Chapter Text
Adrien was fourteen when he realised he had bargaining power.
For whatever reason, his dad never wanted him to leave the house and would be more than willing to just lock him up like Rapunzel and throw away the key.
But, he thought, as he watched the Disney princess on the screen, if all a parent really wants is to stop you going outside, maybe they're willing to give you other things to distract you and shut you up, like Gothel.
His father had already shown that he was willing to buy his affection and silence– his big, lonely room full of game consoles and a climbing frame proved that.
I wonder how far I can push it...
The first thing he asked for was a fully furnished workshop.
Go big or go home, right?
(Or rather, go big or stay home bored and being driven slowly insane.)
In the end, it was easier than he thought it would be. He tried to arrange a meeting with his father through Nathalie, but got impatient and ended up sending an email instead of waiting for his schedule to open up. He worded it carefully, double checking every sentence to make sure there was nothing there Gabriel could find fault with or use against him.
He wrote the pros and cons, the logistics of how it could be done, subtly tried to hint that he would be happier staying at home more (away from "bad influences") if he had this to entertain him...this email, he thought wryly, was more well researched than any school paper he had ever turned in.
And when he was as confident as he was going to be, he hit send.
His father never did reply with words; his response came in the form of Natalie showing up at his door and brusquely informing him that this was probationary, that he had to be on his best behaviour, that his grades both at school and at his extracurriculars had to remain impeccable, that as far as his public persona was concerned any new hobbies were to be kept under wraps until approved by his publicist...
All Adrien heard, with a dawning sense of wonder, was that for once he'd won.
By the time Adrien was able to finally set foot in his new workshop, he was practically vibrating with excitement.
He'd watched so many videos, researched so many techniques...he didn't know where to start!
He looked around the room, from the sound-proofed walls to the shelves of wood lining them to all the machinery begging to be tested.
He didn't know where to start.
It was overwhelming.
He was so used to toeing the line and swallowing his thoughts that when he finally got something he wanted he didn't know what to do with it.
I didn't think I'd get this far.
(Plagg told him to just put his goggles and mask on and dig into it like it was a pile of cheese.)
It dawned on him, as he started trying out the bandsaw, that this was a room of no consequences.
He got to let loose as Chat, but he also had to save Paris. He got to see his friends and go to school as Adrien, but he always had to hold part of himself back.
Here, as long as he cleaned off and didn't track sawdust through the house, no one would bother him. His father wouldn't care so long as he was safe and out of the way.
He grinned and kicked a pile of sawdust and sent it flying, just because he could.
(Then he swept it up, because having maids didn't mean you should be a dick to them.)
Chat Noir had arrived for their patrol.
Ladybug could tell this not only from the light thump of his boots touching down behind her, but also from the faint, sweet smell of sawdust that accompanied him.
Outwardly she groaned, scowling and turning to face him with her hands on her hips, ready to mock-scold him. Inside, she felt like an impatient kid on Christmas, shaking the gifts and guessing the contents until given the go-ahead to finally rip the wrapping paper off.
"And what, Chat Noir, were you making that was so important to that you had to leave me waiting? Thousands could have died! Paris needs constant vigilance from its favourite furry, you know."
He grinned, unrepentant, and her eyes were immediately drawn to the gift wrapped box tucked under his arm.
The first time he had shown up with a gift, she had initially panicked thinking she'd missed an anniversary or important date, and then worried that this was to be yet another unwanted romantic gesture. What she wasn't expecting was her usually cocky cat to hesitantly hold out a black and green drawstring bag, his smile just a tad more unsure than usual, tail held in his free hand.
The contents had touched her heart more than any bunch of roses ever could have. Marinette, who was constantly working on commissions and crafting things for friends, rarely received hand-made gifts in return. The wooden key ring was far from perfect, its finish patchy and uneven, but even before he shyly explained that it was the first thing he had turned on his brand new lathe, she could tell how much love and effort had gone into it.
The conversation afterwards had been even better. It wasn't safe for them to discuss their civilian identities in any detail, but general hobbies were okay, and the way her kitty's face lit up, animatedly gesturing and miming as he told her about all the things he was learning would have been worth any risk.
Every time he showed up with that look on his face, she knew he was about to give her something beautiful he had made with his own two hands, and he was becoming more skilled with each passing week.
The box he held in his hands now was very enticing, but no matter how much she wanted to grab it, she had to play the game. It was routine now.
"Paris is purrfectly safe under your protection, my lady." He kissed her hand. "And besides, I was so close to being done with your present I just couldn't wait until next patrol to give it to you."
"You think I need yet another gift from a mangy cat?" she playfully demanded, not bothering to hide her smile.
He smirked back. "No, bugaboo, but I think you want it anyway."
She laughed, giving up the pretense. "You got me. Gimmee!" She made grabby hands and he laughed too as he handed it over.
She snatched it and tore off the paper, before lifting the lid to reveal a wooden vase.
As always, his gift was made from a reddish-brown wood with darker, almost black accents; a nod to her identity that was hopefully subtle enough not to be obvious.
(She kept most of his presents hidden anyway, just in case. The storage in her room was starting to get cramped, but she could never turn down a gift from her kitty.)
"It's beautiful, minou," she breathed.
He turned pink. "You like it?"
"I love it." Refusing to overthink it, she raised herself up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek before dropping back down and admiring the vase again, studiously avoiding his gaze.
I will not blush, she thought fiercely. I've had la bise that were more intimate than that was. It's only weird if you make it weird.
She cast about for a subject change.
"J-just the vase, then, kitty?" she teased. "No flowers?"
His already big eyes widened further, and she could have kicked herself.
Like that. Congratulations, you just made it weird.
"Because I'm a ladybug!" she blurted out. "And you know, we all like flowers, to look at and uh, eat aphids off of–"
She wasn't sure how he managed to pull off looking amused and concerned at the same time. "You're eating aphids now? That's a new one, Bug. Is that healthy for you?"
Nice going, Marinette. Guess I have to double down now.
She shrugged, trying to look nonchalant, like she claimed to eat insects every day. "I'm sure Tikki would have mentioned if it was a problem. She looks out for me like that."
He frowned. "I think Plagg would just laugh at me. Guess I should prepare myself for wanting to eat mice or something."
She laughed at the expression on his face. "Don't worry, Minou, they sell feeder mice at the pet store. I'll get you a gift card for Christmas!"
He smiled uncertainly, clearly unsure whether she was joking or not. "Always looking out for me, my lady. You wouldn't be weirded out?"
Her smile softened. "Come on, give me some credit. If you can handle me eating–" fictional "–bugs, I can buy you mice. What are partners for?"
She held out her hand for a fistbump, which he returned with a grateful look.
"I'll have to start buying you flowers more often then."
"What?" she faltered. Why are you surprised, idiot? You brought it on yourself, you suggested it! He probably thinks you need them to live now or something. "You don't have to do that! Flowers are expensive."
His smile was...strange. "Trust me, I can afford it. Plus, now I have an excuse to bring a beautiful girl flowers!" He kissed the knuckles of the hand not holding the vase.
"Flirt."
"Only with you, my lady."
They continued to banter and joke until it was time to go home, but despite trying to stop her thoughts going that way, Marinette couldn't help but wonder: what kind of teenager has the pocket money to spend on flowers and woodworking?
"Come in."
Adrien squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and entered his father's study.
As always, everything was sparklingly clean and undecorated to the point of austerity, with everything in its place and arranged just so. Even the man behind the desk may as well have been made of marble, if it weren't for the eyebrow that was raised coldly as his son crossed the threshold.
"Well?"
Adrien swallowed. "It's Christmas, Father."
Already dismissing him, his father's gaze lowered back to his paperwork. "Yes, I am aware. I trust you received your–" the barest hesitation "–gift."
He hadn't needed proof that his father had no idea what "he" had bought him, not really. It didn't make the confirmation hurt any less.
He eyed the pens on his father's desk that matched the one he'd unwrapped that morning. Natalie probably just added an extra at the last minute when shopping for Father's stationary...
"Yes, Father, I received it. Thank you." He gathered his courage. "I was hoping to see you at dinner today."
Gabriel sighed, his frustration clear. "I am a very busy man, Adrien, as you well know. I can't always be there for every little thing."
I'm well aware of that by now, he thought bitterly. Would be nice if today had been an exception though.
Gabriel's gaze flicked to the doorway. "If that was all–"
Adrien couldn't help a little of his own frustration and hurt creeping into his voice. "I wanted to give you your gift. Since I haven’t seen you all day, I came to find you."
Gabriel took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I really don't have time for this. What is it?"
Adrien looked down at the box in his hands, thinking of the hours he'd spent in his workshop, the search to find the perfect paper and the meticulous wrapping and re-wrapping until he thought it stood a chance of meeting his father's exacting standards.
He briefly considered throwing it out of the window. Instead, he silently handed it over.
Gabriel opened his gift, somehow managing to simultaneously seem uninterested and rushed.
Then–
"Why would you think I would want this?"
The rest of his words washed over Adrien as he numbly tried to take them in.
"I can find my own pens, I don't need anything so shoddily homemade"..."Pay attention to the brand, boy, we are above garish holidays colours and themes"..."I have no use for something that is only relevant once a year"...
Then, imperiously–
"Take it. The thought is...appreciated, but I'm sure this is more to one of your little friends' tastes than mine."
Adrien opened his mouth.
You don't even know you always buy me pens, do you?
Would it kill you to be nice, just once?
Those aren't Christmas colours, I do pay attention, I was trying to match–
His shoulders sagged as the futility of voicing any of this hit him. His mouth snapped shut and he retrieved the red and white striped pen he had been so proud of. He turned to leave.
"Merry Christmas, Father."
The last thing he saw before the door swung shut was his father getting back to work as though Adrien had never existed, head bent over his red and white, candy cane striped cravat.
Adrien had rarely wanted to see his friends more, but he had a particular reason for dreading this meet up.
(He couldn't handle that kind of rejection twice in two days, he just couldn't–)
Breathe.
"Hey, Marinette?" he said, summoning his courage. He resisted the urge to wipe his sweaty palms on his jeans. "Do you– I mean, I was wondering if you'd want–"
"Woah dude, are you okay? I didn't want to say anything but you looked like crap when you arrived and it's only getting worse. Do you need to go home?"
He smiled at his friend– a small smile, but a real one. "I'm fine Nino, thanks. I'd much rather be hanging out with you guys– home is the problem!" He laughed. It sounded forced even to his ears, and no one else seemed to find it funny.
Alya frowned, leaning forward, and he could almost physically see her entering reporter mode. "Adrien–"
"Anyway!" He hastily cut her off. "I know we already exchanged gifts, but I made something and the person I made it for– Well, it didn't work out, and I was thinking who else might want it, and I thought of you, Marinette?"
Her eyes widened, but before she could speak he continued babbling. He couldn't seem to stop himself.
"I mean if you don't want it that's totally fine, I can just keep it, but I just thought–"
"For me?"
He looked across at her, surprised to see that she didn't look at all disappointed to be receiving a secondhand gift made by someone whose skills she knew nothing of. On the contrary, she looked...excited? Flattered?
Alya elbowed him. He fumbled the pen he was holding, and clumsy Marinette was somehow the one who caught it.
He'd rewrapped it since his father had rejected it, but it wasn't as good as his first attempt. He felt bad that it wasn't perfect, Marinette deserved perfect, but she...didn't seem to mind.
She undid the red ribbon and gently, carefully picked the sellotape from the golden wrapping paper until the pen he had so carefully crafted for his father was cradled in her hands.
Silence for a moment, then the room exploded into sound.
He had managed to push out of his mind until that point the fact that none of them knew about the hobbies his father hadn't approved for his public persona. If he'd thought about it, he wouldn't have been able to get up the courage to try regifting the pen at all.
He'd been staring at it after leaving his father's office, trying to see it how he had– a tacky piece of Christmas memorabilia instead of a handcrafted gift. The more he looked, the more he thought that whatever he did with it, it shouldn't stay with him. Take away the concept of his father's cravat, and it looked seasonal and joyful, completely out of place in this sad, empty bedroom with this sad, empty boy.
It belonged with someone who personified generosity and holiday cheer.
Someone who was still staring at the pen he'd made in her hands, silent while their other friends praised his talents and demanded to know how long he'd been keeping this from them.
"Marinette?"
Her eyes snapped up and she blushed. "It's beautiful. Thank you so much." A pause. "Who did you make it for?"
He rubbed the back of his neck self-consciously. "Father. I–it was meant to match his cravat...but he thought it looked too much like a candy cane."
"I mean, it does look Christmas-y," she turned, if possible, even more pink, "b-but I think that's cute. Perfect for a Christmas present, right?"
Relief swept through him so palpably he was amazed his friends didn't feel the breeze. "See, I thought that! It's a fun coincidence, right?" His voice quietened. "Plus, you know, given he wears the same outfit every day like a goddamn cartoon character, I figured there was a good chance he actually liked those colours..."
He mis-interpreted the sudden silence and self-consciously rushed to fill it. "Yeah, haha, I know I do the same thing, but that's father's decision, not–"
"Did he tell you he didn't like the colours?"
Her quiet voice cut through his babbling once again, but there was an edge to it now.
"Ah, no? He said gifting Christmas themed things for Christmas was tacky–"
"You're kidding me, right?!"
He flinched. Luckily she didn't notice, since her anger wasn't directed at him.
"He's a fucking world famous fashion designer walking around looking like a barbershop pole fucked Slenderman's corpse, and he thinks you're the one with no taste?"
There was a hurricane in human form in front of him where his tiny friend had been, and he had no idea how he was expected to proceed.
"I mean, it's fine? He's right, I could have done much better if I'd applied myself."
Her eyes blazed and her nostrils flared, and he realised whatever the right thing to say had been, that wasn't it.
"You listen here, Adrien Agreste." She stalked towards him, brandishing the pen like a weapon, and he had to fight the ridiculous urge to hide.
"I–" she gestured with the pen, and he was suddenly glad that he was too tall for his eyes to be in danger of injury, "am going to fucking cherish this pen. And not–" she put her hand up, and he closed his mouth, swallowing his words, "because it is gorgeous, although it is."
"Here here!" he heard from somewhere behind his left shoulder, where Nino was cowering and using him as a shield. Traitor.
She jabbed him in the chest with her finger, and his attention jumped back to her.
"I love this pen because you made it. Because you spent time picking out the wood, and glueing it, and turning it, and finishing it, and however many other steps I'm forgetting. I would love this pen if it were wonky and full of tear-out!"
Since when did Marinette know wood-working?
She was so close to him now.
He could see every individual eyelash.
Her eyes were the same shade of blue as Ladybug's.
"The important thing about a gift is the care that the person put into it, not whether it's something you would exactly have picked out for yourself! You love the person–"
Love? Marinette? Him?
"So you appreciate the gesture! And if your father can't see that he's a fucking idiot."
They continued to lock eyes for a second– he was the one who was blushing now, and she was breathing hard from her outburst– and then the spell was broken by a slow clap behind him.
"Not that I wasn't already on board the Gabriel sucks train, but now I'm jealous. How come only Marinette gets a lovingly crafted pen?" Alya teased. "I use pens too, in case you hadn't noticed!" She gestured to her reporting notebook in her pocket.
Still dazed, gaze not leaving hers, Adrien responded absently, "She has pretty eyes."
Marinette's squeak was almost drowned out by Alya's indignant squawk.
Later that night, when Marinette was trying to stop replaying the events of the day over and over in her head and finally get some sleep, her phone buzzed with a text.
Adrien: Hey, I wanted to say thank you for everything you said today, it was really nice of you.
A pause, and then:
Adrien: I'm sorry I gave you a second-hand gift. I don't know if you'd want anything else, but if you ever had requests I'd be happy to make something for you.
Marinette was full of too many whirling emotions. She was elated– Adrien was talking to her! He hadn't thought her outburst was weird! He hadn't taken back the comment on her eyes (that she'd probably misunderstood or read too much into, right?) and he wanted to make her something!– but mixed in with her excitement and giddiness, the analytical part of her brain was laughing. Since Chat had learned how much his lady valued the gifts he brought, he had showered her in them, and she was struggling to figure out where another wooden gift would even fit in her overflowing bedroom. As for requests, she didn't know how many things she could think of that she didn't already own!
Not that she couldn't find a place for duplicates, if they were from Adrien...
Marinette: I meant it! I would love anything you made me.
Marinette: You're really talented, you should show more people what you can do!
She hesitated before sending the next text, but he didn't have to answer if he didn't want to, so she plunged ahead:
Marinette: I can tell a lot of thought went into that pen. I know why you chose red and white, but why gold?
She thought it was a good choice, but given how much he overthought everything when it came to his father, there could be more to it than just the colours being complementary. And if he was anything like Chat and herself, he'd love having the opportunity to talk about his creative process.
She turned out to be right. Adrien explained that the gold was meant to represent his mother ("her hair, you know? And that huge portrait Father has of her") and then with very little prompting, explained in detail exactly how he'd made the pen. She knew most of it from Chat, but she could listen to Adrien talk about paint drying for hours without complaint.
When his explanation turned wistful as he reached the part where Gabriel had rejected the gift, she tried to change the subject to something happier.
Marinette: You said earlier that your father picks out your clothes. What would you wear if you had a choice?
The answer was immediate and followed by way too many cat emojis.
Adrien: A fursuit of course!
Adrien: Don't you think I could pull off some cat ears? ;3
Marinette had trouble not waking her parents with her laughter at the mental image.
Marinette: Nope. You can pull off just about anything but cat ears. Tragic!
Adrien: You wound me! 😿
They talked until they both fell asleep, Adrien marveling as he closed his eyes that he had never noticed how like Ladybug she was until she had defended him that day, while Marinette dreamed of Adrien woodworking in cat ears.
And in a child's bedroom in Paris, two tiny gods met and got to work.
Again.
"Natalie, could you pass a request on to father for me?"
She paused in informing him of his week's schedule, eyes leaving the tablet for the first time since she had entered his room. Her eyebrow raised.
"You have your father's email address, Adrien. Do you need a tutor on how to use it?"
Don't rise to it.
"Father listens to you more than he does to me."
The smallest change in expression that on her was almost a smile. "I wouldn't count on that."
He smiled back. I shouldn't, but I absolutely am.
A pause, then:
"What is it?"
Here goes nothing.
"I'd like to invite Chloe round to see my workshop."
Chloe had been pleased when Adrien finally showed her his new hobby.
Not because she had any interest in woodworking, but because Gabriel letting up about people knowing meant she could finally spend more time with her friend.
("Ms. Bourgeois is permitted, yes," Adrien had said in an uncanny impersonation of his father that had had Chloe in stitches. "She may not care about discretion, but she does understand image.")
Discretion was overrated. Discretion was Adrien fading into the persona his father had crafted for him.
Being a bitch was SO much more fun, she thought as she watched him work on his latest project. She had borrowed some old clothes of his (some last season Gabriel apparel–there was nothing off the rack in Adrien's wardrobe or her own) to save hers getting dirty, and was perched on a chair nearby his lathe. He was explaining what he was doing as he went, chattering excitedly while still keeping all his concentration on being safe.
Chloe thought she hadn't seen him so passionate or animated since they were kids, before Gabriel had beaten it out of him.
(She wasn't sure whether that was literal or not, and she knew if she asked he wouldn't tell her. If there was one thing Adrien excelled at, it was masks.)
The thought reminded her of Adrien's other passion, and she realised, amused, that the workshop might as well have been themed around their shared favourite superhero.
Not that there were decorations, but there were huge stacks of red and black wood everywhere, and she even caught sight of some pieces of spotted acrylic in the same colours on a shelf on the left wall.
That explains the look on his face , she thought wryly. Adrien's found his muse, and now he has something to channel his feelings about her into.
She wasn't ever going to give up her title as Ladybug's number one fan, but she had to admit he gave her some stiff competition.
She wondered what he had done with everything else he had made. It was obvious from his practiced passes that he had made plenty of things in this room, yet there were no traces of them here or in his bedroom.
Maybe Gabriel was holding out for perfection and had made him destroy them.
She asked, and was surprised to see him turn as red as Ladybug's suit.
He explained, blushing and refusing to meet her eyes, and her mood quickly shifted from concern to utter delight.
This is more embarrassing than anything I've ever done! I'm holding this over him forever.
"Leave me alone!" he groaned after five full minutes of merciless teasing. "Ladybug has a place to send fanmail for a reason! It's not like you've never sent her anything!"
Her cheeks hurt from how widely she was grinning. This boy is going to give me wrinkles before my time. “I haven’t, actually.”
He whirled away from the lathe and pointed at her accusingly. “That’s a lie, and you know it. You told me all about it! You were going to pick out the best, most expensive thing that 'any teenage girl would absolutely die for–'"
“I do not sound like that–"
“And then Ladybug was going to love it and be your best friend and you would braid each others hair and have sleepovers–“
“–and then she released a statement about what people were allowed to send her and specifically said nothing expensive,” Chloe finished sourly. That still stung. “Which I maintain is a ridiculous rule, by the way.”
At least Adrikins had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Oh, yeah. I forgot about that part."
Chloe decided to graciously let him off the hook.
"Whatever. One day she'll realise I'm the perfect woman and come woo me like I deserve. Until then I'll have to make do with being your beard."
"I thought I was your beard?"
"What ever, " she repeated, flipping her hair and smirking.
They'd come to their arrangement when Adrien had hit puberty and his father had started pressuring him to date "for the brand."
"I know it's dumb," he'd said, flopping back on Chloe's bed, "but I don't want to pretend to date someone. Some random model holding my hand? Taking my first kiss?"
"Oh no," she had deadpanned, not taking her eyes off the nails she was painstakingly painting yellow. "You'll have pretty girls kissing you. Tragic. However will you cope?"
He'd grinned despite himself. "Wish we could swap places. You'd actually enjoy this."
She pursed her lips thoughtfully. "Actually, that gives me an idea."
The plan was simple: Chloe would pretend to have a huge crush on Adrien. This solved two problems; his father would get off his back ("I can't date anyone, Father, it would crush Chloe and the mayor would be so upset!") and it would keep some of the more easily deterred fangirls from cornering him in public and expressing their love. No one wanted to approach him with the self-appointed princess of Paris scowling from his arm.
In return, if he met any female models their age he thought liked girls, he would discretely introduce them to Chloe.
So far, it had worked out well for both of them.
"How come you haven't made me anything before?" she asked now, pouting. "I know I'm not Ladybug, but I'm your oldest friend!"
He laughed, but it sounded forced. "Believe me Chlo, I wanted to, but you know what he's like. I figured I'd gotten good enough that he'd let me show you now, but he would have absolutely forbidden it a month ago."
"Why not just make stuff anyway? It's not like he'd notice."
Adrien winced, and she regretted being so blunt. It was true though.
"I couldn't risk your father noticing and mentioning it to him. Letting a politician see something not publicist approved? Best case scenario I'd be banned from here for weeks."
"Fair. Didn't you say you were going to try making something for Nino though?"
"I think I can get away with making things for my other friends, yeah. Father doesn't care enough to recognise my work if he sees it." He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, and Chloe made a mental note to fix it before she left. If her saving characteristic was "image," she wasn't going to jeopardise that by having Gabriel or Nathalie see Adrien leave their hang out with a headfull of sawdust.
"What is it?"
"It's just– I wish I could have more friends round than just you, much as I love you." He shot her a grin and she smiled back, only to watch his fall. "I wish I could just be me sometimes, you know? Not Adrien Agreste, perfect model and son, just Adrien, kid who's trying his best and fucks up sometimes."
His agitation amped up and he started pacing, gesturing wildly.
"It's like, I put all this effort into Chinese, and piano, and I'm good at them, but I didn't choose them! And now I have a hobby I'm proud of, that I'm actually getting good at, and Father just cares that my social media never shows a pimple."
"Ew."
"That's the point though Chloe. I don't get to be "ew", but I also don't get to be human! I'm just an airbrushed face. I follow all these people and I love watching them grow as crafters, but what kills me is no matter how much I grow, no one will ever know, and I can never show off something genuine, because it will never be good enough."
Which was what led Chloe to now, back in her room and narrowing down the sneaky pictures she had snapped of Adrien working on her project.
No one had ever seen Adrien like this, she thought, swiping, and it was a damn shame. He looked happy for once.
Which besides her own personal stake, would be good for his image, which right now was a bit...blah. He looked good, but there was no substance. Just a pretty face with nothing below the surface.
Fangirls would latch onto anything, given the chance. Adrien's fame would skyrocket if he was allowed to have just a bit of humanity.
At least, she thought as she added filters, that's what she would be telling Gabriel to justify this.
She would be proved right though. She always was.
The photo she chose in the end had Adrien bent over the project oiling it, capturing perfectly the satisfying change from cloudy to shiny and beautiful. The colours were vibrant, and though he was concentrating, so was his smile. His hair was a mess, his sleeves were rolled up, and he looked, for once, human. Not a plastic doll, but a real boy.
She liked it. She knew his fans would too.
Gabriel wouldn't, but that was the point. The man was ridiculously uptight and the sooner he realised Adrien was a person with feelings and not a puppet, the better.
Plus, if he saw the fans' reactions he might start giving Adrien more freedom.
(She doubted it.)
Her eyes caught Adrien’s gift to her he had made for her that day. Sitting in pride of place on her dressing table was a semi-opaque, golden yellow, honeycomb patterned trinket box, just big enough to fit a few small pieces of jewellery in. She smiled. Her daddy would buy her anything expensive she wanted, but the few possessions she owned that were thoughtful and heartfelt were rare and precious.
Seeing the box strengthened her resolve. Adrien was always so giving, he deserved something nice in return.
I know I’m not good at talking about feelings and stuff, but actions? Those, I can do.
Chloe hovered her perfectly manicured finger above the screen, double-checked for errors, and hit post.
When it turned out to be her most liked and shared picture ever, she tried not to take it personally.
