.”
Pouting, Adrien resumes petting Cat-Plagg. He didn’t purr like how Adrien had assumed all cats did. Did he not like being petted? But, it can’t be that bad since Cat-Plagg wasn’t pushing his hand away. And Adrien supposes it is similar to how Plagg stroked his hair yesterday. That had felt nice. Was he being petted then?
“Does it feel different being a cat?” Adrien ends up asking.
Cat-Plagg stretches before turning around letting Adrien stroke his back. “Well, beyond physical appearance, the main difference is how I am supposed to move. Cats are quadrupeds as you may have noticed and using four legs to walk is an experience quite different to walking on two.”
“Oh.” Is all Adrien is able to say. That does sound fairly reasonable. Adrien would probably struggle walking on four legs when he had only ever walked on two. Well, he had been on all fours when he used to crawl as a baby but Adrien wouldn’t enjoy moving like that for extended periods of time. His palms would hurt.
“Would you like to shapeshift to a cat?” Plagg offers.
And Adrien blinks, because that’s possible as well? It’s an instant yes from his side, but before he can answer as such, there’s a knock on his bedroom door.
He quickly scrambles to his feet, Plagg leaping to his feet beside him. But instead of disappearing, Plagg simply shrinks into a smaller form and just makes his way to sit on the windowsill. “Come in.” Adrien calls out and the door knob turns and Adrien is expecting M. Reimund to walk in but instead comes a familiar click of heels and Mlle. Garnier walks in instead.
“Hi.” She says awkwardly.
Adrien’s back straightens. Mlle. Garnier is father’s secretary which means she is probably here to take him to his father’s office. He isn’t sure what he did wrong this time.
But, Mlle. Garnier just hovers nervously at the door, and then she finally speaks. “Kid– Adrien, would you like to go to the garden with me?”
Adrien blinks. That’s a strange request. His father wouldn’t summon him there, so that would mean it’s a request from Mlle. Garnier alone. And that only baffles him more. But the lady is fidgeting, unlike her usual straightforward stoic self. Like this, she doesn’t look half as scary.
But…
He turns towards Plagg who is looking at the two of them, gold eyes piercing, and Cat-Plagg simply flicks his tail. Adrien isn’t sure what he means by that.
“Sure.” Adrien agrees hesitantly.
Mlle. Garnier smiles, almost relieved. “Yeah oka– Is that a cat?”
This time Adrien fidgets. But he has to convince her otherwise. “…no?” Well… even Adrien could see that wasn’t his best defense.
Mlle. Garnier stares at him, then at Cat-Plagg who seems the least bothered, and Adrien is sure he is in trouble but then she bursts into laughter. She doubles into herself, guffawing. And Adrien watches her, anxiety disappearing in wake of confusion and bafflement. Mlle. Garnier can laugh?
“Oh my–” She says between chuckles as she straightens up. “What’s the cat’s name?”
“Plagg.” Adrien answers purely based on reflex.
His father’s secretary grins but makes no effort to take Plagg or scold Adrien. If anything, she looks highly amused by the whole thing. “Where did you even get it from?”
He fiddles with his fingers, looking down at his feet. He doesn’t really have an answer for it. Well, there is one, where he tells her about Plagg but he doesn’t want to do that. So, he’s at an utter loss at what he should do.
(What if she tells his father? What if Plagg gets taken away? Plagg said he wouldn’t leave but if it’s his father–)
“You don’t have to tell me.” Mlle. Garnier says quickly, cutting down his stream of thoughts. “I– I think Reimund can deal with that. In fact, I didn’t even see the cat.”
“…Will you tell father about the cat?” Adrien asks, fingers fiddling with the hem of his shirt nervously.
And Mlle. Garnier bends down, similar to how Nathalie did and her eyes are still not as soft but they’re not cold either. If anything, she looks mirthful. “What cat?” She says, sounding oblivious.
And despite himself, Adrien giggles, most of the tension depleting out. He feels relaxed and personally, he thinks Mlle. Garnier looks less tense as well. “So, can we go to the garden? Have something I gotta show you.”
Adrien nods and they take off. And even though he is pretty sure, Mlle. Garnier knows the way, he is the one who leads her through the corridors and out the exit at the back and brings her to his mother’s garden.
It’s been a while since he came here.
It’s fall, so the garden is decked in hues of oranges and yellows. The wisterias have a brightly stark yellow foliage. The few norway maple trees have fallen leaves decorating every inch of the space beneath them. The peonies' foliage has deteriorated significantly and from the little knowledge Adrien has; the gardener will cut them down to soil level soon. His footsteps crinkle loudly as he walks through the garden stepping over dry leaves.
He stares at the singular cherry blossom tree at the edge of the garden, just beside the manor’s outer walls, with a bench beneath it. The tree looks dead with its branches bare, but Adrien knows better. It’s dormant. Still alive. Only asleep. He makes his way over to sit on the bench, since Mlle. Garnier seems perfectly content with letting him go his own way.
The old bench creaks under his weight. He sits quietly, swinging his feets lightly. One glance overhead, and he can see Cat-Plagg walk out of his bedroom window and onto the railing of the balcony. Plagg notices Adrien’s stare and once again he flicks his tail. Adrien really doesn’t know what Plagg means by it, but oddly it’s comforting nonetheless.
“Okay. Adrien.” Mlle. Garnier calls out, and he quickly snaps his head away from Plagg and towards her. She has a box in her hand now. It’s wrapped in purple with a huge yellow bow. It looks like a present. But that doesn’t make sense, because she is holding it out in his direction. She probably needs him to hold it momentarily, he reasons. “This is for you.” She instantly destroys his train of reasoning, handing the box over to him.
He blinks looking down at the box in his hand and then up at the lady whom he thought was scary and mean for the longest time. She had been acting differently the entire day and Adrien is half-convinced that this woman is Mlle. Garnier’s nicer-not-so-evil twin. “Can you open it up?” Not-Mlle.Garnier requests.
Adrien is only able to nod dumbly, as he carefully tears off the tapes at the side of the paper and unravels the wrapping paper. Despite himself, he feels extremely curious about what is inside. The wrappings fall and it’s… ‘A Bubble Bazooka’. The text on the box reads.
“I’ve heard you like bubbles, so…” Mlle Garnier speaks, rubbing her neck awkwardly. “You wanna give it a go?”
And this time Adrien nods vigorously. Because who in their right mind will say no to bubbles? He leaps off the bench and comes over to Mlle. Garnier, pushing the box towards her. “Can you open it? The tape is too strong.”
Mlle. Garnier blinks and Adrien flushes realising that he was being disrespectful. “Please?” He adds.
She shakes her head, as she plops on the ground, shrugging off her heels. “Well, how could I say no to that?” She slides one of her long red nails across the tape and it easily cuts. And then Adrien settles on the ground next to her and they both set up the whole bubble machine together.
It’s complicated, because even Mlle. Garnier groans reading through the instructions. “Fuck, it’s a kid’s toy, why is it so darn complex?” She mutters under her breath once. But they finish setting the machine eventually, and she hands the bubble gun to Adrien.
“Alright, kid.” She says, brushing her clothes as she stands up. Some stray leaves stick to the back of her dress and Adrien giggles. She turns towards him and glares, but this time Adrien doesn’t feel particularly scared of her. “C’mon.” She gestures.
The gun is heavy in his hands as Adrien presses the trigger and then there’s a hoard of bubbles swiveling out of the gun. A few of them touch and pop against Mlle. Garnier and she just blinks and then meets his eyes. “Did I just die?”
“Yes!” Bursts out of Adrien’s mouth excitedly, before he realises what he said and quickly covers his mouth, as if that would take the word back.
Mlle. Garnier, however, doesn’t seem particularly offended. If anything, she just grins walking up to him slowly. “Well, in that case…” She says, grabbing the gun from Adrien, and releasing an onset of bubbles in Adrien’s face. “This is my revenge.”
Adrien shrieks with laughter, and then he runs, jumping over leaves and popping and dodging bubbles all while Mlle. Garnier continues chasing him barefoot releasing bubbles everywhere. On the railing of the balcony, Plagg watches them keenly, his tail waving around, slow and peaceful.
They both finally tire out as the sun begins to set and Mlle. Garnier complains as she puts on her heels and they both trek inside. “You had fun?” Mlle. Garnier asks. Adrien’s cheeks are red from exertion, his heart rate is fast and he is happy. He had fun. Running was fun. He nods to her question fervently.
It pleases Mlle. Garnier, who smiles before her smile drops to a more serious expression. “Look, umm, kid.” She begins and her tone suggests that it’s something important, so Adrien looks up from the gun he holds closely to his chest. “I know we didn’t get off on a good start. Which is all on me, mind you. I’m sorry for that. But…would you be willing to start anew?”
That. That’s a first. Adrien isn’t sure how to respond at first. It’s true, Mlle. Garnier was scary. She kind of still is. But she’s nice too. Much nicer than before. And she gave him the coolest toy ever. And she apologized. He isn’t even sure if she needed to, but that. It felt good. He purses his lips to think it over and he doesn’t flinch or feel scared when he extends a hand to her.
“My name’s Adrien Agreste. You can call me Adrien.” She is the one who asked to start anew, then introductions come first, right?
Mlle. Garnier huffs a light laugh, she bends down to meet him eye level and then shakes his hand. “And my name’s Anaïs Garnier and you can call me Anaïs.”
.
“Can we do this again?” Adrien asks Anaïs as they both trudge to his room.
Anaïs grins. “How about every Friday after five?”
And Adrien nods, returning the smile. He has a bounce to his step all the way to his room where Plagg waits for him on his bed. All the while, he clutches the Bubble Bazooka close to his chest.
Notes:
Omake (this is canon to the fic I just couldn’t be bothered to write it as a whole scene):
Reimund (waiting for the two because it’s their first playdate.): How did it go?
Adrien (happy): Fun! So much fun!
Anais (proud): ha! See, I’m amazing with kids.
Adrien (remembering something Anais said): M. Reimund, there’s something i want to ask.
Reimund: yes, sweetheart?
Adrien (with utmost innocence and wide green eyes): what does ‘fuck’ mean?
Reimund:...
Anais: Shit.
Adrien: what does shit mean?
Reimund:...Anais. I’m gonna count to three. One.
Anais: Bye kid, it was nice knowing you (and she runs away in her five inch heels)
Adrien:...so is somebody going to tell me?
Reimund (smiling kindly as he plans Anais’s murder): have a chocolateLater with Plagg.
Adrien: Plagg what does fuck mean?
Plagg: *looks up from his book and immediately decides on murdering whoever ruined his baby’s innocence* who told you that?
Rip anais. She lives cuz of plot armour.
sooooo, ig i'm back :3 and ummm 250+ kudos while i was gone? ayein??? how did that even happen like 👁👄👁, but like genuinely thankyou guys!! gonna use this as fuel for more writing 😈😈😈
Chapter 13: felines
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Reimund sits on the stool in the kitchen and stares at the back of Anaïs’s head, as she turns on the coffee machine. The machine thrums in the background as it works, the only sound in the kitchen.
“Can you stop?” She finally calls out, turning to him. “I said I’m sorry.”
“Fuck.” He repeats. “You said fuck in front of him.”
“And I said I’m sorry.” She repeats, slowly inching towards Cyril for cover. “You’ve already made your point. I shall abstain from speaking in front of Adrien.”
“Or you could just stop swearing.” Cyril adds in his expert opinion.
“And give up an integral part of my identity? Fuck no.”
“Anaïs.” Reimund says, feeling his eyebrows twitch.
“Geez. Okay.” She raises her hand in quick defeat. “I said it before and I’m saying it again. I will not swear in front of Adrien.” A pause and then. “Until he’s a teenager and needs a suitable collection of insults at his disposal.”
And Reimund opens his mouth to dispute that, but then closes it because honestly. “Sure, you can teach him when he’s a teenager.” He agrees, and Anaïs blinks not expecting him to agree so easily, but she’s severely overestimating Reimund’s ability to deal with this bullshit currently.
In fact, if anything. Over the past weeks, Reimund would argue he has gotten more used to accepting everything as is. Not when he literally came face to face with whatever Eldritch horror Plagg was, and survived. In fact, he has continued to somehow survive despite how the being would constantly glare at him whenever he came to deliver Adrien’s dinner.
He doesn’t even know what he did to the…being.
Reimund is convinced the only reason he isn’t six feet under is because Adrien likes him. But even then, somehow the constant threat of death looming over his head isn’t the only thing he has to worry about.
(“So, how’d the kid get a cat from?” Anaïs asks, after Reimund is done tearing her a new one about minding language that he knows goes one ear and out the other. Reimund blinks.
“What?”
“A cat.” Anaïs repeats. “A pretty big one. Black fur and yellow eyes. Looked like an expensive breed. The kid has one in his room.”
Crickets and then.
“A cat!?” Cyril, the cat fanatic asks.
And Reimund feels a headache incoming. Because black hair and gold eyes? That sounds too familiar.
It had taken him a while to come up with a convincing story to explain the presence of an expensive looking cat in Adrien’s room. Which basically means he didn’t say anything and told them all to ‘trust him’. He’s pretty sure they think he has contacts with some underground animal trading ring but that’s nothing much to worry about. That’s future Reimund’s problem. Not his.
“Isn’t M. Agreste allergic to fur?” Anne suddenly brings up. “We were told to keep all felines out of the mansion’s vicinity.”
There’s a pause and everybody exchanges glances and there’s a silent agreement that all seem to understand.
Anaïs breaks the silence by stretching her limbs, ready to go back home. “Well, ‘Operation: Gaslight Garbishit into thinking there is no cat while he sneezes incessantly’ is a go.”
Reimund does not end up calling her out on her cursing. Because honestly, that one was clever.)
But, Reimund supposes, that in the grander scheme of things, it’s alright. Adrien likes Plagg and Plagg sticks to Adrien’s room. Reimund can keep his interaction with them to a minimum. He can survive the glares and the feeling of sinking doom for the few moments he sees them.
“Guys.” A voice calls out and Anne enters the kitchen, a light colored fluffy ball in her hand. “There seems to be another.”
Reimund stares at her confused until the ball in her hand meows. Behind her, trailing a few steps back is a black cat that is most definitely Plagg. The Black Cat-Plagg’s gold eyes glare at him.
Well fuck.
***
Adrien stares down at his science textbook and nothing really makes sense. He glances up to see Plagg absorbed in the new book that he had begun reading once he finished Animal Farm. This one also had a red cover but it was much thicker. It had text in a language that Adrien didn’t understand. ‘Crime and Punishment by Fyo-something’ – That’s what Plagg had told him the title read once Adrien asked. The author’s name was too difficult for Adrien to remember and the book sounded boring the more Plagg explained so he quickly lost interest.
But Plagg seemed invested in the book. So, Adrien decided to let him read. And because Plagg was reading, Adrien thought it was only fair he read as well. He only had his subject textbooks so he decided to read them but they were all so difficult.
He shuts his science textbook and stands up from his spot on the floor beside Plagg to go put it on his pile on his study desk. He frowns at his textbook pile, how come none of the books were even mildly interesting? The math one had no stories, only numbers. The social studies one had essays. The english one had some short stories but Adrien had already covered most with Miss Katherine before. And the French one, well its essays were too wordy. Only reason Adrien even read the Middlemist one was because of the flowers.
Adrien sighs and trudges back to sit beside Plagg. He could draw perhaps. But he doesn’t really want to currently. He glances back at the book in Plagg’s hand before shaking his head. Nope, no way. He was not reading that.
He wanted to read one of those small children’s stories that had an abundance of when he was younger before well, his father took most of them away. He had one of them remaining though. A book with a white cover with a boy standing on a planet. It was one of the first story books that Nathalie had him read and he loved it. He had kept it in a shoebo–
He freezes.
Oh. The shoebox.
His precious box that he had put in the chest in the attic, because that’s where he was going to live. And now, he was in his old room and his box wasn’t near him. What if somebody behind his back went and took it out of the chest without him knowing?
Oh no.
Oh no, no, no–
“Adrien.” Plagg calls out and Adrien snaps his head up at the voice. Plagg peers down at him with furrowed eyebrows. “What’s wrong?”
Adrien is about to say ‘Nothing,’ but the box is important and Plagg could maybe help him get it back. He purses his lips and looks up hesitantly at him. “Plagg, can we go to the attic?”
Plagg frowns, shutting his book as he turns towards Adrien. “Why? Do you not like it here?”
Adrien shakes his head. No, he did. It’s nice to be back in his old room. But he needs to go up there to get the box. He can’t believe it took him this long to remember his box. But he can’t leave it there, unattended. He can’t.
“Then can you tell me why you need to go back to the attic?” Plagg asks softly.
Fiddling with his fingers, Adrien stares down. “I left something important there.”
“Okay, then.” Plagg easily agrees. “We can go get it now.”
Since that was all the confirmation he needed, Adrien hurriedly gets off his bed and rushes to the bedroom door, but before he can open it, Plagg calls out. “There’s an easier way to get there.”
Halting, Adrien turns towards Plagg who has a hand out in his direction. He clutches Plagg’s index and middle finger, since that is all his hand is able to wrap around and then the world swirls around him. It’s nauseating, and everything is shifting and bending and then before Adrien can complain about his motion sickness, they are in the attic.
It’s the same as when Adrien first came, but without the mattress splayed out in the center. Sunlight brightly shines through the open windows and the room is large and empty. This time, Adrien can’t relate.
“So, what do we need?” Plagg asks, stepping forward to inspect the room.
And Adrien blinks before following quickly. “The chests.” Adrien points to the five grey trunks stacked at the end of the attic. Once they make their way over, Plagg looks down inquisitively at Adrien. And Adrien stares at the large chest that is too high for Adrien to climb on to reach the chest with his shoebox. He doesn’t have any books to climb over with this time.
“Do you want to get up?” Plagg asks, somehow already knowing what he needed. Maybe it was another being Death thing – to know everything.
“Yes, please.” Adrien says and then Plagg snaps his finger and Adrien floats in the air, the air around him soft like cushion. And before he can help himself, Adrien giggles. “It’s the same as before.”
Plagg hums. He waves his hand and the air carries Adrien over to the top of the chest, placing him carefully on the trunk. He stumbles slightly at the loss of magic around him and Plagg immediately moves forward, concern lining his face. Adrien makes it a point to smile at Plagg to put him at ease.
From this position he isn’t much shorter than Plagg. In fact, “We are nearly the same height!” Adrien exclaims excitedly, standing up on his tippy toes to show that he nearly reaches eye level with Plagg. Plagg raises an eyebrow and then suddenly he is much taller than before, his head almost touching the ceiling.
“Are we now?” Plagg asks.
Adrien pouts, craning his neck to see him. “That’s unfair.”
But Plagg isn’t deterred, as he simply states. “My real height is much more than this.” And then he shrinks back to his previous height, with just a few more inches so that even when Adrien stands on his tippy toes he still isn’t close to his height. “So,” His eyes dance, mirthfully. “You’ll always be shorter.”
And then and there, Adrien decides. That he’ll prove Plagg wrong. “Nu uh. I am going to grow so tall.” He raises his hand as high as he can as he stands on his tippy toes and his hand reaches just a few centimetres above Plagg. He grins proudly. “And then I’ll be taller than you.”
And a small huff escapes Plagg’s mouth that Adrien swears is a laugh, before his mouth straightens but his eyes still twinkle. “Then I’ll wait for that day.”
Adrien nods, determined, before finally turning to the chest at his side. He brings his hands to his lid pushing it back like he did before. It’s still heavy but Adrien isn’t as tired as he was before and he pushes against the lid, when suddenly a large hand comes beside his and easily pushes the lid all the way back.
“I could’ve done it.” Adrien states, turning to look at Plagg who only shrugs.
“It lowers the risk of you crushing your fingers.”
“I have done it before.” Adrien mumbles, but doesn’t press on it further as he leans into the chest, on the tip of his toes as he peers at the corner of his trunk where his shoebox… Ah. Found it. He extends a hand and just barely manages to grab it as he pulls it out.
He clutches the shoebox to his chest carefully. Plagg gives the box a curious look but thankfully doesn’t press on it. Instead he closes the trunk and offers his hand again. Adrien grasps his two fingers and the world spins and he feels like vomiting but then he is back in his room.
He quickly hurries over to his closet and stuffs the box in the shadowy corner in the back, before finally feeling at ease. “Thank you.” He finally says, embarrassed at having forgotten to say it beforehand. Plagg simply nods, satisfied with the answer.
And now they’re both loitering awkwardly. Adrien doesn’t want to talk about his shoebox right now and Plagg isn’t turning away to read his difficult novel again so they are both just waiting. Adrien wants him to go and read Crime and Punishment again all serious and stuff like he did with Animal Fa–
…
“Plagg?” He calls out and Plagg makes a questioning hum. “Do you remember when you offered to turn me into a cat?”
Plagg raises an eyebrow. “You want to do it now?”
Adrien nods rapidly, excited. Well, it would be the least boring way to spend the rest of his day.
Plagg’s lips quirk slightly and he offers his hand again, this time though he shakes his head when Adrien moves to grasp his fingers, instead his large hand envelopes his and the same warm tingly magic courses across. But this time the sensation courses through his entire body, not only his skin and it isn’t painful but it’s a lot of feeling happening all at once. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“You can open them now.” Plagg calls out and when Adrien does he lets out a gasp in shock. But the gasp comes out as barely a tiny squeak. Plagg, who already was so huge in comparison to Adrien, is now towering. He is like a huge building. The rest of the room is no different. His bed, his desk, his everything is so big. They look like things of a giant from the perspective he sees from now.
And his body. He ducks his head down to see small furry legs with paws in front. He cranes his neck back to see two back legs and fluffy tail raised in the sky. Adrien tries to move the tail and bring it down, but the tail stays above, swishing carefreely.
He takes a step forward to stare at the difference more but then his back legs stumble crashing into his front legs and Adrien would go tumbling onto the floor if not for Plagg placing a hand forward to catch him.
“Easy.” Plagg says, and his voice though low is still much louder than before. “Walking is much different than before, be careful.” Adrien makes a noise to complain, and all that comes out is a small meow. Adrien pauses, surprised at the sound, before opening his mouth again. And once again. A meow comes out from behind his throat.
He didn’t even think he was capable of making such a realistic sound. He tries again and again and it’s fun making this sound. Plagg, who sits in front of him, watching in barely concealed amusement, slowly pushes a finger under Adrien’s chin and scratches lightly.
Adrien isn’t sure how to explain the feeling. It’s similar to when Plagg stroked his hair but the finger against fur, rubbing slowly feels nice. He closes his eyes enjoying the scratching. And before he even realises it’s happening, something rumbles across his chest. A loud thrumming sound. It baffles Adrien momentarily, and he opens his eyes and stares down at himself confused. But then the rumbling sound continues and Adrien realises. Oh, he’s purring.
Plagg’s finger shifts from under his chin, to his head and then his back and then he is outright petting him and it’s so nice and Adrien feels like melting. Cats really were lucky to experience this. He purrs happily. And he takes another step forward to lean into the touch but he once again stumbles over his feet and he flops to the ground.
For a moment all is quiet, but then Plagg laughs. This time, it cannot be called a huff. Plagg laughed. Adrien looks up, his neck craning as he meets Plagg’s eyes. Adrien isn’t sure what he should say, maybe glare at him for laughing at him but this is the first time Plagg has laughed and Adrien supposes it’d be too mean to glare right now. So, instead he settles for a light meow.
And then he struggles as he stands up. And this time he thinks before he walks. Front left and back left leg forward. And then front right and back right leg forward. Left, right. Left, right. He’s still unsteady on his feet but he is moving forward. Plagg simply sits cross-legged in front of him as he watches him curiously.
Adrien walks and he walks and it takes him a while before he is finally just in front of Plagg’s robed shin. He looks up at the man expectantly. Plagg hums, a finger petting his head. “Good job.” Adrien purrs, pleased. But, Adrien isn’t done here. He stalks forward, his front paws catching into Plagg’s black robe and his claws easily dig in.
And it turns out, climbing is much easier as a cat. It takes him a short while, during which Plagg only looks at him nodding in encouragement, but he finally makes it onto Plagg’s lap. And because as Adrien had said before, Plagg was now a tower, his lap was also huge.
He has half made up his mind to walk around the lap in circles before his claws dig into Plagg’s robe again. Adrien pauses, looking down at his paws confused. He digs his claws in the robe. And then takes them out. He digs them in again. Then out. In. And out. And before he knows it he is settled into a comfortable tempo. He is purring as his claws work into Plagg’s robes. He feels so unbelievably satisfied.
They sit there like this for a while, before Plagg finally speaks. “Do you want to explore the mansion as a cat?”
Adrien cranes his neck up to meet Plagg’s and he nods his head, meowing slightly. For some reason, this reaction of his, has Plagg’s lips twitching upwards. Plagg gently grabs him from below and places him down on the ground. And then he flashes gold before turning back into the big black cat from before, Adrien barely reaches his chest. In fact, when Adrien moves closer, he finds himself easily fitting in between Plagg’s front legs. It’s a cozy position and Adrien happily settles there.
Plagg’s tail swishes and there is a light purr coming from his chest and then he ducks his head to nudge Adrien forward. It’s a long walk to the door and Adrien thinks his walking has improved by the time they reach there. But then he stares at the door knob that is too high for either of them to twist.
He turns to Plagg, giving him a questioning look. “Just walk through.” Plagg speaks, and slightly nudges him forward. Confused, Adrien walks right up to the door and touches it with his paw and his eyes widen when it goes through the door. He walks forward, and easily passes through the door and enters into the corridor. Behind him, Plagg does the same.
“That was so cool!” Adrien exclaims, excitedly and he is about to walk back and go through the door again when a voice calls out.
“Wait, a meow?” Adrien freezes and then Anne is standing in front of him. “Oh my god!” She nearly squeals before her voice lowers to a softer: “Hi, little guy.” She extends her hand forward and Adrien stares at it before deciding that Plagg would look out for him. He steps forward into her touch and the housekeeper coos as she works delicate fingers to scratch him under the chin. “Well, aren’t you a dear?”
Adrien meows. He certainly is.
***
Reimund stares at the kitten placed on the kitchen table. Everyone is gathered around the little guy, cooing at it. At one point, Cyril had dug through his pockets and procured some kibble to offer the kitten but the kibble had simply been ignored. Instead of being mad, Cyril had simply laughed.
“How about some milk?” The cat fanatic asks.
The little kitten meows happily. And Cyril immediately runs to get some out of the fridge. And now the kitten is lapping at the milk, tail happily waving in the air and everybody just stares at the kitten. At the corner of the room, the Black Cat-Plagg simply stares having already glared and hissed when Cyril made any attempt to get close to.
So, instead everybody’s attention had ended up being given to the tiny kitten in front of them who was so very affectionate and cute as it rubbed against everybody’s hands purring, tail swishing around happily.
And Reimund is almost ninety nine percent sure that that kitten is Adrien. It makes sense, honestly. Blonde fur, big green eyes and adorable. Yeah, that’s Adrien. Of course it is, especially when Plagg is stalking behind the kitten, hackles all raised, glaring threateningly at Reimund.
He stares at the kitten, and struggles to make sense of how this even came to b– Nope he is not thinking. What even is the point of giving himself a migraine when he isn’t going to understand anything at the end of it? Instead he should appreciate what is in front of him. Yeah, he should be melting at the cute little thing in front him.
The kitten, finally satisfied with the milk, leans back, the fur around his mouth dripping with milk. Reimund bites down a smile as Anaïs takes out a handkerchief to blot the kitten’s face. “I have no idea where Adrien is getting all these cats but I’m not complaining.”
“And not even any cats. Like those expensive breeds.” Cyril comments. “Like I’m pretty sure that this kitten is a Ragamuffin. And that black one is a hybrid between a Maine Coon and some other breed. Reimund get me one as well.”
“No.” Reimund easily rejects. “And have any of you considered that they might just both be street ca–”
Black Cat-Plagg growls and Reimund wisely shuts his mouth.
“A Ragamuffin?” Anne asks, before cooing at the kitten. “Are you a muffin? Yes you are, yes you are.” Her words dissolve into basically baby-talk, and the kitten absolutely doesn’t mind as he purrs happily, tail waving.
“Can we name it that?” Cyril asks. “Muffin. It suits the tiny thing.”
“Ask the kid first.” Anaïs speaks, taking out her phone to take pictures for her girlfriend. “That one is named Plagg. There’s a high chance he already has a name for this one.”
“Reimund, you ask Adrien for the name when you deliver his food. Speaking of, Anne check with M. Gorille if he has brought the heavy cream already.” Cyril calls out, turning to the stove to close the burner. “Gosh I really hope Adrien likes his dinner for today. I tried experimenting with the soup. Reimund, ask Adrien if he does once you go to get the plates back.”
Reimund stares down at the kitten who is looking at Cyril curiously. “How about you try asking him yourself once?”
Cyril snorts. “And scare the kid? Absolutely not.”
The kitten meows. And Cyril blinks before turning towards him. The kitten walks forward and Reimund has to purse his lips to stop himself from bursting into laughter at the awkward, almost robotic way the kitten marches forward like a little clockwork cat. From the corner of his eye, he spots Plagg glaring at him with sharp gold eyes. His claw raises, glinting in his direction. And Reimund gulps, all humor forgotten.
In front of him, Cyril coos as the kitten rubs himself against his palm. Anaïs takes pictures happily. Reimund finds himself cursing the two for being so happily ignorant.
Curiosity killed the cat. Reimund wasn’t even curious. So why is he the one paying the price?
The kitten meows and Reimund sighs. Well, at least Adrien is happy.
***
When they do eventually make their way back to the room, and turn back to their original forms, Adrien finds himself deep in thought. At Plagg’s knowing look, Adrien eventually shares his observation. “The mansion staff is nice.”
He hadn’t interacted with them a lot, especially since it had only been a few months since they started working here, and he knew very little about them. For some reason, there had been something akin to a barrier between them. But, when today he does end up meeting them, they’re all nice. Super nice. M. Reimund had always been nice. And he had just recently learnt that Anaïs was too. And Anne had also been kind whenever she came to tidy up his room. But he hadn’t interacted much with the Chef, always embarrassed of the many uneaten meals he was forced to send back to him.
Adrien had assumed the man would resent him. But instead. ‘Scare the kid.’ Adrien wasn’t scared of the Chef. Not anymore at least.
Plagg hums. “Then, is there something you would like to do about it?”
Adrien frowns staring down. He supposes he would like to. At the very least let the Chef know that he appreciated him. And he did like all his dishes very much. “What can I do?”
Plagg shrugs and he moves to pick his book again. “Give them whatever you want. They’ll appreciate it.”
And that leaves Adrien in a dilemma. Because, what can he give them? He stares at Plagg who is comfortably seated on the bed, reading. Plagg had appreciated him giving him a name. And he had appreciated the drawing.
He doubts he can give any of them names when they already have Proper Noun ones.
Hmm…
Adrien stands up and makes his way over to his desk to fish out his coloring pencils and his workbook. He tears a blank page from the back and he begins drawing.
.
After dinner when M. Reimund comes to collect the dishes, his eyes lowered to avoid meeting Plagg’s, Adrien calls out hesitantly. “Umm, M. Reimund. May I come to the kitchen with you? Please.”
M. Reimund pauses, before smiling kindly. “Of course.”
He jitters with nerves all the way over to the kitchen, his drawing behind his back. When they do reach, M. Reimund knocks on the door.
“What ar– Oh.” M. Chef (because, oh Adrien does not know his name) goes from annoyed at M. Reimund to blinking in surprise when his eyes land on Adrien. “Hi. Adrien. Is something the matter? Was something wrong with the food?” The Chef asks in rapid succession, concerned.
Adrien quickly shakes his head. “No, the food was delicious. Umm, thank you for making such delicious meals.” He brings his hands from behind his back as he hands the drawing to the Chef. “This is to show my appreciation.” And then before he can hear a reply, Adrien is already running back to his room, feeling highly embarrassed.
From behind him, he hears a joyful, ‘Thankyou!’
.
On a later day when Anaïs brings Adrien to the kitchen for some hot chocolate after their Bubble Show-Off in the garden, Adrien finds himself halting at the entrance of the room, his eyes fixed ahead, and something warm and fuzzy pooling in his stomach.
Because, pasted on the fridge is a drawing. It depicts the mansion with all the staff and Adrien in front of it. It even has M. Gorille and the gardener and the other guards. And on top of the drawing just between the clouds and the sun is a large ‘Thankyou.’ written.
And Adrien finds himself flushing before he goes over to take his steaming cup from Cyril, who gestures him to sit on the stool as he asks Adrien for the name of the small kitten. And Adrien lets him name the kitten, his feet dangling off the stool, feeling unbelievably happy.
.
Over time, the drawings on the fridge only grow.
Notes:
Cat Adrien was such an integral need I can’t. Like literally so important to me, that you all coo over this little blond muffin. (I planned on him being a munchkin but they have mobility issues so i decided to go with muffin instead.) Can you believe it I was planning on doing a timeskip without Cat Adrien? Sacrilege, ik. LET ME HAVE A CRACK FLUFF CHAPTER IN MY ANGSTY FIC (my brother was shitting on me the entire time we read this.)
For a moment while writing Cat Adrien I lowkey icked out when i wrote Adrien purring and whatnot but then I imagined this cutie patootie kitty and everything became much better.
‘Most fearsome being of all time’ aka Death just sitting there. And then in his lap, making biscuits in his robes is the actual most fearsome being. Aka Adrien. Aka Death’s adopted child. Aka ‘hurt him and you die.’
The Reimund and Plagg one-sided beef will continue. Idk how long but it’s there. Genuinely I am with reimund when i say it makes no sense.
Adrien being confused that Plagg just happens to know what he needs as if he doesn’t wear his emotions on his face. And also Adrien, Plagg passed the Dad Test (it's something my mom used to say when i was a kid whenever i asked how she knew everything) to become your Dad. He knows.
Poor Reimund getting stuck with all the responsibility of somehow convincing everyone that he somehow acquired a maine coon hybrid and a ragamuffin. Nobody really believes him, but honestly Adrien likes them, so who cares. Cyril stocks up on cat food until he realises neither of the occasionally available cats will eat it. So he just starts feeding the park cats a few streets down and builds a tiny cat cult.
Also guys enjoy this fluff cuz next chapter is uhm, very much not
Chapter 14: don’t act like you know me
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Because there are some things that are mine to hide alone.
So, don’t.
They’re mine.
Why?
There’s a knock on the door, and it’s familiar enough that Adrien recognizes it immediately. “Come in.” He calls out, already on his feet. It’s surprising that Anaïs came on a Thursday, but if it means more ‘Bubble Shooting’, then Adrien is absolutely down for it!
She enters the room, but instead of her normal lax pose with a hand tucked in one of her skirt pockets, she stands rigid, almost uncomfortable. Her expression pinched. She shifts and sighs. “Adrien, your father is calling for you.”
Oh.
Oh no no no no no no–
.
The last time Adrien saw his father was on the day he met Plagg for the first time. After that, ever since he had been moved to the attic, all his meals with his father had come to a stuttering halt. And after that, once he moved to his old room, he had been allowed to eat in his room instead of meeting his father in the dining hall, but in hindsight that was probably because his father was out of the country.
He feels nervous. As he always does. His heart is pulsing rapidly, and as he trails beside Anaïs who matches his slow steps, he is scared. Rarely is it ever good news when he gets summoned to his office. And this time, Adrien is sure it couldn’t be. Because he had done nothing to warrant any sort of praise. In fact, he had been lazing around, drawing, ‘catting’, bubble shooting, etc. He had done barely any studying at all.
He is in trouble. It has to be it. He fidgets with his sleeve, his fingers gripping and stretching the hem of his white button up. He doesn’t want to see his father right now, he doesn’t want to be scolded, but he doesn’t have a choice. Not when he is standing outside of his office.
Anaïs doesn’t immediately knock on the door, signalling their presence but instead she turns to him, lips thinned, eyebrows furrowed. “Alright?” She asks.
‘No.’ He nods.
She looks like she doesn’t believe him but she sighs and knocks on the door, pushing it slightly open. “Sir, your son is here.”
“Send him in.” Comes his father’s clipped reply. Anaïs pushes the door completely open, holding it for Adrien as she gives him a small smile. Adrien tries to smile back, he really does, but he is stiff with nerves and only manages to nod in return. He steps inside, staring ahead. Behind him, Anaïs must have closed the door, but he never hears it click shut.
But, that’s probably because he can’t hear anything. His head is ringing but he is standing tall and firm, his hands clenched behind his back and he looks straight ahead meeting his father’s cold green eyes.
“Adrien.” His father acknowledges.
“Father.” He forces out back. His father stands up from his seat, and it takes everything to not flinch or look down. Instead he digs his nails in his palms and forces himself to stand steady as his father walks up from behind his desk to stand in front of Adrien.
Green eyes, not too different from his own, rake over him as if searching for something. And Adrien wants to shrink under that gaze the longer it goes on under the dead silence of the room. As this stillness stretches out for more than a minute, the nerves in the pit of his stomach only grow.
His father doesn’t look angry. In fact, the contemplating expression on his face almost resembles Plagg’s, but it’s not the same. It really isn’t. Not when it’s hardened eyes, instead of soft ones. Not when it’s green eyes, not gold ones. Not when it’s father, instead of Plagg.
He is scared. He wants this to be over. He wants Plagg.
He wants Plagg.
“How are you?” His father finally says, snapping Adrien out of his thoughts. But, Adrien doesn’t reply immediately instead this time he stares at his father. That wasn’t a question he was expecting. It surprises him.
But, that moment quickly passes, because his father is looking at him expectantly and he has to answer. “I’m fine. Thank you for asking, father.”
His father makes a small sound, before he turns around his hands shuffling through the stack of documents on his table. Away from Adrien. “So, I presume you’ve recovered?”
And once again, Adrien just feels a mixture of surprise and confusion. It’s the second unusual question; his father always speaks to him while he meets his eyes and speaks straightforwardly. Always. It’s something he had been trying so long for Adrien to do as well.
But, right now. His father asks this quietly, his back turned to him, not meeting his eyes. And for a moment, an ugly moment that Adrien feels ashamed of later, he finds himself internally scoffing. Adrien had never really understood why he had to stand tall, why he had to look straight ahead. Right now, he does.
Because his father looks like a coward. A hypocrite. Who doesn’t do what he preaches.
But, Adrien quickly shakes those thoughts away. They are wrong.
Are they?
Plagg said that not everything his father does is right. But it has to be. But his father isn’t following his own ingrained etiquettes. But–
“Yes, father.” He replies, dispelling every other thought. It hurt his head too much. “I’ve recovered. Thank you for your concern.” He isn’t sure what he has recovered from, but he knows yes must be the correct answer.
His father is quiet, and then he nods. Back still turned. “Good.”
At this point, Adrien has accepted that the conversation was making less and less sense to him. It was shocking, bewildering and whatever word was used to describe confusion and surprise. But, he doesn’t bother to think about it too long. He wants this to be over. He wants to go back to his room and have Plagg read him the book of short stories that Anne had let him borrow to read. He wants to go to the kitchen where Cyril will make him hot chocolate. He wants to be anywhere but here.
“Your lessons are resuming from next week.” His father continues, finally turning back towards him. “Be prepared.”
Adrien nods dutifully.
“I’ll see you at dinner.” His father finishes, the dismissal clear. Even if his heart sinks at the news, Adrien nods.
“Thank you father.” And then he turns around and walks out of the room as quickly as he can without running. The door, he finds as he leaves, is left slightly ajar.
Outside, Anaïs stands hovering, confusion clear in her eyes.
“That’s it?” She asks, as Adrien closes the door. “That’s all you talked about?”
“You were listening.” Adrien accuses, but Anaïs doesn’t look bothered by the accusation.
“I was worried.” She simply states, self-assured.
“No.” He says, and she frowns.
“Of course I am worried.”
“No.” He says. He knows she was worried, it had been pretty clear since the moment she came to his room to get him.
But she shouldn’t have listened in. He didn’t want her to listen in. He doesn’t know why. But it makes him feel smaller. It makes him feel…embarrassed. But it’s not just that. It’s a weird feeling that he can’t put a name to, but he doesn’t like it. He doesn’t want her to know how he and his father are.
Anyone to know for that matter.
“Adri–” She begins, but before she can say much he runs ahead back to his room where the moment he steps in, Plagg appears. And oh, right. Plagg was there in the room too.
“Adrien.” Plagg says, and Adrien purses his lips and immediately turns away. But Plagg can come anywhere. He wants to be away from him. He doesn’t want to see Plagg. But he doesn’t want him to leave either. He looks around the room, his eyes settling on something. So, he quickly walks around the room, walking up to his closet. He opens it up and settles inside and closes it.
It immediately becomes dark, but then the stars on his collarbone glow a dim neon green color. Enough for him to see the bare outline of hanging clothes, shoes and his box tucked at the side. But even if it was dark, it wouldn’t have scared him. In fact,
(“Adrien! Where are you?” His aunt calls from outside. “Felix! Where are you?”
Adrien giggles as he hides deeper in the cupboard, but beside him Felix quickly shushes him.
“We’ll get caught if we’re too loud.” Felix whispers and Adrien nods and covers his mouth. But despite Felix's warning, he giggles again when his aunt calls them one more time.
And Felix turns to shush him but–
The door to the closet cracks open.
“Ha! Found you.” His aunt announces as she drags them back to the dining hall to meet the family friends that had come over.
Felix gives an exaggerated sigh beside him, but Adrien just finds himself laughing at the whole thing.
It was fun.)
He brings his knees to his chest, and lowers his head to rest on his knees. He really shouldn’t be thinking about that. It always makes him cry.
In fact, he shouldn’t be acting like this at all. There was no reason to. Anaïs was worried for him. She was caring for him but he had been rude to her.
Plagg had been there, because Adrien wanted him to be next to him at all times. Adrien had literally thought that he would like Plagg to be with him when his father was staring him down. Plagg was caring for him as well but Adrien…he had run and hid.
They both had done nothing wrong.
But.
He groans as he buries his face deeper. There’s wetness against his arms and Adrien ignores it. Instead he just sits, focusing on the sound or rather the lack of. It makes his mind blank. The sound of nothing. It isn’t comforting, but it’s better than walking out and explaining to Plagg why he acted like this.
Because he doesn’t know.
“Adrien.” A voice comes from outside.
“No.” He repeats.
“It’s alright.” Plagg continues. “Okay? It is fine.”
“No.”
“Do you want to talk?”
“No.”
“Then, how about you come out and we read the short story book together?”
Adrien pauses, his arms tightening around his legs. He wanted that. But, “No.”
It falls quiet, and Adrien thinks Plagg has finally given up. Which is exactly what Adrien wanted. But, he bites down at his lips, and he feels tears threaten to slip as the silence drags out longer.
Did Plagg leave?
He promised he wouldn’t. But, it would make sense if he did. Adrien had been horrible right now.
And besides, it wasn’t the first time someone broke a promise to him.
And then the tears slip.
He bites down on his tongue to keep himself from sobbing, but he’s crying. Silently. With salty tears rolling down his face and onto his hands. With arms wrapping around himself even as he shakes.
He hates this.
There’s a sound of a page being turned and then,
“Once upon a time, in a castle faraway lived a princess named Rapunzel with her mother, the Queen.” A voice begins, and it’s gentle and low like calm tides on the beach. “Rapunzel was a kind child, but a curious one as well. And she always wished to go outside her castle and see the world. But, her mother forbade it.”
Adrien sniffles, his head still buried in his arms. But he is listening. Because Plagg is still here.
“‘Why,’ Rapunzel would ask her mother. ‘It’s for your own good.’ Her mother would reply. And Rapunzel would abide by her request because she trusted her mother. But, deep down she wanted to see whatever lay beyond her castle.”
There’s a snap of fingers, and then grass climbs into Adrien’s closet, covering the wood beneath him. It is soft against his feet. “She wanted to touch the grass plains that animals fed on. She wanted to breathe the migratory winds that birds flew with. She wanted to smell the sea salt against the waves. She wanted to feel something beyond the stony floor of her castle.”
“And then one day, she left. She knew her mother would be angry, but she couldn’t resist. Not when there was a world far beyond the walls of her castle that waited for her. She was hesitant. She knew she wanted this, but she was still scared. Her mother’s warnings rang in her head. She walked with caution, scared that something bad would happen.”
“But, then.” There’s a light tap on his closet. Adrien is barely able to make them out in the extremely dim lighting, but there are bubbles inside the closet that pop against his face. “She walks and she walks and nothing happens. She sees the grass, the ocean, the winds. She even sees more. She sees the people, the animals, the stars.” Neon stars appear on the ceiling of the closet. They are brighter than the ones on his collarbone, and the closet is now decked in a bright neon green.
“And Rapunzel wonders. ‘This is not scary. Was my mother wrong?’ So, she walks back to her castle where her mother looks for her worryingly. The moment the Queen sees Rapunzel she yells. She scolds the princess for going away, for doing something she forbade. But, Rapunzel holds her ground and retorts back. ‘You were wrong.’” Adrien’s squeezes into himself, his eyes shutting.
“Rapunzel tells her mother. ‘You were wrong. The world is beautiful and I want to live there, not here.’ The Queen shakes her head. ‘You don’t get it. It’s for your own good.’ But Rapunzel had seen the seas, she had touched the snow, she had smelled the petrichor, she wanted to be there instead of this castle. ‘I’m leaving.’ Rapunzel announces. And the Queen, once she sees her daughter leaving, chases after her yelling at her to come back. And in her hurry she steps out of the castle and into the open skies and she realises that she was wrong. But, till then Rapunzel is long gone.”
Adrien waits for Plagg to continue, but instead it falls silent at the other end. He waits another moment or two but when it becomes clear the story isn’t continuing, Adrien snaps his head up and stares at the door. He hesitates, but then he speaks. “That’s it?”
“Hmm?”
“The Queen doesn’t meet her daughter again?” Adrien asks, frowning.
“Rapunzel found her own path, free from her mother’s shackles.”
“Her mother wanted the best for her.” Adrien argues. “You said it yourself.”
“Just because she believed it, doesn’t mean it truly was.”
“But, then they should have made up!” Adrien retorts, feeling riled up as he sits up straighter.
“Not every relationship is salvageable.”
“That’s her mother! ” Adrien shouts. And his chest heaves as he catches his breath. Plagg is silent on the other side. Adrien shifts, the grass grazing against his legs as he tucks his knees under his chin. He looks down at his hands, then at the stars above and he finally mumbles. “She was doing her best.”
“But she was wrong and it was hurting Rapunzel.”
But, that didn’t matter. It really didn’t. Father hurt him too, sometimes. But, it’s alright. Because– “She cared.”
“You can hurt the people you care about.”
“But she cared.” Adrien repeats. He feels like a broken record. But, it’s true. Caring is enough.
(Gentle hands thread through his locks as he sits in her lap. His mother is weaker now, her wrists thin and her breathing light. The room smells like disinfectant and a machine beeps in the background.
“Adrien.” She calls, and Adrien looks up from his picture book. “You know your father and I both care about you, right?”
Adrien nods.
She smiles, weakly. “That’s all that matters.”)
“It isn’t enough.” Plagg states.
“It is.”
“Isn’t.”
“Is.”
A pause. “But if it is, then what about all the hurt?”
Adrien’s nails dig into his palm as he stares straight ahead at the door of the closet. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Then why are you hiding?”
Adrien freezes but Plagg continues. “Your father hurt you, but he cares. If the hurt didn’t matter then why would you run and hide?”
He closes his mouth and then shuts. “That’s not it.” He says, voice small enough that he wonders if Plagg even heard him.
But, he does. “Then what is it?”
He doesn’t have a clear cut answer for it. Adrien doesn’t know. He just… “I– I don’t like you or Anaïs knowing.” He ends up saying, feeling his words out. “He’s my father. Mine.” He remembers how earnest he was to leave but it doesn’t change this feeling. “And it’s my time with him. Alone.” He was scared to be alone with him. But–
“You told me about the punishments before.” Plagg observes.
“That’s different. You weren’t in the room.”
“You were scared.” Plagg rebuts. “It makes sense to care, to worry. To look out for you.”
Adrien quiets at that. It was true. He understood it, really. But–
It’s all conflicting. There are a lot of ‘Buts’. The one that stands out the most though and the only one that matters is: “But, it’s my father.” Adrien says, and the moment he says it he feels worn out. ‘Because he is the only family I have left.’ He doesn’t say this, but this is the only time he has let himself think it. It doesn’t bring him to tears like he always thought it would, but maybe that’s because he has already cried so much. He feels tired, almost resigned. He leans back against the wall, as he stares up at the crooked stars.
“There is nothing to worry about. He cares.”
Mother said so. And his parents spoke the truth.
Plagg is quiet, and the silence drags out for quite a bit. Adrien simply spends the time staring blankly at the ceiling, almost close to falling asleep. But, then Plagg finally speaks. “Okay.”
Adrien blinks.
“I’ll wait outside the door when you go in.” Plagg relents. “I’ll stop anyone else from eavesdropping.”
“Promise?”
A daffodil sprouts on the grass next to Adrien’s right foot. “Promise.” Plagg replies.
.
It is much later, when Reimund knocks on the door to tell him that his father is calling for him in the diner that Adrien finally steps out of the closet. He washes his face in the sink and doesn’t look in the mirror in case he sees green eyes. He puts on a change of clothes and he walks out with Reimund beside him.
“Anaïs wants to apologise.” Reimund says conversationally as they walk down the staircase to the dining hall. “She said she will not do anything like that again. In fact she’ll steer clear if you want, but she wants a chance to say sorry.”
Adrien stares down at his feet as he walks. “We’ll play with the Bubble Bazooka tomorrow, right?”
And Reimund smiles. “Of course.”
Once they are at the door, Adrien straightens his back, and looks ahead as he walks in. He seats himself opposite to his father and Cyril rolls the dishes in and then he leaves. And then it’s just him and his father alone in the room. Because this time, Plagg isn’t here either.
It is the right choice.
Adrien sits with his hands on his lap and he waits as his father picks up a fork and a knife and takes the first bite. And then he finally allows. “Eat.”
He grips the knife and fork, cuts through the chicken cutlets on his plate, and he takes a bite. He chews waiting for the taste to soak in, but it never does. Adrien chews on rubber, on tasteless nothing for dinner all the while he looks straight ahead at his father who looks down at his meal.
And Adrien reminds himself.
This is his father.
Notes:
It wasn’t mentioned in this chapter since it’s entirely Adrien POV but Anaïs had gone to get Reimund the moment she fucked up with Adrien. And Reimund had made his way to Adrien’s room but before he could even knock… let’s just say Plagg (who was trying to gently talk to Adrien) has him go back his merry way.
Btw, Plagg read the original rapunzel (not tangled) in the story book and then adapted to tell his kid. lol
Adrien’s issues with Gabriel are going to stay for a while. It’s pretty canon that he looks up to his dad and that stays a constant here, of course with added (extra) fear. But. Plagg’s influence slowly but surely seeps through.
Healing is of course not linear, and Adrien has too many things that he doesn’t want to think about or wants to move on. But, not everything can exactly be swept under the rug. So. Heh. More angst ig people. But its for healing so that's better, yeah?
Also I lowkey was planning on a teachers returning chapter but I hate Miss Katherine’s guts and Plagg might just off her if she makes an appearance right now, so I’m keeping the teacher appearances to a minimum aka they’re gonna be mentioned in passing and one minor appearance after the (soon to be) timeskip.
The fact that Gabriel had been all bad mood cuz his son wasn’t doing well in his studies and had dealt so many punishments and didn’t stop and think hmm my methods aren’t working maybe i should try something else, and it took his son going through something very fucking traumatizing for him to show some semblance of humanity. (gabriel redemption arc ain’t happening. EVER. rest assured people.)
Also the flowers are never leaving people, you might as well start memorising what they all mean lolol, cuz it's how our fav father son duo communicate.
Chapter 15: i know a secret or two
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
It’s mid-December and Anarka is finally back to resume her job.
Anarka fixes the scarf she had wrapped around Luka. He is bouncing on the balls of his feet looking at the mansion with wide eyes. “You teach here?” He asks, turning towards her, eyes sparkling.
“Mhm.” She smiles, reaching for his hand to walk him towards the entrance. In the baby sling across her chest, Juleka babbles, giving her own expert opinion on the mansion. “There’s a boy, a year younger than you, that lives here. I teach him piano.”
“Cool.” Luka accepts, still in awe of the mansion. “Do you think this place has an underground spy base?”
Anarka blinks and then laughs. “Who knows? Maybe you can ask the staff.”
Luka shakes his head, face solemn. “If they work here, they’re probably secret agents themselves. And they won’t tell me about their secret spy base.”
“Yeah?” Anarka grins as they finally reach the doorstep and she rings the bell. “Well, maybe you’ll have to find it yourself.” Of course he wouldn’t, because there is no way she is letting her currently hyperactive nine year old anywhere out of her sight.
Luka sniffs defiantly. “ Of course. They aren’t going to see what hits ‘em.”
“Hits who?” A voice asks as the door opens and Reimund raises a curious eyebrow towards her son. Luka instantly hides behind her, all his previous confidence evaporated in front of a stranger.
“Nobody.” Comes the muffled reply as he tries to bury his face in the back of Anarka’s jumper.
Reimund smiles before turning to Anarka. “Good to see you again. Hi, sweetheart.” He coos waving at Juleka, who is much more social than Luka and jumps at the attention, babbling away in her baby language.
“Good to see you too.” She responds to the pleasantry, following him inside. “How’s everything been while I was gone?”
Reimund smiles, though it is pinched at the sides, as he leads her to the familiar music room. “I’m sure you’ve heard it all from M. Agreste or the news.” She nods. “But, we’re all doing better.” He opens the door and she steps into the music room. “Adrien will be here shortly.” And with that he leaves her in a room that was once very familiar.
The disappearance of the stranger allows Luka to gear back into his excited mode, and he zooms around the room taking every hung artwork, every shelf, everything in. Anarka does the same, noting how the carpet beneath the piano had been changed. The couch as well. She puts a hand against the mahogany body of the piano.
Will Adrien be alright with this? She wonders, fingers tracing along the wood as she finally sits on the new piano bench. Clearly, an effort had been made to remove all traces of the past from this room. But the room is still the same and so is the piano.
There’s a loud thuck, and Anarka spins around to see Luka face first crashed into the ground. Anarka quickly gets up, making her way over to her son. “Luka! Are you hurt?”
Her son quickly sits up and shakes his head. “Nope!” And then he smiles, teeth and all. And Anarka pauses. Against her chest, Juleka laughs clapping her hands and Anaraka finds herself agreeing with her daughter’s reaction.
“Luka, do you notice anything missing?” She asks, biting down the smile that threatens to slip.
Luka blinks, head tilting and then he suddenly gasps, tongue going in between the gap his now fallen two upper front incisors had left him with. “My teeth!” He doesn’t cry, no instead he immediately bends down ready to search for his missing teeth.
“You had been complaining about loose teeth since Friday.” Anarka says as she settles onto the couch letting Luka roam around. “Does it hurt?”
Luka immediately shakes his head as he procures his two teeth, bringing it over to her. “Do I get money now?”
Shaking her head, Anarka simply hands her son a handkerchief to wrap his teeth in, as she slowly takes Juleka out of her sling to place her in her carrycot. “You should be asking the tooth fairy that. Not me.”
“There is no tooth fairy.” Luka replies with sagely wisdom. “Dad told me it was a hoax.”
Anarka blinks, suddenly feeling a headache incoming. “What?” James wouldn’t. At the very least he wouldn’t break the illusion of magic for Luka so young.
Luka nods seriously. “I know you and dad leave me the money, not the tooth fairy. The tooth fairy is just a conspiracy made by the illu–illumi–something.”
Pursing her lips, Anarka makes a checklist in the back of her mind to make sure to punch James across the face the next time she comes across him. How dare he do this behind her back. Especially when he knew how much she cared for special occasions like this.
Because they meant childhood.
Tooth fairies, Easter bunnies and Santa Claus – she loved those things as a child. Her father had always made a big deal of all such occasions and it was one of the few precious memories that she wanted to share with her kids as well.
It was unfair that James would take it away from her.
“What if… What if your dad was lyi–” She begins slowly, but stops the moment Luka turns to her, cyan eyes so pure and believing. She wasn’t going to ruin Luka’s impression of his father. Of the man Luka looked up to. Not now. She quickly shakes her head and smiles ruefully at her son. “How about you humor me and say the tooth fairy comes to visit you?” She tries instead. “You love playing ‘pirate’ and imagining worlds. Can’t we do the same with the tooth fairy and imagine that the fairy visits you?”
Luka seems to consider it, his eyebrows furrowing and then he tilts his head, maintaining a faux serious expression. “I’ll think about it.”
She smiles. “That’s enough for me.”
There’s a knock on the door. “Alright, Luka. I need you to be on your best behavior.” Anarka explains and Luka nods as he dutifully sits beside his sister on the sofa. And Anarka hurries over to open the door, suddenly nervous. It’s been a while since she has seen Adrien and given everything that happened…she isn’t too sure how to look straight into his eyes without feeling guilty.
The door opens and it’s…not Adrien. It’s Reimund again. “Is everything alright?”
Reimund nods, but his expression is pinched. “Adrien had been alright with resuming piano lessons up till yesterday, but now…”
“He doesn’t want to?” Anarka asks, and the guilt only grows.
(If only she had known. If she hadn’t–)
“Well he is saying he is ready, but…” Reimund sighs. “He made it till the hallway but the moment he saw the door to this room, he froze up. Anne took him back to his room under pretense of helping her find the clip she dropped while cleaning his room.”
Anarka purses her lips. “So, now what?”
Reimund rubs the back of his neck. “Well, M. Agreste needs to be informed. But…” He trails off and it’s not hard to guess why. Since Adrien’s therapist had concluded that Adrien had mostly if not entirely recovered, Gabriel would treat this as something Adrien needs to get over right here and now.
Anarka bites her bottom lip, shaking her head. “Y’know what, I’ll just let Gabriel know that something personal came up and I had to leav–”
“Umm…hello Mlle. Couffaine.” Comes the tiny, hesitant voice that interrupts her sentence. Both Anarka and Reimund immediately whip their heads around to see Adrien walking up to them, music sheets in hand. Behind him Anne had a defeated expression as she just shrugs when Reimund glares at her.
“Hi, Adrien.” Anarka responds, immediately making her way over to the boy. She crouches in front of him and smiles gently. “It’s been a while. How have you been?”
He nods, and returns the smile even though it’s smaller and his hands grip the music sheets tightly. Reimund was right, Adrien was scared. “I’ve been well. Umm, I am ready to restart our lessons.”
Anarka pauses, glances up to meet Reimund’s eyes. He looks conflicted but then he just sighs, mouthing a light ‘your call’, to her. And Anarka looks at Adrien who is staring at her expectantly, back rigid as he awaits the start of the lesson.
Anarka nods and then smiles, making sure it’s bright and warm enough to put the boy at ease. “Well then! Let’s go shall we?”
Even though the walk from the end of the corridor to the room is less than thirty seconds, it feels painfully long as she matches Adrien’s hesitant walking pace as they make their way to the music room. Reimund trails behind them.
Adrien seems to be taking most of it all well, looking determined. But then they both step inside the music room and Anarka is about to call Luka over to introduce the two, when she hears Adrien suck in a breath beside her.
She immediately stops, eyes flicking towards Adrien whose eyes are blown wide in panic. His eyes are fixed on the piano and the rug below and of course. Of course he wasn’t alright coming back here. She quickly gets on her knees beside him. “Adrien. Adrien, how about we both sit down?” She isn’t even sure if hears her with how out of it he looks but he follows her request and then he’s sitting and he’s not speaking, but his breathing is too fast.
Anarka looks behind her to see Reimund already taking a few steps back and running away. She turns back to Adrien. “Adrien. How about we breathe together? Yeah?”
“Like can you follow my instructions?” She asks, and then continues. “Okay, inhale in 1, 2, 3, 4.” He follows. “Hold. And exhale out in 5, 6, 7, 8.” And he does. And Anarka is about to get him to redo the breathing exercise a few more times, but then Luka comes running over.
“Are we doing the square breathing?” He asks, butting in, completely unaware of what was happening. He stares down at Adrien whose eyes finally snap away from the piano to look up at him. “I can do it better than you.”
And Anarka internally groans. Because, Luka this is not exactly the moment to let out your competitive spirit. And not in regards to breathing exercises of all things. She moves to gently tell her son to go back to his sister but then Adrien speaks.
“Breathing is not a competition.” He speaks clearly, much calmer than before. His voice is still small and almost too quiet, but he is better.
Anarka blinks, before biting down her lips to stifle her smile as Luka makes a small noise of dissent, particularly offended. “It is.”
Adrien shakes his head. Luka frowns and moves forward, making it a point to sit cross-legged in front of Adrien. “If that’s so. We can have a competition. Let’s see who breathes better.”
Adrien turns towards Anarka, and even though he looks hesitant, his face reads very clearly: ‘What is going on here?’. This time, Anarka doesn’t bother concealing her smile, as she chuckles lightly.
“Well, Adrien. Ahem. I have been meaning to introduce you both. This is my son, Luka.” Anarka introduces. “You both met when you were four but I doubt you remember.”
Adrien shakes his head, cheeks flushing. “Sorry.” He mumbles.
Her son beats her to the response. “It’s fine!” He responds cheerily, already having forgotten the breathing competition he had in mind. “I don’t remember you either!” And oh my god, Luka that is not what you should say. But then. “But we can get to know each other now. I’m Luka.”
Adrien is quiet before he slowly responds. “I’m Adrien.”
“Nice to meet you, Adrien!” Luka responds cheerily, raising a closed fist in Adrien’s direction. Adrien stares at the gesture confused. “Oh, you also have to raise your fist.” Luka explains.
And Adrien, looking thoroughly baffled, raises his fist and Luka bumps it. “There!” Luka grins. “We’re friends now.”
Adrien blinks and then suddenly he flushes, cheeks reddening. And Anarka finds herself smiling at the whole exchange. Well, turns out Luka might have a knack for making everyone feel better.
Behind them, suddenly a few footsteps sound, and Reimund enters in view. Luka, who had so easily conversed with Adrien, immediately freezes and makes it a point to shuffle closer to her, hand gripping her sleeve.
On the other hand, Adrien easily meets Reimund’s eyes, who shuffles nervously, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “I went to find Plagg.”
Adrien stares at him confused and then his eyes suddenly light up. “Plagg is here.”
Somehow that makes Reimund’s expression worsen. “Umm, no. Adrien, I couldn’t find them.”
But, that doesn’t deter Adrien, who suddenly stands up. “No, he is here .” He stresses the last words, and all three of them stare at him before Luka is standing up as well.
“Yeah! He sure is.” Luka affirms and Adrien freezes when Luka makes to stand next to him, flushing. He looks adorable like that. Who knew he’d be so embarrassed at someone calling him a friend. But then, Adrien quickly shakes his head. “Umm, can we start the lessons now. I’m ready.”
A refusal is on the tip of her tongue, because of how badly he reacted by simply being in the room. However, this time he truly looks confident. Determined, even. Somehow the mention of this ‘Plagg’ is enough for him to face this. “Are you sure?” She still confirms. And Adrien nods. And Anarka supposes that’s that.
“Oh cool, you play the piano?” Luka asks, even though Anarka clearly told him this beforehand and Adrien nods again, though much slowly, almost shyly. But that doesn’t deter Luka who quickly begins to hoard him with questions about the instrument that Adrien is barely able to respond to before he is moving on to the next one. Anarka exchanges a glance with Reimund who just smiles, before turning around.
And Anarka takes this as a sign to finally move. She follows after the boys, who have now made it to Juleka’s carry cot, where Luka was introducing his younger sister and his newest friend to each other.
She lets them play around for a while, which basically means she lets Luka chatter his heart out as Adrien listens dutifully. They do eventually play an easy piece on the piano, and beside the initial hesitance – Adrien plays the piece beautifully. With the same poise and talent that he had shown when he first began to play at age four.
When they finish, Luka cheers loudly for him. And once again, Adrien’s cheeks turn tomato red.
It’s all precious, really.
***
“How was it?” Plagg asks, as if he wasn’t there the entire time. Which… he was right?
“You saw it.” Adrien states, before a more hesitant. “You were there, right?”
Plagg nods, and Adrien feels relief knowing that. “I was, but I want to hear your thoughts and feelings on the matter.”
Shrugging, Adrien places the music sheets neatly into a folder and puts them back in his desk’s drawer. He had known he was to start his piano lessons today. Ever since his regular studies restarted in early November, he knew in the back of his mind that piano lessons would follow soon after.
In fact, the fact that it took this long should have been ample time for Adrien to be ready. Adrien likes playing the piano. He has for a very long time. But after everything…
(He sits on the desk, doing his assigned reading for English at night. But he is barely able to pay attention to the words. M. Reimund had told him that his piano lessons were starting tomorrow. He has to play again. Go back to that room.
“You can choose not to play it, if you don’t want to.” Plagg offers. “Whatever you end up choosing, it will be alright.”
Adrien pauses, eyes flicking to his fingers. Does he really want to give up on the piano?
On making music?
…
‘If I don’t.’ Adrien thinks. ‘Am I not moving on?’
Still stuck on Raphael.
He doesn’t want to.)
“I thought I’d be fine.” Adrien finally says, feeling a little ashamed. “But, I got all nervous when I finally entered the room.”
“It’s fine not to be.” Plagg assures easily, as he comes to settle on the chair beside Adrien’s desk. “It’s okay to feel overwhelmed. In fact it would have been fine if you didn’t want to play anymore. You are allowed to back out even at that moment.”
Adrien shakes his head. “Mlle. Couffaine came all this way. I couldn’t do that.”
“She wouldn’t have minded.” Plagg says. “Nobody would have.” And Adrien still looks at him, disbelievingly. “But, the fact that you still persisted through was courageous of you.”
“To play the piano?” Adrien frowns.
“To face your fears.” Plagg corrects. “You were panicking. But, you still pushed through. That’s very brave of you.”
Adrien flushes, and immediately looks down his hands coming to play with the hem of his sleeve. “I wasn’t really brave.” He confesses and then he rambles, not daring to meet Plagg’s eyes. “I knew you’d be there. And you promised to protect me. So I knew I’d be fine.” It doesn’t count as bravery when the only reason he continued with the piano lesson is because he had Plagg.
“Of course I’ll be there.” Plagg confirms. “But, you can still call yourself brave nonetheless.”
“Really?” Adrien looks up at Plagg, who hums, extending a daffodil for Adrien to have.
“Really.”
Adrien nods, feeling warm, as he clutches the small flower in his hand before bringing to put it in the small water-filled pencil holder that he had used to keep all the flowers Plagg had been giving him easily.
“So, overall did you enjoy your piano lessons?” Plagg asks, once Adrien is done with his task.
Adrien thinks it over. Mlle. Couffaine had gone out of her way to let Adrien choose whatever piece he wanted to play. And they had gone at his pace, letting Adrien readjust to playing the piano after not having come near the instrument in so long.
He had still been nervous, putting distance in between him and Mlle. Couffaine. But, she hadn’t touched him or gone over the invisible boundary Adrien had made between them when he sat on the piano bench. And when he started playing the piece… He liked it a lot.
It felt magical to make music with the press of a finger. And perhaps because it had been so long (and because the last of his lessons had been so uncomfortable), he had forgotten how much fun music was.
Raphael, while teaching him many new pieces, had only stuck to replicating the original song. Mlle. Couffaine let him experiment. They mixed up the keys for the pieces they were playing and added new parts to the song. Most of the time, it made the song sound worse. But, Mlle. Couffaine only laughed and told Adrien to try something new.
Music was fun.
So, Adrien nods. “I enjoyed it.” And it wasn’t even just Mlle. Couffaine, being nice as always, made the lesson fun. Her son, Luka… Adrien doesn’t know how to put it, but he was also super fun. He talked endlessly and he wanted to do a breathing competition for some reason but overall, he had been nice.
And oh.
Right.
“Plagg.” Adrien turns towards him, suddenly excited. “I have a new friend now, right?”
Plagg blinks, tilting his head. “The other boy?”
Adrien nods. “He said we were. And when he was leaving, he said something about ‘the rules of friendship’ before he hugged me.” And then suddenly he is nervous, because he only ever had Plagg as a friend. And he doesn’t know what the rules of friendship are! What if he breaks one of them accidentally?
“Plagg.” He says again, turning up to look at the man who is looking at him with a raised eyebrow. “What are the rules of friendship?”
Plagg pauses, and he’s quiet for a moment of two before he wets his lips and speaks. “I think…they differ from person to person. Since the boy is your friend now, you can ask him yourself. Just talk, it should be easy enough.”
Nodding, Adrien decides to do this the next time he meets the boy. For now, though. He suddenly blinks, remembering another thing that Luka had mentioned. “Plagg?”
Plagg hums.
“Can you make a fist?”
The man looks at him curiously, but he abides. And he raises his right hand folded into a fist. Adrien quickly walks close, raising his own fist and then he bumps it.
Plagg stares at his fist, confused. “What was that?”
“Luka said that this is how you become friends.” Adrien explains. “I didn’t know this was part of making friends so we didn’t do it before.”
“I think a gesture alone doesn’t take away from the fact that we are friends.” Plagg says, but he still reaches forward to bump his fist himself.
And Adrien nods. Because that’s true. Plagg is his closest friend. No matter if they did a fist bump or not.
But. “Now it’s official!” Adrien announces excitedly.
And Plagg’s lips quirk. “I suppose it is.”
.
“It’s almost Christmas.” Luka notes as he walks around the room, playing with the snowglobe he brought with him today. Adrien wants to ask if he can play with it as well, but he still feels nervous around the boy. He knows Plagg said that since Luka had already declared them as friends, that Adrien should just talk to him but Adrien really doesn’t know how. How do you even interact with friends? Instead he just nods mutely, as he rocks the carrycot Juleka is in.
Mlle. Anarka had mentioned she’ll be back soon as she had left to go talk to someone, leaving the door wide open. And Luka had mentioned once or twice about running out to find the spy base, whatever that meant, and he had run out of the room once but he had trudged back in soon enough. ‘Scary lady.’ Was all he had to say when Adrien looked at him questioningly at his pitiful walk back in. Adrien is pretty sure he means Anaïs by that.
So, now instead he was just walking around the room in dizzying circles as he turned his snowglobe upside down and then right side up all the while he talks about mundane topics. Adrien barely pays any attention to what he is saying, his eyes fixed on the globe in Luka’s hands.
When suddenly.
Pair of cyan eyes close up on him, Luka’s nose almost touching his. Adrien yelps immediately backing up. He feels his heart race and his cheeks flush. Luka scared him. That has to be it. Adrien clutches his chest, and looks at the boy whose eyes are still fixed on him.
Luka doesn’t say anything, and only stares. Curious. And the longer this draws out, the more Adrien feels his cheeks warm up. “…what?” He finally asks.
And Luka grins. His two upper front teeth are missing and his smile is wide and sweet and for some reason Adrien’s heart is racing again. He puts some distance between them. “Do you want to play with Snowie?”
Adrien blinks. “Snowie?”
Luka, smile still etched out and it’s so big and carefree, brings out his hands from behind him and offers the snowglobe to Adrien. Adrien takes it hesitantly, carefully holding it with both hands. It’s surprisingly heavy and the globe itself is made of glass. Adrien had thought it was plastic, given how carelessly Luka had been running around with it.
“Should you be running around with it?” Adrien asks. Because that would be dangerous. If the globe were to fall and someone was to step on it… That’d be bad.
Luka scrunches his nose, and thinks it over and then simply shrugs. “I don’t know. Mom didn’t say anything about it yet.” And then because that is all it takes for Luka to move on, he eagerly gestures to the snowglobe. “Now try shaking Snowie.”
Adrien does. And little snowflakes gather all across the globe floating around. There’s a tiny cottage with a sign that reads Santa’s House and a snowman stands beside it. The globe looks pretty.
Luka leans in to stare at the globe as well. And Adrien instinctively leans back. It’s weird that his heartbeat picks up whenever Luka gets close. Maybe he’s scared of him. Of Luka being too close. But Luka is nice. He even gave his snowglobe to Adrien without him having to ask. Adrien doesn’t want to be scared of him.
The boy in question, seems oblivious to Adrien’s inner turmoil, and instead reaches his hand forward and wraps it around Adrien’s. “You’re doing it wrong. You gotta shake it hard and then the snowflakes will spread out more. It looks cooler that way.” Luka explains, as he vigorously shakes the snowglobe. The snowflakes whirl around and in the back of his mind he does note that it does look cooler, turbulent even, but in the forefront of his mind, his eyes are zoned in at their hands.
He feels oddly blank. Warm and blank. Like his heart is racing, and his cheeks are flushing, but he doesn’t flinch like he does when adults come close, he is just… He is scared, right? Because that’s how he normally feels. That’s how he expected himself to react.
“See?” He looks up to meet cyan eyes, and a toothless smile.
Scared?
He feels the furthest from it. He nods dumbly, at a loss for words and Luka takes it as a sign to explain all sorts of different shaking methods, his hand still around Adrien’s as he twists the snowglobe in what Luka has named the ‘whirlwind’ move.
“And that’s all of them. For now.” Luka finishes, retracting his hand and the snowglobe with him. “Snowie and I are still figuring out all our moves.”
“How can Snowie come up with moves?” Adrien ends up asking before he can help himself. Luka turns towards him, and Adrien blushes at the attention.
“Well, it’s my imagination. Anything is possible there.” Luka replies dutifully. “Don’t you have a toy that you can do cool moves with?”
Adrien frowns. He supposes, the Bubble Bazooka should count. But the gun is cool. In general. He hadn’t come up with special moves with it, because it didn’t need any.
He shakes his head, and Luka gasps. Like hand on mouth, staring in shock. Adrien shrinks into himself. “Is it that bad?” He mumbles, wondering if Luka wouldn’t want to be friends with him anymore.
But, Luka immediately pounces up close to him. “No worries, Snowie and I can teach you how to make cool moves. Alright?”
As is with every time Luka comes this close, Adrien just nods blankly and Luka grins.
“Okay, so first step.” Luka says, stepping back as he holds out the snowglobe in his palm. He stroked his chin, contemplating. “You need a worthy toy. Do you have a worthy toy?”
Adrien shrugs. He doesn’t have any toys besides puzzles and the Bubble Bazooka and Adrien doubts he can do special moves with puzzles and the Bubble Bazooka doesn’t need moves to be cool.
Luka furrows his eyebrows at the answer. “Huh, well, no worries!” He quickly decides. “It’s Christmas soon so you can get a new toy!” And then Luka is bouncing around the room, throwing suggestions for possible toys that Adrien can get. “You can ask for a snowglobe like me! Or or a spy action figure. Or a Ben Ten watch! Or… hmm, a lightsaber!”
“A lightsaber?” Adrien asks, confused.
Luka nods. “Mhm! Lightsaber from Star Wars. My dad loves the movies, he got me a saber last year.” He flips his head towards Adrien, “Oooh, if you do get a lightsaber, make sure to tell your parents to get the blue one. The red one is evil.”
Adrien nods, noting the point in mind. He wouldn’t want an evil ‘lightsaber’, whatever that is. But, there’s a more pressing question that comes to mind with Luka’s words. “Why would you ask your parents to get you a Christmas present? Santa is the one who gets them for you.”
And Adrien knows this, because without fail, every year he receives one present wrapped in red with a card that reads, ‘From, Santa’. Last year, it was his fuzzy socks. The year before it was his coloring pencil set. Santa always sends presents. His mother, Nathalie and even his father had said so. Why would Luka need his parents to get him presents?
Folding his hands behind his head, Luka laughs, which makes him feel warm, but then he speaks and that makes him feel anything but. “You’re silly. You don’t really think Santa exists do you? That’s for babies. It’s your parents who get you the presents. Everybody knows this.”
Adrien pauses, disbelievingly. “Everybody?”
Luka nods, nonchalant as he shrugs. “Yeah, all the grown ups are in on it. It’s the truth. Santa’s a lie.”
And Adrien stops. He freezes. Because that has to be false. Luka has to be lying.
It couldn’t be true. It really couldn’t.
Santa is real.
His parents had said so.
But, if it is–
His throat clogs, his lips tremble, his eyes build up with tears.
Luka finally looks panicked, hands flailing as he tries to calm Adrien down. But, Adrien wants in no part to be close to the person who told him this. Instead, he backs away, towards Juleka who only babbles unaware of the horrible thing that Luka had just told Adrien. Adrien hopes she doesn’t understand any of what he just said.
The door to the room clicks open and finally Mlle. Couffaine walks in with Reimund, and they immediately frown, concern lining their faces as they make their way over to Adrien.
“What did you do Luka?” Mlle. Couffaine asks, and Luka squawks offended as if he wasn’t solely responsible for this entire thing.
Reimund settles on his knees in front of Adrien, silently asking for permission to grab Adrien’s hands. When he does allow, Reimund asks, kind and nice. “What happened Adrien?”
And Adrien sobs. But he quickly bites down on his tongue. He can’t cry. Not until he asks. So, he takes in a huge breath readying himself, his eyes red, sniffling – he asks as his voice breaks.
“Santa isn’t real?”
Notes:
Luka! How could you!?
Shortest duration for a puppy crush known to mankind.
Reason for start of crush: Cute toothless smile.
Reason for end of crush: Crush said Santa isn’t real.
Valid reasons or nah?Alsooo Luka is now the originator of our superheroes iconic fist bumps. Cuz Adrien thinks that’s how you make friends now.
The fact that Plagg doesn’t bother to remember anybody’s name but his kid’s. Luka shall forever be ‘the boy’. A boy that he is very close to killing rn cuz Adrien is nearly in tears.
Also like writing Luka makes me realise how painfully mature Adrien is and then I start sobbing, before my brother reminds me that it’s my own fault.
Reimund when he runs to Adrien’s room to get Plagg to help with his panic attack: Plz don’t kill me, plz don’t kill me.
Opens door and Plagg isn’t there. “Oh phew, I’m not dying.” Before realising. “Oh shit, no. Umm Lord Plagg please! Adrien needs you.”
Silence. “Srsly? All the time you glare at me, and one time you’re needed, you aren’t there.” He pitifully trudges back to the music room. Little does he know Plagg is floating around the room, invisible as he hovers worriedly over his kid ready to step in if things escalate too far.Well this chapter got wayyy too long. Longest thing I’ve written in a hot minute. Oof. But things needed to be done and I wanted them done in this chapter. Anyways lmk know your thoughts on everything so farrr :)))
Chapter 16: santa isn't real pt.1
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Death doesn’t care for you.
Adrien is three and it’s Christmas Eve. He runs through the corridors, Felix runs ahead with his Christmas stocking in hand. “Mine!” He calls out, but Felix only laughs and because he is older with longer legs he runs ahead. Until.
“Felix.” Adrien’s father calls out, and his cousin finally comes to a halt. Looking up guiltily to meet his eyes.
“Hi, uncle.”
His father makes no response and his green eyes raise to meet Adrien’s who finally catches up to his cousin. “My stocking!” He glares at his cousin then looks up pitifully at his father.
His father sighs. “Felix return the stocking to your cousin.”
Felix groans, mumbling about injustices before he is handing the red and white stocking to Adrien. Adrien grabs the soft material to his chest and walks up to his father who gives him a curious look.
Adrien raises his arms and then he grins. “Up!”
His father doesn’t say anything, instead he bends down, hands coming under his armpits as he is hoisted up into his father’s arms. Adrien immediately ties his arms around his neck and then looks down at his cousin, whom he is finally taller than, and sticks his tongue out.
Felix gasps and then sticks his tongue out as well. And then they keep making funny faces at each other as his father walks ahead to the living room with Felix walking behind him. Once they reach inside, his father puts him down and Adrien immediately races off, around the room with Felix behind him as he reaches the mantle above the burning fireplace.
His aunt is there with his uncle as they both decorate the place with wreaths.
“Should we put on some ornaments?” His aunt suggests handing more wreath for her husband to put on. “I mean the fancier the better.”
“I think it’s appropriately decorated.” His uncle disagrees, taking the wreath as he meticulously fixes across the mantle. “Besides at some point, it becomes too much. What’s the saying, ‘quality over quantity’.”
“You can never have too much of the Christmas spirit.” His aunt replies cheerily. “I think some red ornaments would look so cute at the edges.”
“Babe, we still have to hang the stockings. I don’t think there’ll be any space left.” His uncle turns around and he spots Adrien. He grins. “Hey bud, you brought your stocking?”
Adrien nods, happily making his way forward raising the stocking for his uncle to take. His uncle takes it, as he ruffles Adrien’s hair, which Adrien easily leans into, giggling. “Felix, did you bring yours too?”
Felix, who is now seated on the sofa at the far end of the room with a gamecube in hand, only clicks his tongue in denial. “Nah, searched through my suitcase, couldn’t find it.”
“I told you it was in the duffle bag.” His aunt sighs making her way over to her son. “Put your console down, we are going upstairs to get your stocking.”
Felix groans. “I literally just came downstairs!” He complains, but he gets off the sofa nevertheless when his aunt glares at him and the two walk out of the room, bickering. His uncle stares at the two disappearing figures, his eyes catch something in the back and he makes his way out of the room as well.
Adrien looks around the room. He had immediately made a beeline to his uncle because he wanted his stocking up, but now that it was up…his eyes land on the sofa where his father is sitting, in deep conversation with his– His eyes lighten up.
“Mama!” He cheers as he quickly runs over to her. She hadn’t been downstairs when he and Felix were here before.
“Hey, baby.” She smiles, easily opening her arms for Adrien to climb into.
“Careful.” His father says sternly. “Your mother is sick.”
“Oh hush.” His mother says, easily tightening her arms around Adrien as he buries himself in her arms. It’s warm and so cozy. He likes it.
“So.” His mother says, conversation directed towards him as she strokes her finger through his locks. “What do you think about Christmas Eve so far?”
She had been hinting at the night since the week prior. In her words, it was this big event that Adrien would love. And it was an event that was important.
Adrien thinks it over. “Is okay.” He nods solemnly and his mother laughs and his father cracks a smile.
“Yeah?” She says, tucking one of his stray locks behind his ear. “But, y’know what? It’s going to get much better.”
He is curious at the words. “How?”
His parents exchange a knowing glance, his mother looks excited and his father seems to warm under her gaze. “She’s almost here.” His father tells her.
“So, I can start?” She asks, and he nods.
“Whatever you want, love.”
She coos at that. “How romantic of you.”
“Yuck.” Adrien says, copying the word that Felix always says whenever his parents start saying love-related stuff to each other.
His parents blink, and then his mother bursts out laughing. “Oh my. Yeah, you’re right. This night is about you, not us.” And Adrien isn’t sure what that means but he likes the sound of it. A night for him.
“So,” His mother says, shifting slightly to lean further into the sofa, Adrien against her chest. “Adrien, do you know what’s so special about Christmas Eve?”
Adrien tilts his head, looking up to meet his mother’s soft grey eyes. “Me?” He questions. His mother did just say this night was about him.
It startles another laugh out of her, before she covers it with a gasp. “Oh my god, how is my son so smart? How did you know?” She croons, fingers reaching to pinch his cheeks.
He bats at the hand, laughing as well. “You said it’s my night!”
“And it is.” She agrees, but then when she speaks it’s more softer. “Did you know that tonight Santa Claus comes to give presents to everyone?”
Adrien nods. Nathalie had read him the story only a few weeks prior. That was why they were hanging stockings, and had a Christmas tree decorated near the window and it was why Nathalie and his aunt baked cookies in the afternoon. (Felix and he had stolen many when the adults weren’t looking. Adrien is sure his stomach would explode with how many he had eaten.)
“Well, do you know your birthday is also tonight Adrien?” His mother continues.
Adrien furrows his eyebrows at that. He didn’t know or at least remember that. He shakes his head.
His mother smiles, soft and gentle, eyes creasing at the side. “Well it is. You were born on Christmas eve. Do you know how it happened?”
He shakes his head, but sits up straighter looking at his mother expectantly. She looks around the empty room, almost cautiously as if about to spill a big secret, and then she leans close and she whispers. “Santa dropped you off.”
Adrien gasps, eyes widening. “Really?”
“Mhm.” She nods her head, eyes twinkling. “Because we had been so good, Santa decided to give us his most blessed present. Wrapped in a bow and tucked in a basket. A gift especially for us.”
“I came on Santa’s sleigh?” Adrien questions, bouncing in his mother’s lap excitedly, not noticing how she winces slightly. His father grabs him off, placing him in his.
“You did.” His father speaks, and Adrien looks between his two parents, eyes wide. Santa gifted him. That’s so cool!
“But what about Felix?” Adrien asks, suddenly remembering. “His birthday isn’t on Christmas Eve.”
“Well his parents got him from the hospital’s baby center. Most parents get babies from there.” His mother explains. “But you? You are from Santa.”
“I’m a present?” Adrien asks, peering up at both his parents.
They both nod, his mother with a big smile and soft grey eyes, and his father with a smaller smile with soft green eyes. “A present so special that we can’t help but love you.”
“Adrien.” His mother says, and she is still smiling, but there’s something sad in the corners of it. She gently holds both of his hands in her warm ones. “Just know this. Whenever things get tough, remember that we love you so much. That we wanted you so much that Santa gave us to you as a present. That no matter what happens and how times change, this will remain a constant.”
“That I’m Santa’s present?” Adrien asks.
His mother nods, her head coming to rest on his father’s shoulder, smiling. And then his father speaks, his hand brushing his hair back. “And that we both love you.”
The door then cracks open and Nathalie walks in with a lighted birthday cake decorated in red, green and white, with his aunt, uncle and Felix trailing behind as they sing happy birthday.
And Adrien gasps in excitement but he doesn’t run up to them, instead he clutches his parents sleeves and tucks himself between them, warm and happy.
He stays where it’s warmest. Where he belongs.
***
He is huddled under the blanket, back against the headboard of the bed, and he doesn’t move.
“Adrien.” Anaïs calls out softly, as she crouches near the bed. “Come on kid, how about we go play with the Bubble Bazooka, yeah?”
Adrien doesn’t respond, instead he simply curls into himself more.
“I even found this cool solution which makes the bubbles have different colors!” Anaïs exclaims. “C’mon it’d be so fun, right? And you can chase me with the shooter all around the garden. You always enjoy that.”
He does. But, right now, he really doesn’t care.
“Adrien.” Anaïs says again. “Please?”
He feels horrible, mean and everything he doesn’t want to be, but he doesn’t respond, keeping his head turned in the opposite direction.
In the end, Anaïs just sighs. “Okay, I’ll leave you alone, well not alone, since all of us are just out the door if you want us. If you want anything you let us know, ‘kay?” And then she leaves.
Plagg comes next, finally appearing as he settles on the bed beside him. The mattress dips under his weight. Adrien makes it a point to shuffle slightly towards the other edge of the bed, away from Plagg. Adrien would go hide in the closet, but it’s cold and his favorite fuzzy socks are in the wash.
His fuzzy socks that Santa gave him.
He purses his lips and curls into himself until his knees are up to his face. Or well, his fuzzy socks that he didn’t get from Santa. Because Santa isn’t real.
His parents lied.
He is not a present. He is not wanted. And maybe, he is not loved either.
Because all those things were true together. He was wanted so he was given as a present that his parents loved. But, he isn’t.
Maybe that is why father is so strict with him. Because he is forced to take care of him. Because Adrien is a burden, not a present.
(His mother says they both cared. But she lies. So they don’t.)
The Agreste name upholds responsibility and duty, and his parents are both people who honor these values. So, they were obliged to take care of him when Adrien came from god-knows-where. And they tried to care for him, lying to him about how they were actually gifted with him, and that’s why father was nicer when he was younger, but then Adrien grew up and maybe father realised that he was wrong.
Maybe Adrien is too difficult to care for.
Oh.
His father probably knew it already.
That’s why he is so distant, strict and harsh – unlike before.
Because he doesn’t want anything to do with a child he didn’t want.
(He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t care. He doe–)
He feels his eyes leak, the feeling of salty tears running down his cheek. He had been crying a lot recently. He hates it, but he can’t seem to stop either. He hiccups, before muffling it with a hand to his mouth as he sniffles.
“Does it matter?” Plagg asks. “If Santa wasn’t real?”
It does. It really does.
Adrien doesn’t answer, only silently cries, Because, if he wasn’t wanted, then…then everybody is forced to bear with him. They are all too nice to say otherwise. And Plagg? Plagg is here because of Adrien’s wish. He doesn’t want to be here. Adrien has forced him to be.
He really is a horrible person.
And then before he can really stop himself he sobs. And it’s loud and Adrien knows Plagg must have heard him and Plagg would feel burdened to care for him. He uses both of his hands, palms pressing against his mouth to stop any noise from escaping but he is unable to stop. He is crying. Sobbing uncontrollably. And he hates this. He hates this. Hates himself.
He–
The blanket is forced off. And Plagg is there, staring down at him, concern visible on his face in the way his lips are drawn thin, his eyes are wide and his eyebrows are furrowed. Adrien knows it is forced, and yet he hates how he likes it. He likes being cared for.
But, Plagg doesn't want to. And Adrien is to blame for why Plagg has to be here.
Plagg opens his mouth to speak, but Adrien cuts him off.
“Plagg.” He says, voice small that almost comes out as a sob. “Can I take my wish back?”
Plagg’s eyes widen, and then he is tilting his head, and his voice is calm but confused. “Why would you want to do that?”
Adrien sniffles, staring down at his feet. “Because you don’t want to be here. I don’t want to force you any longer.”
“Adrien.” And Adrien flinches at how gentle Plagg is when he refers to him. He shouldn’t. He shouldn’t. He– “Why do you think I don’t want to be here?”
“Because why would you?” Adrien says, and then uses a hand to gesture at the entirety of Plagg. “You are you. And I’m me.”
Plagg doesn’t answer immediately. He stares at Adrien, seemingly searching for something and then answers softly. “Maybe, I’m here because I care about you?”
Adrien shakes his head, but struggles to say it out loud. But, despite Adrien calling his father a coward weeks ago, Adrien is the actual one because he can’t say it. To tell Plagg that Adrien has it figured out. That he understands it all now. That he knows that everybody lies.
“Adrien. You’re wrong.” Plagg continues. “I’m here because I care about you. And even if you take your wish back I’m not leaving.”
“Why?” He asks, voice breaking. “I’m being mean to you. I make you do all these things for me.” He sniffles. “I force you to care for me. I’m not even a good friend.”
“Adrien.” Plagg says his name as his hand reaches forward, silently waiting for permission from Adrien. Adrien nods and Plagg wraps his larger hands around his smaller ones. “Adrien, do you know how easy you are to care about?”
Lips wobbling, Adrien shakes his head and looks down, refusing to meet Plagg’s eyes. But, Plagg simply continues, hands squeezing his. “If I truly didn’t want to be here, nothing in the universe could truly stop me.”
“But, I made a wish.” Adrien argues. “You had to fulfil it.”
“Maybe in the start. But do you genuinely think I’d go this far, do so much for someone I don’t care about?”
He would. Adrien knows he would. Because he knows Plagg now and– “You would, because you are kind.”
There’s a light huff. “Well, that’s the first time I hear someone call me that.”
“But it’s true!” Adrien declares, but he still doesn’t look up, glaring down at the bedsheet.
“And someone who calls Death kind. Who makes drawings for his staff to thank them. Who remembers forget-me-nots simply because of the flower’s name. Adrien, isn’t that person also kind?”
Adrien flinches, before trying to pry his hands out of Plagg’s grip but Plagg keeps his hands firmly there. “You are not mean. You are not forcing me to do anything. You are not forcing anyone to care about you. Everybody just does.”
Adrien still refuses to look up. Plagg has to be lying. He has to. If his parents did, why wouldn’t he? “Why?”
There’s a pause, and then something warm tingles across his palm and Plagg finally lets go and there’s a flower left in Adrien’s hand. On a singular stem there’s a cluster of small pink flowers. “Because you’re you.”
“That’s a hydrangea.” Plagg explains, fingers tracing the velvety petals. “It simply means, ‘I care for you’.”
Adrien’s grip tightens around the flower’s stem but he doesn’t know what to make of all of this yet. But, before Adrien could even begin to protest anything, there’s flower blooming on the bed sheets around him. There are daffodils that represent honesty, there are daisies that represent friendship and there are more pink hydrangeas.
Adrien just stares at the flowers. Plagg doesn’t say anything, he just waits. And it takes Adrien a while. A while where he just twists the pink hydrangea between his fingers as he stares at the flowers.
Plagg cares. Maybe that’s true.
Maybe Anaïs, Reimund, Cyril, Anne and all the other staff care as well.
They didn’t know about the present thing.
But–
Adrien sighs, arms wrapping around his legs pulling them closer to his chest. “Santa delivers presents, right?” Plagg only hums, and Adrien continues. “My parents always said that I was their present and that is why they loved me. But if I'm not one.” He takes a pause, swallowing down the lump forming in his throat. “Then…do my parents still love me?” He whispers the last part and then squeezes his eyes shut.
It’s quiet. Silent. Plagg doesn’t answer immediately, and the longer the silence drags the more it confirms it for him.
It makes sense. It really does.
It explains why father is the way he is. It explains why Felix and aunt don’t come anymore. The people who know, who were there on Christmas Eve when he was three, have all left him. In different ways. But left him all the same.
And then suddenly, there are arms around him. Adrien blinks, not knowing what to make of it before he is being pulled into Plagg’s lap with huge arms encompassing him all around. And it’s been so long since he has been hugged.
Plagg doesn’t hug him. He hasn’t ever before. But.
Adrien melts. He slumps against Plagg’s non beating chest. He grips his hands into his robes, bundling soft fabric between his fingers.
“They should.” Plagg says finally. “They must love you. Because nothing else makes sense. How could somebody not love you?”
That is enough for him to feel tears dripping down his face again.
And then he is full on crying as Plagg holds him in his arms and Adrien wraps his arms around his neck. “Then why does my dad hate me? Then why don’t Felix and aunt come anymore? Then why–” He is incoherent now but Plagg doesn’t mind as Adrien buries his wet face in Plagg’s shoulder, wetting his robe. Instead his large hand that covers the expanse of his back, rubs soothingly.
He spends the night of the 23rd like this, crying over Santa and a lost family in Death’s arms. Distantly, he realises that he was wrong when he had thought that Plagg wouldn’t give warm hugs.
It’s the most loved Adrien has felt in ages.
.
On the 24th of December, Adrien gets up early. He wakes up as soon as the first rays of dawn peak through his balcony and into his room. He wakes up to find himself pressed against Plagg, Plagg’s arm under his head as his pillow. The other over his side with the hand pressed against his back.
He feels safe and warm. He’s still tired, he feels sluggish, and Plagg is here and Plagg is holding him, so Adrien simply shuffles closer, pressing his face against Plagg’s chest and he closes his eyes again.
Later the birds will start chirping on the balcony and Reimund will knock on his door to call Adrien for breakfast. Later he’ll get up from bed and change the water in his pencil holder for his flowers. Later he’ll ask Reimund if he could call Anaïs on his phone so Adrien could apologise to her. Later Adrien will sit in the dining hall and eat his jam and toast while avoiding looking at his father because he isn’t sure what to make of him anymore.
Right now, he closes his eyes and lets himself sleep.
Because Plagg promised he cared.
And Adrien hopes that it’s true.
Notes:
...so...how are we feeling people?
Adrien’s relationship with how he approaches hope is one of my favs to write about. Like he is a boy who in every situation keeps hope, like he tries to convince himself that hope is pointless, that maybe he shouldn’t but he does nonetheless and adjahakj he’s my kid. (and guilt eats away at me whenever i remember what trauma i give to my baby)
Did I just make believing in Santa angsty? Umm…hehehe. 😋 I wrote the title for this chapter before I wrote the actual chapter and my brother caught the title and he was literally so scared the entire time worrying what I was planning for this chapter. safe to say he was NOT happy when I finally made him read it for feedback.
Christmas chapter in Sept cuz I want it to be winter hols already. academic year? no thank you.
"Adrien’s birthday is on the last december night. Adrien was born on Sunday night. DO YOU KNOW WHAT’S ON THE LAST SUNDAY NIGHT OF DECEMBER IN 2000? CHRISTMAS EVE. I love me some coincidences that I never planned on. Lmaooo. The world shifts to my needs. Mwahahaha. Adrien is a Christmas baby. Ofc he’s gonna believe in Santa. Cuz that’s how his mom and dad got him. He’s literally a present wdym. And now you’re telling him he isn’t one? BRO I’M SOBBING. WTF DID I COOK UP THIS TIME. NOBODY TOLD ME I HAD THIS MUCH POWER AS AN AUTHOR. And since Gabriel doesn’t want him, he’s literally Plagg’s to keep. Only time present stealing is valid." - (i wrote this rant before i wrote the chapter, actually this rant is where i realised just what i could do and then i did that cuz POWER.)
Plagg cuddle with your traumatized 8 yr old. It’s time to be the Dad ™
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