Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Felix Agreste knows who he is.

It's not something he often thinks about, but it is what he has been told his whole life. 

First and foremost, he is the son of a world famous fashion designer—Gabriel Agreste. To a young boy who hasn't even decided if he prefers green or blue, that fact holds immense weight over him.

Felix is still unsure what the second next most important thing about him is, but he knows he is destined for greatness. His father makes sure of it. Though trapped inside the mansion three-hundred and sixty days a year, the last five days his father Gabriel chooses to take Felix along on business trips across the world. By the time he is seven, he has met names belonging to the best designers, investors, marketers and businessmen across Europe. 

Christine D'Or even considers Felix her own nephew, much to Gabriel's frustration. "He's here to learn how to interact with people," Felix recalls his father saying, "not to play."

"He's well-behaved. More so than most children his age."

In the presence of all these so-called important people, his father has trained him to act as the most perfect son. The kind that makes people turn their heads and say, "Yes, Felix does bring good fortune. He has done so to you."

"Especially since your wife—"

Felix opens his eyes. 

He awakes from a simple and dull sleep, just like he does everyday for three-hundred and sixty days a year. Rising from his bed, he heads to his ensuite bathroom, the door left ajar since it's solely for his use. Grey eyes meet his reflection as he inspects his appearance, a resigned sigh slipping from his lips.

The truth untold is that Felix Agreste awakes every morning with the messiest hair.

His hair has always been long and unruly. No matter how still he remains in bed, it seems he has dreams of terror that he forgets as soon as he opens his eyes. The mess of his blankets and pillows tells him he must toss and turn during the night, during which the strands of his fair blond hair escape the night gel, despite his best efforts of maintaining a refined appearance. He couldn't count how many hair care routines he has attempted.

Unfortunately for Felix, he is doomed to look like a mop every morning. He looks like a completely different person as well.

He should inform Natalie that he needs a haircut soon, as the strands have grown an inch this month. Though long, it does appear much shorter when neatly combed and gelled.

It is important that his father never knows what Felix looks like when he is a mess. As isolating as it was at the start, it has been beneficial that he and his father now sleep in opposite wings of the Agreste mansion. Rarely do they eat breakfast together due to their differing schedules. Moreover, since Felix was young, his babysitter has performed an exceptional effort in ensuring that the young heir is as presentable as possible, no matter the situation or event. 

Today, however, Felix's father has requested that he should come down to the second floor, where the breakfast room is located in the most pleasant area, bathed in beautiful sunlight, to join him for breakfast at half past seven. His father's most loyal secretary, who is the so-called Nathalie, has informed Felix prior that he wishes to personally deliver an important piece of information to his son.

It would be great to hear of another trip, though his five days have been used up earlier in December for a winter fashion show in Sweden. He has been thinking about it all night, ruminating on what his father could potentially be withholding all summer. It couldn't be life threatening, at least that is what he tells himself as his hands sweat in their fixed position, already prepared for a guillotine.

He tries his best not to overthink, and subsequently drowned himself in homework until the late hour of one in the morning. Being homeschooled, he studies year-round.

Perhaps one of the biggest underlying thoughts that has been creeping up on his skin is that he and his father may be leaving Paris for elsewhere. Not that it would exactly impact him, but there would certainly be reasons as to why. And if Felix knows anything about his father, it's that Gabriel Agreste keeps secrets.

But Felix tries not to be surprised at this, no other reason should surprise him either. 

After all, his life is rather monotonous.

After combing and gelling his hair, he quickly checks his schedule. 

Today's subjects are Biology, Chemistry, Piano, History, Geography and Literature. He doesn't dwell on any of these subjects, as he has no particular favourite. In fact, he has no favourite at all. 

He just particularly dislikes his History teacher, the man talks so much.

"You know you are a lucky boy, aren't you? Felix, a name meaning luck. You are going to make your father extremely proud one day. You know, your father does this all for you. He wants the best for you and he wants you to be the best, of all of the rest. You know that, don't you? Of course you do, you know everything. Your mother will be proud too. Ah, sorry, it wasn't my right to speak of her."

Felix makes his way to breakfast.

♡

The curtains have been drawn to welcome the last of the August sun inside the mansion. Felix smells coffee, and it is rather quiet at this time of the day with as little people in the house as possible. 

When he arrives at the door, he doesn't make the effort to knock and walks straight in. 

His father nearly jolts up, but simply turns to look at him. A servant is pouring his coffee and Gabriel quickly mutters, "That's enough," before turning his attention back to Felix. "Good morning, Felix. You surprised me there."

He looks to the two servants standing on the side. They look away, as they are always instructed to. Felix is not even sure if his father eats breakfast at the same time as him. In fact, his father is so glacial that the very act of watching him eat dinner perplexes him. No fresh croissant or warm stew or French onion soup could ever defrost his cold, dead heart.

"Sorry, I forgot to knock." And to make a point, Felix adds: "I'm used to eating breakfast alone."

"I meant that you are five minutes early."

"So are you." Felix sits down.

Gabriel clears his throat. "I suppose so. I wanted to prepare myself before speaking to you."

A small white plate has already been placed on the table for Felix. A cup and saucer is also placed to Felix's side with the coffee, milk and sugar in their separate small containers displayed. There are napkins, too, neatly folded. 

Felix begins to pour his own coffee, ignoring the milk and sugar. All the while, his gaze remains on his father's. This is for certain not a dream. "What reason do you have to see me for, father?"

"Well, you are my son. We are family, and I don't think that I should have an excuse to see you," he simply answers. Then, he asks with a seemingly genuine concern, "Is it wrong to see you?"

Felix sets his cup down after taking a sip.

"No."

"I feel the need to tell you something and I must tell it to you personally, since I am your father. I was going to get Nathalie to pass on the message but then I decided against it." One servant tends to Gabriel and offers him a croissant, which Gabriel gladly takes. The other tends to Felix. "She agreed that I should tell you myself."

Felix wants to shrug. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it wouldn't affect me much. Regardless of who tells me."

"I wanted to know how you feel about it," he explains, though briefly Felix catches a glint of regret in his eyes as soon as he says those words. His father coughs before adding, "Not that you have much of a choice or say in the matter, even if you don't like the decisions I made. Everything has already been planned since early summer."

Felix stops chewing and swallows before asking, "And you decided to tell me now?" 

"I was… busy."

How strange, Felix thinks, his father never made excuses. All news, whether good or bad, has always been stated with a kind of harshness and usually immediately. It is worse when it is bad news, but Felix has learnt to accept it regardless  "So, what is it then?"

"You are going to public high school."

Felix finishes his croissant and takes a sip of his coffee; he makes no effort to follow up the statement or continue the conversation.

"You are not questioning me why."

"I am not really interested in why," lies Felix.

"Of course. You have always been like this. Sure, you must be glad to be able to get out of the house now, more frequently, since school starts on the first of September." His father always seems to make assumptions of Felix, never caring to confirm them to be true or false. He continues: "I chose to tell you a week before so you have time to prepare, adjustment might be quite difficult and I can understand that. Still, Lycée Françoise Dupont is a good school as I have heard. I fully trust the principal's words." Felix notices Gabriel's attempt to not look at his own son in the eye. "I think it would be good for you, my son." 

Ah, those words that sound as though Felix matters. 

Gabriel continues.

"You are a good student, and I am aware of how I've said many times before that I am the only one who knows you well enough to provide you the best education possible. However, your tutors have told me that you are well ahead of all the subject curriculums, and you have already completed the subject exams for tenth grade last year, simply because your tutors believed you are capable enough to skip a grade. I have decided that you will be repeating tenth grade. The principal has kindly offered you the choice to skip your exams."

It's difficult for Felix to refrain from raising his eyebrow slightly.

Upon seeing this, Gabriel quickly answers Felix's thoughts: "You must be wondering why even bother if you are repeating a year. This is so that you don't have to focus on education, instead, I want you to focus on making connections with peers your age so that you are more prepared to collaborate with future business partners."

"Don't I already have experience going on business trips with you?"

"It is… different, my son." He sighs quietly and takes his time to think of an answer. "You are very reclusive. The thing about public school is that you interact with people… you don't like. You work with them. You tolerate them. If you are smart enough, which I know you are, you get them to do things for you. Of course, I don't mean bully and harass them, or steal their lunch money. I mean in the sense of transactional favours. It's fine if you don't like any of your peers, you don't have to. I just want you to get along with them. This… does mean you have to make friends..."

Felix stares at his father blankly.

"Or, if you don't want to do any of that, that is fine too,"

"I think I will do just that."

It is, in truth, a lot of information to take in for Felix. His father never really trusted anyone other than himself, he does not even trust his own son and it is the reason why Felix has been homeschooled for ten years. To even find tutors who are perfect for Felix have been proven a difficult job previously. 

"What about my tutors?" Felix inquires thoughtfully, "what will happen to them?"

"They have other students to take care of," he answers as he adjusts himself slightly in his seat, his arms come close and his hands rest over one another. "School is starting again so it must be particularly busy for them. Not everyone studies during the summer." Gabriel pauses, breathes lightly, ponders about his next words and continues: "The thing is… Felix, I am going to be very busy this year. I do not have as much time as I previously had to be able to plan out your daily schedules, and my secretary Nathalie will be accompanying me frequently. Now, I have realised: I do not give you enough freedom. So it is a final decision made by me to grant you the ability to leave the house any time you wish, so long as you arrive home before curfew."

A thought gnaws into his head, wondering if there is a deeper purpose for his father to have him attend public school, or is this simply the regret of a man who spent years shielding his son from the world?

"I also require you to know that Paris has become more dangerous recently, so you must be wary of your surroundings. Be cautious of certain people." 

As contradicting as his father's words may be, Felix has long stopped focusing.

Gabriel pushes his chair back and stands up, and then walks over to Felix with controlled footsteps. Extending his hand, He caresses Felix's cheek. With his thumb, he removes the crumbs on his son's lips and then wipes it off on an extra napkin. It is much, much different from the time when Felix was five or so and his father would pick him up—albeit roughly—by the waist and hips and make him fly in the air. His tender touch is now dead cold despite the whole house constantly being heated, or the fact that it is currently summer. 

"Do you understand me?"

"Of course."

"You know that I am only trying to help you grow as a person."

Felix swallows his saliva until his mouth is dry. Not wanting to move a single inch of his body, he lets his fingertips burn against the hot coffee. "I know."

"It is good that you know, so please do good," he says, although Felix does not know what he means exactly.

Felix watches his father leave the room, and it is that even after the door is closed, his eyes linger at the door. A shiver runs along his skin slowly, the uncomfortable feeling it leaves makes him want to rub it off or scratch it away. Breathing, all of a sudden, feels very uncomfortable. His father seems to have an immense effect on him to which he cannot describe. 

He tries not to think too much of what has just happened, tries not to wonder what his father had been thinking during the entire time. 

A slow blink soon forces him out of the reverie, his gaze is averted back to the breakfast and he decides that he does not want to eat any more.

♡

Through the tall, polished windows of the Agreste mansion, a solitary boy with blond hair can be seen viewing the city of Paris, from all its people to all of its pigeons. 

With the way he watches the city, through the lenses that are grey eyes deprived of all colour and emotions, it certainly makes one wonder what he is thinking when he views such things. Day by day, he is filling into the mould of his father and he is not sure if this is who he really is. 

Barely, he sees his own reflection.

Up close, his features are finely drawn. Sharpened by the years. His eyes are narrow, framed by long, pale lashes that always seem to poke into his eyes—especially now, in this very moment. Which is becoming very irritating. The world is ugly enough, he doesn't wish to look at it either but his father will be immensely disappointed if Felix ends up with a blind and bleeding eye. 

His nose is high and slender, the tip gently lowered in a subtle arc. He, himself, is quite tall but he is always seen with his head looking downwards. His back remains straight throughout the day, a posture drilled into him since childhood, his body is rather slender, and he wears clothes that tells people he is a young businessman.

Today, he dons a grey long-sleeved shirt under a fitted black vest, paired with matching trousers and polished lace-up shoes. A sleek black tie completes the look. His nails are always well taken care of, like the rest of his body. 

Other than his natural hair and fair skin, granted by his deceased mother, he is still yet to be embellished by the sun. His father has long since said 'hello' to the sun. His heart has yet to open up and Felix, himself, has yet to accept the world for what it is.

.

.

.

His father is a depressed man who is using his career to distract himself, who wishes he was alone than with the eyes of his lover in the face of himself.

Chapter Text

Featuring:
a blond boy, a blue sky, benevolence,
unfortunate encounters, love at first sight—
—butterflies, a ladybug and a black cat

♡

It's the first day of school. 

If it were not for the pigeons who have taken the liberty to wake up Bridgette in place of her alarm clock, or her mother, she would have missed out on helping her parents stock up the bakery. 

Normally, Bridgette Dupain-Cheng will smash the button on her alarm clock with a swift smack, simply ignore her mother or combat the tickles her father would cover her in. However, it is simply not possible to ignore the constant cooings.

They are incessant and loud, as if they are screaming, complaining endlessly even, despite them not being in any pain. It certainly makes Bridgette wonder what is such a good topic to discuss that they must talk about it with so much enthusiasm at six in the morning.

She groans, twisting and moving about beneath her blankets.

Finally, she throws her blanket in the air. The cold air embraces her the second her body is exposed,  but she is too furious to think about it as she rises in a fury.

To her left is the window right beside her bed, and through it she swears she can see the vengeance in one of the pigeons' eyes as if she has wronged them in her past life. She yanks open the beige curtains.

With a firm pull of the handle, she flung open the windows and shouted:

"Shut up, shut up, shut up!" 

The whole flock of pigeons stop and turn their heads toward her. 

A few blink. Another blink follows. And again, a blink as they process what had just happened. Usually,  pigeons will fly away when a human yells at or comes near them. Creatures like pigeons are easily intimidated. They have little to stand against humanity.

To Bridgette's astonishment, they all leap from the roof and fly directly towards her. 

"AGH!" Immediately, she slams her window shut with a resounding thud. Bridgette is lucky she manages to do that in time.

Her heartbeat accelerates as they slam into the window. They attempt a few more before they concede defeat and finally leave, flying away but not for good. She is sure she will see them again, sooner or later.

Bridgette thinks of the audacity that pigeons nowadays have, gritting her teeth, and swears at their name. 

At least the curtains are opened, like the way her mother preferred every morning. Sunlight pours into the room and the purple walls turn bright with vibrance.

Yawning, Bridgette squints and rubs her eyes until they are sore.

Moving with a languid grace, she cleans herself up in the bathroom. She brushes her hair and attempts to tame her stubborn ahoge until it lays flat on her head. Apparently, this thick strand of hair, which seems to have a life of its own, had grown before the rest of her head. In every one of Bridgette's baby pictures, her ahoge is seen to react in accordance with her emotion captured by the camera. It stands upright when she is smiling and drops when she is crying.

Her ahoge bounces back up as soon as Bridgette turns away from the mirror. Then she ties her long black hair into two pigtails. 

Running back up the stairs that lead to a small hallway in the attic, with a door to her room, she puts on her clothes and packs her bag. 

Her daily attire tends to remain unadorned and simple, despite the girl's creative mind when designing clothes in her sketchbook or on her mannequin. It's something she always feels shy about when wearing it herself. Her casual fit today consists of a loose white shirt, blue jean shorts, a black cropped jacket and brown brogues. The brown brogues were handed down from her male cousin from when he was of younger age.

Out of all the things he offered, she liked those the best.

Then, closing her bedroom door, she runs down the stairs again with heavy footsteps. The strap of her red school bag dangles loosely from her hand. 

The smell of fresh bread, croissants and other sweet delectables welcomes her into the downstairs bakery.

"Morning, papa. Morning, mama," she mumbles.

"Morning," chirps her mama, Sabine Cheng.

"You're half an hour late, Bridge."

"Sorry, papa."

"Forget it. We've baked a batch of baguettes, croissants, campaillou, levain and brioche already, so start by displaying them. Then the pain au chocolates, eclairs and fruit tarts are up," her papa, Tom Dupain, instructs quickly right before he goes back to work. 

As September approaches, the bakery finds itself to be busier with work. It happens to be more so than the summer months, when the Parisians had enough free time to walk around the city and buy baked goods at any time of the they. Yes, Tom Dupain does welcome more tourists during summer, however, it is the Parisians themselves that yearn for a good baguette more than anyone else. And with school starting again, students are going to pass by the bakery in the early morning and late afternoon.

The early workers, of course, arrives every morning.

The radio is turned on in the background, filling the small space inside, its three hosts engaging in lively conversation about the day's weather, current events, popular trends, and the excitement of the back-to-school season. Bridgette desperately wants to turn it off.

Precisely at six-thirty, the bakery's doors swing open. The chime of the entrance bell signals the arrival of customers.

"No way people come in at half six just for a croissant," Bridgette moans to her parents behind the counter, a sigh escaping her mouth before adorning the brightest smile, enhanced by the shine of her blue eyes.

A middle-aged man clad in crumpled dark jeans, scuffed shoes and a fluorescent green vest strides in with a beaming smile. His cheerful demeanour contrasting the fatigue on his face. "Hey, Bridgette! Heard you didn't want me here!"

Instantly flustered, Bridgette stammers, "Good morning, Thomas! I didn't mean that, I just meant I didn't think people would actually come in at half six!"

Thomas chuckles reassuringly. "Hey, chill. We're construction workers, we always come in early." 

"What would you like, Thomas?"

"Can I get a croissant please?"

"Coming right up!" Bridgette snatches a pair of tongs, plucking a freshly baked croissant and nestling it into a small, brown paper bag. "Here you go!"

"Thanks. Hey, aren't you starting tenth grade today?"

Bridgette nods. "Yeah, but it's only half six. School doesn't start till nine."

"I admire you, and your parents for bringing you up so well," remarks Thomas. "You excited?"

"Yeah, a bit nervous too."

"Definitely. It's hard when you go from the oldest to the youngest in high school. But change is necessary." 

Unsure what to say, she nervously chuckles.

"Got a boyfriend yet? Or are you gonna get one?"

Bridgette tries to hide her reddening cheeks as her father suddenly steps in with a baking tray laden with golden pain au chocolates. He declares protectively, albeit jokingly, "Nobody's touching my little girl!"

The early morning shift continues to be busy, with five people queued behind Thomas inside the bakery. Outside, another dozen Parisians are standing outside the bakery in a neatly formed line. 

Above them, beautiful blue stretches through every inch of the sky. The sun, just emerging on the horizon with a gentle warmth, envelopes the city in its golden embrace, bathing every tree, bush and flower adoring the streets of Paris. The last of the summer weather is holding onto its life.

Just as the small hand ticked its way to the eighth hour, Bridgette packs up the final items of the customer's order. Sensing her daughter's departure, Sabine steps in and immediately chats up the next customer. 

She grabs a croissant, runs to her red school bag and swiftly swings it over her shoulder with her free hand. She turns to Tom and plants a quick kiss on his cheek, to which he returns affectionately. Then, with equal haste, she darts back to her mother and presses a kiss on her cheek.

"Bye, papa! Bye, mama!"

"Have a good first day!" Her parents chimes in unison.

♡

Misfortune calls beneath the blue sky and Bridgette responds by tripping over nothing. 

It wasn't as if she was walking too fast for her upper body to catch up, as she had plenty of time to walk to school. Her shoes have also been worn and broken into by her cousin, so it isn't as though she is struggling to walk. 

Her face is burning red as it hits the warm concrete ground, her legs bearing the evidence of her fall with faint, white scratches. By now Bridgette is so used to tripping that she doesn't bother to yelp or moan in pain. She sits up. She wipes the dust and particles off of her face with her palm. Weight falls upon her back, so for a while, she sits in contemplation and thinks through what happened—how on earth can she be this clumsy? 

Thank goodness, she didn't trip this morning in the bakery. 

Memories of her doing so as her papa takes out hot trays of pastries out of the oven haunts her.

"I want to give up…" she mutters hopelessly. Her ahoge, which previously has been standing proudly making its annoying presence known to everybody, agrees with Bridgette and lowers to sulk too. "I could just turn around right now, go home and forget about it all. Avoid the whole ice breaker thing, the whole nervous yet exciting first day."

The wide streets seems to close in on her, the buildings lining the way watching her intently with their window eyes. Amongst them was a boutique, its display window adorned with a monarch butterfly moving leisurely about, seemingly the only thing not scrutinising Bridgette. Numerous cars passes by, and Bridgette can't help but attract the attention of most drivers and passengers. 

She makes brief, pathetic eye contact with a few, fearing that if they continued to stare, they might cause an accident.

No, she shakes her head, stop. "You are overthinking this, Bridgette! Your bad luck has always been bad, but surely it isn't so bad that it will hurt other people! Except for that one time when the birds attacked Lilou in elementary… and when the pigeons tried to attack you this morning…"

Suddenly, she hears a buzz, simultaneously feeling the vibrations from her pocket. She takes out her phone, clad in a pink phone case with a black cat charm attached to it. Pressing the switch button, she sees from the lockscreen ten text messages all from Allegra Baudelaire, who has seemingly forgotten that Bridgette still has morning shifts to contend with during the school term.

7:34am Morning, Bri. Today we show those loers what's up.

7:50am losers

7:51am Are u awake yet

7:51am You have to stop sleeping in. What if I die and u missed my funeral or something

7:52am Lol wait, imagine I die on the first day

7:53am Jk, jk.

8:00am What are u wearing today? Do you wanna go on another shopping trip after school today? Maman gave me €50 so we can get an iced americano as well.

8:02am Can you get me a croissant on your way out? I've already ate tho.

8:05am -picture of a cat in bed- Wish this was me rn, I hate school

8:07am WHAT ARE U DOIN

Bridgette types in her response quickly.

8:15am Helping mama and papa this morning, on my way.

Immediately three more notifications pop up, all from Allegra. Bridgette casts a quick glance at them, then sighs and switches off her phone.

As she reaches a wide open space designed for the public, her eyes falls upon an old man seated on one of the benches. The man is styled in a chic grey suit with a bright blue bow at his collar and a matching grey tophat. Rather fancy for him to just relax in the park, but she supposes that is what old people do in their retirement to make each day count.

His hair, in the early stages of greying, is meticulously combed each morning to ensure a presentable appearance. Bridgette has seen him often during her walks to middle school, taking a similar route, and was certain he was there every day.

She has previously overheard a customer gossiping with her mama in the bakery that the man's wife of thirty years has passed away a few years ago. Since then, pigeons have become his closest companions, and it is only natural for him to visit them daily.

His back is always slightly hunched, and from a distance he looks to be unconfident with himself. At his feet is a small crowd of pigeons, tilting their heads, flapping their wings slightly, waiting for their share of bread eagerly. The coos are getting increasingly louder. She doesn't know how he is not annoyed.

The old man instead welcomes them greatly without a care or concern in the world; he looks at them with all his attention, as if the people around them do not exist. 

He laughs as he handles the slices of multigrain bread in his hand, pulling small pieces off of it with his fingers so that it is easier for the pigeons to eat. 

"No, no, my pigeons," he lightly scolds, pointing his index finger to each side back and forth. The lucidity, despite his old age, with the addition of gnarly and calloused hands, shows his enthusiasm for his friends. "You mustn't fight over bread. I have said that I have plenty more!"

Apart from one, who moves to the side to allow space for the others.

The old man notices. Grinning, he speaks to it, "You should know that I believe in fairness; I won't let you starve." With his free hand, he beckons the pigeon over to him.

The lone pigeon flies over, landing an inch away from him on the bench.

"You should also know that feeding pigeons is prohibited, Monsieur Remier." At this, a young policeman of tall stature shows up from behind the bench. 

"Oh, sir. Forgive me but I just can't help it!" The old man, now established as Monsieur Remier, laughs nervously. He hopes, with a pathetic laugh and innocent eyes where the skin around crinkles, the policeman would forgive him.

"This is the third time this week that I have warned you." The policeman is stern with his words. He stares into Monsieur Remier's eyes coldly, and with his baton, the policeman shoos away all the pigeons.

All the while, the eye contact is not once broken.

"N-no!" Monsieur Remier is left staggered. His hand reaches forward as if to grasp the pigeons and hold them back, but by then, it's already too late as they have scattered and fled. His hands fall into his lap as he slumps back against the bench.  "But… my pigeons."

"Pigeons are pigeons. Learn to let them go," the policeman speaks with strict finality. "See you some other time, monsieur."

With that, the policeman walks away and continues his patrolling duties. The world is too strict, after all, it is only pigeons—and people, for that matter, are even more strict about helping pigeons than hurting themselves. In the end, what does it mean to be free and happy? 

Witnessing Monsieur Remier's distress definitely saddens Bridgette. She can't bare to see a poor old man left unhappy with nobody else, if not his wife then at least let him be with the pigeons. In fact, if he so wishes to he can take in the pigeons who occasionally like to relax outside her window. 

What the old man Monsieur Remier does to the pigeons is out of kindness, clearly there is no evil intention behind any of his actions.

Ah, whatever, she thinks, pigeons do have one undeniable flaw—they poop too much.

"Stupid pigeons," she mutters beneath her breath. She is quite torn between her distasteful feelings for pigeons and how she feels after seeing Monsieur Remier. She resumes mumbling bitterly, recalling this morning, "I don't understand that old man at all. Pigeons are incredibly annoying."

She wonders: Do the pigeons even care about being separated from Monsieur Remier? If they don't, then that'll be a waste of sorrowful feelings for the poor guy. 

By pure chance, a few pigeons lands near her.

She speaks again, with the tone of a hundred per cent assurance: "I hate everything about pigeons."

The pigeons tilt their heads as they listen. They blink, unable to understand any of Bridgette's words.

"Why should I let a pigeon take control of my life?" She points her finger at one of the pigeons. Then, she shakes the arm in an attempt to shoo them away. But, like the idiot that she is, she continues to converse with them: "Who are you to tell me to wake up in the morning, huh? Who do you think you are—to have the power to scream so loud in the morning and disturb me from my sleep?"

And, as if the pigeons can suddenly understand her, they take full offence from her words and charge at her.

♡

The sun touches his skin. 

Felix has always found it oddly awkward, like a stranger coming in for a hug; you don't know them but they act like they know everything about you. 

He never understood how his father takes him on so-called 'business trips' and yet his partners and collaborators could never take Felix himself seriously. A hug is always included in every introduction simply because he was the age of a child.

He has been in the sun, of course. Plenty of times. He spends time in his father's garden when the weather is good and travels to either warmer countries or countries in warmer weathers to meet important people, where they will go and sit outside in the sun with an americano to discuss current events. 

But during these occasions he has always been watched by people. Guards. Secretaries. Assistants. 

Even though he now has his own freedom to do whatever he wishes beneath the expansive blue sky, compared to the dark brown rooms and golden glittering lights of chandeliers, it feels as if the sun is watching him—his every move—in place of his father and his underlings. 

Felix finds it relatively difficult to move without the concern of his next course of action. He walks as he usually does, of course, but cannot help realise that his posture is all of a sudden too stiff and he is holding his breath for a longer period of time before he expels it. His right hand is clutching tightly onto the strap of his leather backpack. 

At home, his footsteps are always made apparent to everyone, but here, under the sun, there are footsteps louder than his. 

Clearly, he doesn't belong in this world.

There are children in the near distance walking to school and they are as lively as butterflies with their arms swinging back and forth. In the opposite direction walks a group of young teenagers his age, some on their phones, and others engrossed in animated conversations punctuated by bursts of laughter. 

People are everywhere, engaged in their own pursuits. There are people lining up at cafe entrances, people entering stores of all sorts, cyclists roaming the streets; and there are also people waiting at bus stops, gradually forming lines as their buses arrive.

And, there are also people who do things for their community. 

A man, wearing a brown plaid shirt and blue jeans, is tending to the public plants, wielding a large pair of scissors used to trim leaves with precision. He works with evident pride, a smile illuminating his face as he works. He greets every person who walks by him with a cheerful "good morning", and Felix watches as a businessman walks up to him with a coffee. They engage in delightful discourse despite coming from two different worlds.

Passing by another figure, Felix notes a man clad in black shirt and pants, a neon green vest over his attire. In his hand is a litter picking stick, of which he swings around with ease as he hovers it over the ground seeking for any trash tossed. In his other hand is a bin bag. His posture is hunched, his head hangs on his neck swinging left and right. His face establishes him to be more of a morose man, after all, who would be happy to pick up litter?

At least, that's what Felix thinks. 

But soon, small children run past him and he looks at them with a smile as he scolds them. The children aren't afraid of him either. They call out to him with: "Sorry, Monsieur Jacques!"

So everyone knows each other, huh, Felix thinks, amused.

Abruptly, Felix stops when he notices to his right is a boutique. 

Through the window can be seen two mannequins wearing shades of red and black to make up for the absence of colour in their skin, their lifeless forms complemented by gold accessories to compensate for the lack of liveliness on their faces. Still, how perfect they are, the mannequins, to be created with no fault in mind. 

Whereas, his reflection is a bore to look at. He isn't smiling. He looks uninterested. There is nothing that would bring liveliness to his face. Felix doesn't even think his father has smiled in the last year. In his reflection, he sees himself carrying a brown leather backpack with one shoulder, its golden embroidery on the side of it displays the logo of the designer brand, one of the brands that his father's company collaborates with. 

Without any further thought, his hand raises to wave at the mannequins. With a small cough, he begins to practise his greetings, "Hello. My name is Felix Agreste, how do you do?"

At this instant, a woman in a suit unlocks the door of the background to inspect the mannequins. She, without fail, notices Felix's presence and smiles back. Although her eyes convey surprise, and her hesitant smile suggests an awkwardness. 

Unsure how to respond, since he has never really smiled at anyone before, he tries to mirror her smile but soon feels awkward when the muscles in his face stretches. 

He quickly abandons the attempt, dropping his arm and his smile, and turns to walk away briskly.

"I'm such a fool," he mutters bitterly, his footsteps quickening.

Felix takes his phone out to check the time. 8:15am. He still has enough time to be early. 

To his surprise, another student whizzes past on a bicycle, their momentum causing a rough collision of shoulders that shoves Felix to one side. Felix stumbles, thrown off balance by the sudden impact. The edge of the bicycle's rear wheels scrapes harshly against his legs. He lets out a grunt of pain and instinctively reaches out, but it's too late. His phone slips from his hand and clatters to the pavement.

"Sorry! Sorry! The bell broke!" a voice calls out from a distance.

For a moment, anger flares within Felix, but he swiftly redirects his attention to his fallen phone.

The screen faces flat towards the ground, and as it comes in contact with the concrete ground, it has inevitably cracked. Immediately, Felix picks it up in a motion so swiftly that his fingernails have slipped by the phone's edge and scrapes along the ground. In the black screen is his face fragmented. His expression remains stern but his heart turns heavy with an overflowing feeling of anxiousness.

A breeze passes by. Felix shivers slightly. 

He is still convinced he is living a dull and mundane life, and continuing this, he makes his way to Lycée Françoise Dupont. 

Today is not a good day.

♡

Felix steps onto the school grounds. 

Upon reaching the entrance, he recalls that all students are instructed to assemble in the school courtyard. As he navigates his way there, a female teacher approaches him. Her sleek black hair, reminiscent of Nathalie's, is tied in a low ponytail. She wears a long, flowing skirt paired with a crisp white blouse. 

Without paying much attention to his appearance, the teacher introduces herself, "How are you?"

"So-so, Madame," Felix replies with practised politeness. "I'm Felix Agreste."

"Do you know your homeroom?"

"2B."

The teacher consults her register for the new tenth-grade classes. "It's on the second floor."

Felix glances around, unsure of where to go.

The teacher, noticing his hesitation, looks at him with mild perplexity. "What are you still standing here for? Go on."

Felix explains with honesty, "Sorry. I've always been homeschooled so I'm not very familiar with how things work around here."

However, on the inside, Felix deeply grimaces at the situation. The sting in his legs is nothing compared to the awkward knot forming in his chest. He's never been out in public without his father before, and it is in this moment that he realises how much of life he has missed out on. 

"Homeschooled? Do you have any disabilities?" The teacher asks, eyeing him up and down with rapid, assessing glances. "You seem perfectly fine to me."

"I don't have any disabilities, Madame. Why do you ask?"

"Pardon my rudeness for asking then," she answers. "Why were you homeschooled?"

Felix raises a brow. "Because my father wanted me too…"

"And who is your father?"

"Gabriel Agreste."

The teacher's face shifts to one of shock as she realises who Felix is. Despite seeing his last name on the register, it did not immediately register with her that he is the son of someone important. It is his father's name. 

"Apologies, young man," she says, her tone more respectful. "Please wait here for a moment. Another student is yet to be registered for the same class today. He's experienced enough to show you around."

Felix nods, watching as the teacher regains her composure. She gestures for him to step aside while she checks her register again. Felix stands there, feeling an obvious sense of discomfort. The lively activity around him continues, with students chatting and moving about, yet he feels clearly isolated in this unfamiliar environment. No one else is standing this close to a member of staff.

A few minutes later, the teacher waves over another student, a boy with a confident stride and a friendly smile. "This is Claude Savard," she introduces. "Claude, this is Felix. He's new and could use some guidance to find his way around."

Claude Savard is a young man, with a taller stature than Felix and toned arms. He wears a short sleeved hoodie, featuring a striking design: a yellow lightning bolt over a pair of headphones emblazoned across the chest. He wears glasses that are black-rimmed. Around his neck hangs a pair of actual headphones, adding to his casual yet stylish look. He completes his ensemble with dark-washed jeans and a pair of eye-catching trainers in bright green and orange. 

Felix doesn't know what he expected but he knows it wouldn't be a sophisticated older man in a neat, ironed suit. But, he also knows he doesn't necessarily want to converse with Claude any more than he needs to.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

"Felix Agreste," resplies Felix curtly. "That's my name."

"Excited for day one?" Claude asks as he takes Felix into the building. The soft outsole of his trainers is somehow louder than Felix's. 

Typical thing to say. Felix ignores the question.

"What did you get up to this summer?"

"Well, for History I spent my time looking into The Age of Revolutions and its impact on France and Europe in general, including the rise and fall of Napoleon Bonaparte and the Napoleonic Wars; The Interwar Period in the early 20th century including the Great Depression and the rise of totalitarian regimes. World War Two. Post-War, The Cold War and the end of The Cold War. And I've already studied it but did look over it again once more in Chemistry for covalent, ionic and metallic bond—"

"Okay, okay, stop!" Claude nearly pleads. "Any vacations or parties?"

Felix walks on.

He doesn't have any interest in getting to know any of these people. 

Transactions in terms of information or promises makes perfect sense to him. Pretending to get along with someone to get them to do things for you is too much effort, and to engage with teenagers on casual conversation is absolutely useless. And boring.

The hallways are massive, filled with an incessant tide of students surging both directions. He is shoved back and forth, unable to reach his destination without a struggle. He hears the phrase 'excuse me' repeated to him. The very idea of having to constantly repeat himself, to raise his voice, and to meet the eyes of so many strangers fills him with dread.

This is not a place suited for him, he concludes.

Why did father ever think it was a good idea? You should have fought for yourself harder, Felix, he thinks to himself, you never wanted to go to public school at all.

Transactional favours? What nonsense.

♡

The homeroom resides in a History classroom, with walls adorned with the best student-made posters on different timelines in History, quotes from infamous people, motivational quotes and studying tips. It contrasts sharply with the more austere classrooms Felix passed on his way.

One can tell that this teacher specifically really cares about her job, but Felix questions its necessity.

"Good morning, I'm Madame Bustier," announces the presumed teacher.

Madame Bustier, a young-looking woman with kind eyes and a patient demeanour, stands at the front, greeting each student with a bright smile before indicating to each student's desks. She radiates an air of calm authority.

She is styled in a white shirt with the faintest wrinkles only the people who really focus can see, a blazer that is slightly too big for her, and a long flowing skirt that accentuates her casual appearance. Her red hair is styled into a high bun with strands unpinned, complementing her face, which is softly accented with rosy cheeks and pink lips. Her striking green eyes are further enhanced by a pair of delicate earrings and a tasteful necklace.

She is the complete opposite of the first teacher Felix has met, and Nathalie.

"Felix Agreste," he introduces himself for the third time with a nod.

"Your desk is right over there," she points with a warm smile. "It has your name on the small white card."

"Thank you."

Felix makes his way to his designated seat.

"Good morning, I'm Madame Bustier."

"Claude Savard," says Claude with an easy grin.

"Beside Felix, to the right." Madame Bustier points again, although it's pretty obvious by now since most of the seats are already filled. 

Pleased, Claude exclaims, "Oh cool!"

"Glad to know you've all made friends already," says Madame Bustier.

The room is arranged with neat rows of desks, their surfaces etched with the inevitable marks of countless bored students: doodles, initials, and occasional messages of rebellion. Felix's assigned desk proudly states "LIVE TODAY" with countless responses of curse words in smaller fonts. The top right corner of his desk is also chipped. He wishes he doesn't have an opinion on it.

Sunlight streams through the tall windows, casting long shadows and creating a checkerboard pattern on the old stained wooden floor. The wide window sills are lined with a mix of potted plants and student projects, including a cactus with the sharpied word "Jeff" on its pot, and some small chateaus and shields made with painted cardboard. 

Isn't this highschool? Felix thinks. It isn't elementary or middle school, what is truly the need for class projects that are evaluated based on one's arts and crafts skills?

When everyone is seated, Madame Bustier strides to the front of the class. She takes a moment to look around the room, making deliberate eye contact with each student, before introducing herself once more but properly.

"Good morning, everyone," she begins, her voice steady and clear. "My name is Madame Bustier and I will be your homeroom teacher. I will also be teaching all of you History. If you ever have any worries, whether subject related or not, don't be afraid to come to me. Now, it appears that everyone is present, except for one. I'm going to take attendance to make sure we're all here.."

Claude lightly taps on Felix's desk. "Sup?"

Felix remains facing forward, ignoring him.

"Felix Agreste?" Madame Bustier calls out.

Felix, momentarily startled, replies, "Uh, yes?"

"Dude, you're supposed to say 'here' or 'present'," grins Claude.

"Present," Felix quickly corrects himself.

Madame Bustier offers a reassuring smile."It's okay. They always catch you off guard when you're the first on the register."

So this is what they do in public school, thinks Felix.

Madame Bustier continues to call out names in alphabetical order. Murmurs start to rise amongst the students in regards to Felix's name. Felix Agreste, and the renowned figure it was associated with—his father, Gabriel Agreste, a professional fashion designer, a multi-millionaire, and what Felix is doing in Lycée Françoise Dupont of all places.

"Alright!" Madame Bustier declares, setting her pen and register down on the table. "I think today we should start off with an ice breaker. Why don't everyone get up one by one at the front of the class and tell us two fun facts about yourselves? Call out your names as well, we all need a bit of getting used to." Even though no one is audibly complaining or groaning, she does notice the anxious and fed-up looks. Determined to set a positive tone, she begins,  "I'll start, my full name is Caline Bustier. I love History and my favourite part to teach is the Napoleonic Wars during the French Revolution. For fun, I like to knit and crochet. And… I know you are all still too young to care, but my fiancee and I recently bought a house. Felix?"

Felix Agreste could really use a miracle right now—

"I'm so sorry for being late! I had a bit of a hold up, Madame!" 

At that very moment, the door to the classroom bursted open. In comes a panting girl, clad in a simple outfit with two long pigtails that swayed with each step. Bent at the knees from exhaustion, she clutches the door frame for support.

Madame Bustier suppresses a sigh. "I'll let it slide since it's only the first day. You must be Bridgette Dupain-Cheng."

"Yes, Madame," Bridgette replies, straightening up. "Thank you, Madame."

"Madame Bustier. Your seat is the empty one by the window."

Bridgette quickly makes her way to the designated desk, placing her red school bag neatly beside her chair before sitting down.

"Felix?"

He curses internally.

"Up you go, bro," Claude whispers encouragingly.

With a deep breath, Felix rises and approaches the front of the classroom. He scans around the classroom, taking in his peers. He notices the miracle girl adjusting her hair, using her palm to smooth down an unruly large strand of hair at the top of her head.

Taking a moment to steady himself, he begins, "Uh… hello, I'm Felix. I'm fifteen and… and…"

Soft giggles ripple through the room as Felix stumbles over his words.

"It's okay, Felix," reassures Madame Bustier with a gentle smile. "Everyone is feeling a bit anxious. Take a seat and calm down. We'll move on."

Bridgette doesn't pay attention to the boy. She's focused on fixing her hair. Although the reality was that it remained so unkempt that it could not be tamed until she had the opportunity to visit the bathroom. At least she made it to class on time, releasing a sigh of relief. 

To her left, she notices a ladybug that just happens to be crawling on the windowpane. Her thoughts drift back to her morning encounter with Allegra. At the school entrance, the two friends had discovered, much to their dismay, that they had been assigned to different homerooms. Bridgette hopes they will at least share some classes. She stares at the ladybug for the rest of homeroom.

"Sup, dudes! I'm Claude, and I like Maths and music," announces the next boy with enthusiasm, breaking the tension in the room.

"An interesting combination," states Madame Bustier.

"Yeah, and it's not just listening but I actually make my own music. I have five thousand listeners on SoundCloud so far, if anyone is curious, it's DJCloud. Sounds close enough to my name. I was also third place in the national Maths competition last year. Not to brag."

"No, it's excellent! It's important to maintain hobbies and an academic interest."

♡

The first day is usually filled with introductions, participating in getting-to-know-each-other activities, as though the awkward ice breakers were not enough, and presentations from teachers about school policies. 

Bridgette knows it's unlikely that she and Allegra will share any classes today, but she holds onto the hope of finding her friend at lunch.

When the bell finally rings for lunch, Bridgette hastily gathers her things, eager to search for Allegra. The hallway is filled with the energy of students navigating their first day, and it's quite difficult to rush throw the crowd.

Her phone buzzes. A quick text from Allegra arrived, detailing her location in the cafeteria. Allegra has not yet made any friends but has reserved two seats—one for Bridgette and one for a potential companion. Bridgette responds stating that she'll be there quickly after a trip to the bathroom.

To her slight surprise, her upper arm gets knocked by an elbow. She turns to behold the blond boy, much taller than her,  from her homeroom. In a fleeting and somewhat distracted manner, he murmurs a "sorry". 

Before Bridgette can reply, he vanishes into the shifting tide of students.

Chapter Text

"Monsieur, I have told you so before not to feed the pigeons. Do I really need to tell you again?" The policeman scolds with a tone of extreme disdain. His eyebrows knit together, his nose scrunches up and he is breathing heavily as if he is overwhelmed by the anger. 

"I swear! Police officer, I have not been feeding them."

"Don't lie, I saw you." 

"Okay, I confess. I did it; but they are my friends! I couldn't help it when they begged me for it!" Monsieur Remier clutches his chest with his right hand, expressing how dear they are and close to his heart. 

"Friends? What friends?" The policeman scoffs. "They are pigeons. You think of pigeons as your friends? Monsieur Remier, you are funny!"

"Well, of course I do. I—"

"Tell me, do you talk to them? If so, what about? Coo coo? Coo, coo coos. Is that what you talk about with your friends? Do you understand them? Do they understand you?"

"I… I believe friends don't necessarily need to understand one another... to become friends."

"I'll tell you: you are crazy, should I put you into a mental asylum?" His eyes darkens with laughter, his eyebrows remains furrow. His tone soon returns serious once more. "Do not feed them again. There will be no more warnings. You are outright committing a crime when the law has politely asked you not to feed the pigeons, it will affect the other citizens. Though… you can remain selfish, if you wish. But, of course, there will always be consequences to your actions."

And with that, the policeman walks off once more.

Monsieur Remier remains at the bench. His head hangs low, knowing that the surrounding people have heard him being mocked by a police officer. His hands, entwined, thumbs stroking the other hand slowly and nervously. He tries his best to refrain from shaking his leg or tapping the ground, his eyes only remaining on the pigeons a foot ahead of him.

They cock their heads, begging for more bread. They coo, trying to get his attention. Monsieur Remier doesn't respond; he thinks for a very long time.

♡

Through a window, another man watches Monsieur Remier in his dejection.

Through this window, the room is revealed to be spacious and dark; there is no furniture in place and one's footsteps can echo endlessly due to the height of the room. It is a circular room, the shadows fall off the high walls, crowned by a dome-like roof with a stained glass window of rich purple. The lights are never switched on, as the window itself provides a decent amount of light for residents who are used to the night. 

The man, in this room, stands just as tall and proud as the windows. His head tilts upward, his gaze fixed on the sky through the stained glass. The glass of the dome displays the vision of Monsieur Remier, gaunt in despair, his head bowed to conceal his tears.

It's only in the dark that one can see how ashened his blond hair, combed neatly with delicate care every morning, has turned over the years. Deep lines run along his forehead to further prove his age. His face is stern. But, his confident posture proves him capable of doing many things. He dons a pristine white shirt, a pale yellow vest, and sleek white pants.

His hands rest behind his back as he contemplates deeply. Abruptly, a headache besets him. He hunches and falls to his knees, hands rushing to rub his temples.

(It feels like this: It takes over your mind. Your head feels numb and your heart all of a sudden feels so light that it makes you suspect if it even exists within you anymore, or if there was even one to begin with. (Are you human? You ask yourself silently, are you?) The world is spinning around you, and once it stops spinning it is looking at you, waiting for your next call. You need to do something about it. You take the world into your hands. There is an urge to crush it all, for it is at fault for making you suffer like this.)

Then, a purple aura washes over his whole body. Quick like the drop of a rain. 

When the purple dissipates, his appearance remains unchanged, however, he appears to stand with better composure.

"Ah," he sighs with relief. "There it is… I feel so much better now."

A bright and glowing butterfly materialises in his palm, its delicate wings fluttering softly. It takes flight, ascending gracefully and slipping through the window. With a purpose, it journeys through city, heading towards an elderly man seated on a park bench. It then suddenly stops, before continuing and slipping through the folds of his clothes, merging seamlessly with his skin.

Monsieur Remier reacts immediately. His head jerks up, and his eyes focus sharply straight ahead, though his expression remains oddly vacant and dull. The sudden infusion of life from the butterfly seems to have momentarily animated him, yet his face betrays no emotion, only a blank stare that cuts through the afternoon air.

"Loneliness; what a tender subject. It is something that not everyone understands, not everyone feels it. Loneliness is what happens when you are forbidden to feed your beloved pigeons, to keep your friends alive and around, is that right? You seek the company of someone. You are like me, and so, I understand your pain."

"What do you understand, stranger?" asks Monsieur Remier, speaking quietly beneath his breath, all the while he continues to fiddle with his thumbs. "I sense that you are younger than me. You obviously don't know the pain that ageing leaves you."

"I know loneliness like it is a friend," he professes, extending his hand as a form of gesture, as if the old man he is speaking to is right in front of him. "I can help you. I can make you feel better, make you and your pigeon friends known to the whole world, to show just how important your friendship is. And what can the ignorant people do?—Nothing. Because pigeons can be loyal creatures, some people don't understand that their beauty actually puts humans to shame, and with a thousand of them, you can defeat Paris. You can outnumber the whole world in no time. And in the end, who are they to tell you off for taking care of your precious pigeon friends?" 

"What is your name?" Monsieur Remier hisses. "Why should I trust you?"

"Papillon is my name. And you must trust me if you are tired of being walked over all the time," comes the reply, smooth and persuasive. "Come, join me. Wreak havoc and make your presence known."

As untrusting he is of this stranger, Monsieur Remier takes no time to think. "Alright, you have me convinced."

No sooner have these words escaped his lips, the same vivid purple aura envelops him. The transformation is swift and dramatic. 

The frail, hunched figure, once defined by protruding bones and a weary demeanour, is replaced by a man of formidable presence. Muscle and mass swell beneath his skin, his posture straightens, and he stands tall with a new pride that radiates from him like an aura. 

His saddened expression is now replaced with a wry smirk. "I shall join you, Le Papillon."

Papillon's eyes gleam with satisfaction. As Monsieur Pigeon, the newly transformed man, strides away with purpose, Papillon murmurs to himself, unheard by his new recruit, "Yes. You shall be my first victim."

♡

Bridgette enters the girls' bathroom, relieved to find it empty during lunch. 

Grateful for the solitude, she turns her head to the mirror begins to talk to herself again. It is a habit that she has developed over the years. "It's been such an unlucky first day. I got attacked by pigeons today, twice. Twice! I ran around in circles and no one helped me! And I'm late on my first day!  I can't believe—"

Her monologue is abruptly interrupted by the sound of quiet sobbing coming from one of the stalls.

She pauses, biting her lip.

"Uhm, are you okay?" Bridgette feels obliged to ask, her voice tentative.

There is no response; the weeping continues unabated. It's not loud, but it's relentless, hollow, like someone crying from the bottom of a well. This school, as good and well-perceived it may be by families and the general public, is quite old. It isn't haunted… is it? This would just make it triple bad luck for Bridgette today!

She shakes her head. 

It must be another girl nervous about starting her first day. Perhaps she has parted with her middle school friends and feels uncomfortable in this new environment. Bridgette doesn't well on not having her question answered. Who would have the courage to talk when caught in the act of secretly crying? 

Concerned, Bridgette steps forward, her movements cautious. She tries not to make a sound with the clack of her heels by shuffling closer. She approaches the stall from which the crying emanates the loudest and gently knocks on the door. It nudges open. A gap. She realises that it is unlocked. Taking the risk, she slowly swings the door open. 

To her shock, the stall is empty.

"Who's crying?!" she demands, turning around to scan the empty bathroom. "Who is in here?! Is this a prank?!"

A chill runs down her spine, her body tingling with unease.

"You better come out now or I will report this to a teacher!" she warns, trying to sound more confident than she feels.

"No!" comes the desperate reply.

Bridgette whips back to face the stall. The crying is definitely coming from there. Her mind races. Could it really be... a ghost?

"S-show yourself!" she demands, her voice trembling slightly.

A soft thud echoes from within the toilet.

"I'm sorry, I'm stuck in the toilet. Can you lift the lid?" the voice pleads.

"Umm… okay…" Bridgette responds hesitantly. Her unusually rational mind rebels against the idea—a girl stuck in the toilet? The lid would have to be open if that were the case.

Summoning her courage, Bridgette approaches the toilet and, with a deep breath, lifts the lid. 

To her utter disbelief, she finds a small… unusual creature staring up at her from within the bowl. Its skin is a vibrant red, and its disproportionately large, teary eyes dominate its face. The round head is five times the size of its diminutive body, giving it a comically exaggerated appearance. Its enormous black eyes are soulful, glistening with tears, and its forehead is marked with a distinct black clover-shaped symbol. Atop its head, two alien-like antennae protrude, each ending in a small, glowing golden bulb that pulses gently with a faint light.

The creature's arms and legs are stubby, devoid of fingers or toes, yet they move with surprising dexterity. Extending from its back is a unique tail, splitting into three separate trails, each reminiscent of a nine-tailed fox but condensed into a triad. The tails twitch nervously, reflecting the creature's anxiety.

Bridgette's eyes widens at the sight. "Alright, this is enough crazy events for today. Mama's superstitiousness has gotten into my head. I should either leave this room or jump out of the window. Maybe it's because I talk to myself too much. Hey! If I close my eyes and count to three, this thing… or whatever… will disappear!" Turning around to see the stall door closed, Bridgette attempts to unlock it. "Oh, come on! Why won't this lock budge? This is the unluckiest day of my life."

"No, please don't go!" The creature flies out of the toilet. Its big bug eyes is wet with overflowing tears and its tiny hands cannot wipe it all dry.

Bridgette gives up and turns around.

"What… who are you?" she whispers, her voice barely audible over the sound of her pounding heart. Bridgette realises that it will be teary for another while, so she takes some toilet paper and offers it to the being. Perhaps she should focus on comforting the poor thing over questioning its existence. "Tell me, why are you upset?"

There's multitudes of questions that Bridgette needs to ask this creature. She knows nothing about this creature and the fact that it is upset is making her panic. Deep within, Bridgette feels an overwhelming urge to cry out in shock. She feels the need to tell everyone, to tell Allegra, that something is not right. But, there is a lingering doubt gnawing at her. Maybe she shouldn't tell anyone—because what if this is all a mere figment of her imagination, a dream or a hallucination? For surely, a speaking ladybug with an oversized head could not possibly exist. 

The last thing she wants to do is be known as the girl who hallucinates on the first day of school.

Instead, she draws a deep breath, steadies herself, and offers comfort to the little creature who is actually quite endearing.

"Because evil is arising again, and I don't know how to stop it," answers the voice between breaths and sobs. "I feel viciousness roaming around the city of Paris. Years ago, I had made sure to end all evil intentions, but it seems like my efforts have come to no avail."

"What viciousness are you talking about?" she inquires, trying to gain information, her brow furrowing with concern. "Paris is fine. It's a nice day outside, the weather is clear, bright, and blue. And, it's the first day of school."

"No!" the creature cries out. "Someone is planning to harm Paris! You must believe me!" 

"Oh… okay. I believe you." Bridgette responds, momentarily taken aback by the creature's sudden outburst. She steps back, her hand instinctively resting on her thigh as if to steady herself. It's best that she maintains her composure; the less that she succumbs to panic, the more the creature might explain, and the sooner everything might make sense. "Would it… ummm… make you feel better if I helped you?"

"Of course!" The bug-like creature's frown suddenly turns upside down. It smiles, and its huge eyes make Bridgette think of how cute it is. 

A small amount of enthusiasm slips into her voice. "Great, how can I help you?"

"I need you to—oh!" The creature stops abruptly, its eyes widening in realisation.

Bridgette tilts her head. "Hm?"

"How rude of me! I haven't introduced myself yet; my name is Tikki and I am the Miraculous of Fortune and Creation."

"I'm Bridgette Cheng, but you are the… what now?"

"The Miraculous of Fortune and Creation! I was created to bring luck to the world, so those that feel as if life has treated them unfairly can have another chance at life." Tikki elucidates further, its antennae bobbing along with the head every time it moves. "What one would call my kind is a 'kwami'—'kwamis' for plural. My role is to bestow good fortune and to harness the power to create from sheer will. The 'Miraculous' part refers to the magical earrings that my being is attached to."

Bridgette feels a surge of scepticism but remains intrigued. "And who created you?"

The self-proclaimed kwami remains still for a moment, its eyes reflecting an introspective depth. "My origin is a long story, but it is not the most important thing to focus on as of right now."

"Well, I'm a human!" Bridgette offers.

"I know what humans are," Tikki blinks, "you humans have existed for far longer than I."

"Interesting," Bridgette remarks. "We never learned that in History."

"Then I shall explain it all to you when the time comes. It's important that you know what you are doing so that you understand the extent of this danger… as well as the power I am granting you." Tikki flies behind the toilet and emerges with a small black box.

"Has the box always been under there?" 

Tikki answers after a thoughtful pause. "No. I don't believe so. It must have appeared there when I was summoned, which, I believe I am only here of all places because it was destiny that you would use this toilet stall of all. I only appear when my help is required, when tragedy happens and when misfortune exists. I began to cry when I realised why I awoke from my dormant state again. It's because a tragic event is about to happen." 

Bridgette sort of understands, but she tries not to think too hard as her mind is focusing on choosing a more appropriate toilet stall next time.

"You do not understand; the miraculous cannot be in just anyone's hands! It must be given to someone trustworthy. Someone whose heart is steady even when their hands are not. And you, my dear… you are the one Fate has chosen."

"Thanks, but… I doubt that," Bridgette replies, scratching the back of her neck. "I'm a little clumsy sometimes. Like, trip-over-my-own-feet kind of clumsy. It happened this morning."

"How do you decide your future, Bridgette Cheng?" Tikki asks. Bridgette stares down, the kwami's pupils gradually largens in adoration. "You don't know what could happen. So, open the box and you will see."

Bridgette hesitates, fingers hovering just above the box. "I don't know… I mean, I'm sorry, but it's really hard to believe any of this. Like—you're a tiny floating ladybug creature and I've had a weird day. I've been attacked by pigeons twice so maybe that's causing me to hallucinate."

Tikki opens its mouth to reply, but before she could, the school's PA system crackled to life with a jarring beep .

"Good afternoon, students," the principal's voice booms over the intercom. "For those of you who have seen the recent news during lunch, I hope you will remain calm as I explain the situation as best I can."

The pair freezes.

"A group of… well… pigeons have begun to take over the city," the principal continues, each word more uncertain than the last. "Led, allegedly, by a—uh—deranged man in a bird costume. While we are still determining whether this is some kind of elaborate film shoot or a bizarre social media stunt, I regret to inform you that these pigeons have been aggressively attacking citizens… which, to be clear, is very much against the law . We ask that you remain inside the school building and proceed with your introduction classes after lunch as usual unless instructed otherwise. Do—uhm—not go outside."

The announcement ends with a click.

"It's not a film!" Tikki cries. "I told you! This is real! I wouldn't be wide awake right now unless it was."

Bridgette, now pale, fumbles for her phone and opened the news app with shaking hands. There it is. A live feed. Pigeons swarming the streets in numbers bigger than ever. People running away. People hiding inside the public buildings. Cars overturned. 

Tikki drifts closer and places her tiny paws—what passes for hands—gently on Bridgette's arm. The touch is surprisingly warm. 

"See?" she whispers. "This is real. I'm real. It is all real."

Bridgette, following Tikki's instructions, lifts the lid of the black box. A resounding click echoes through the room, and a blinding light surges forth from within. Inside the box lays a pair of earrings, the black sheen reflecting her face. Her? Chosen by Fate of all people? What does Tikki mean when she talks about Fate?

"Earrings?"

"Perfect for you, since you do have your ears pierced!" Tikki observes. "The black colour matches your hair too!"

"R-really?" Bridgette asks, unsurely. She did take her earrings off yesterday since she isn't sure whether the school permitted jewellery.

"Put it on!"

Inserting the earrings through her pierced ears, she twists the clasps to secure them. The metal is cold against her ears but she finds that she soon gets used to it. Then, a flow of warmth courses through her body.

There is no way that she is dreaming.

"Wow," she breathes.

"See? They look really good on you!"

"Thanks." Bridgette smiles.

At that moment, a sudden crash reverberates through the air, followed by distant, terrified screams. The alarming sounds jolts Bridgette, her heart racing with the rush of adrenaline. She instinctively turns her gaze back to Tikki.

"You need to transform!" urges Tikki.

"Transform?" Bridgette repeats, her mind struggling to catch up with the surreal situation. "B-but, I'm not sure if I'm fit to be a superhero…"

The kwami's antennae twitches anxiously, "You're our only hope. You will become a superhero and defeat whatever that is harming paris."

"But—what is harming Paris?"

"We will find out soon enough. Right now, you need to trust me. Repeat after me: Tikki, spots on!"

Bridgette swallows hard, trying to steady her racing heart. "Tikki, spots on," she echoes.

The moment the words leaves her lips, Tikki flies into one of the earrings.

In an instant, a resplendent light burst forth, enveloping her in a radiant embrace. Bridgette feels a powerful surge of energy course through her, filling her with almost a sense of power and purpose. It's so strange how she felt unsure of it all seconds prior but now, she feels as though she is ready to be a hero. What's the worse that can happen when Bridgette is the one in control of her life?

Her attire dissolves in a cascade of light, replaced by a sleek, leather fabric that conformed perfectly to her form. When the light begins to recede, she looks down and gasps. She now wears a striking red suit adorned with black spots, its design echoing the appearance of a ladybug, covering every inch apart from her head. She feels something framing the upper half of her face as well, lifting her hand to feel the leather material. 

The suit fits perfectly, it's light as well, as if it was made just for her. At the bottom of her feet are small heels embedded in the soles of her feet that seemed to amplify her every step

Bridgette attempts to unlock the stall door, which now conveniently opens with ease. In two steps, she is in front of the mirror.

Her reflection in the bathroom mirror displays a confident superhero, her hair now much longer tied into two longer pigtails with the addition of cute red ribbons. Her true identity is concealed with a red mask, with black spots.

A voice in her head commands her. Okay, let's go!

"Wait, Tikki!" says Bridgette. "Can we de-transform first?"

What? Why?

"I needed the toilet, actually."

♡

Bridgette squares her shoulders as she takes a moment to assess her next move. It's clear that she needs to be out of the school building to find the danger threatening Paris. 

I can't just walk out of the bathroom during lunch, she thinks. Everyone will stare at me.

There is one window in this bathroom, which thankfully is not framed by delicate metal grilles. It is just wide enough to fit her body through if she kneels. This is an old building, she remembers. Thus, if the glass shatters then it shouldn't be too surprising. Bridgette braces herself and raises her arms to shield her face. 

With a powerful thrust, she propels herself forward, crashing through the window successfully. The sharp sound of glass breaking rings in her ears briefly. 

As she plummets towards the ground, she lands perfectly with a thud.

Ahead a few buildings far from the school grounds, she spots the source of the chaos: a tall, toned man in a costume like hers, though adorned with the guise of a pigeon. He stands precariously on the rooftop, surrounded by a swirling mass of pigeons.

Without thinking or planning, Bridgette runs forward with an increased speed.

Use your yo-yo, voices Tikki.

"How am I supposed to do that?!"

But with one image of a ladybug-themed yo-yo popping up in her head, the yo-yo itself quickly materialises into her hand. Her eyes lock onto a rain gutter attached to the closest building near the man. She whips the yo-yo forward, the string wrapping securely around the rain gutter and in one fluid motion, she tugs onto the string, propelling herself upwards. The yo-yo pulls her off the ground, and she soars through the air with an almost acrobatic grace. 

The city sprawls out beneath her, and she takes a moment to regain her bearings.

Below the people are running in fear.

"Monsieur, what are you doing?!" Bridgette calls out, her voice strong and clear. "Get down from the roof! You're going to hurt yourself!"

The man turns to face her. His eyes widen slightly in surprise before a smirk spreads across his face. "Ah, I suppose I am not the only one dressing up today. Tell me, did the law stop you from befriending the ladybugs too?"

Bridgette frowns. "I have absolutely no idea what you're talking about, but you're endangering the citizens and yourself!"

"Oh, so you're against me?" the Monsieur chuckles darkly. He raises his arms dramatically, and with a command, the pigeons around him take flight, their beady eyes fixed on her.

The pigeons dive towards her, a flurry of feathers and sharp beaks she knows she does not want to be trapped in. Ladybug reacts instinctively, her enhanced reflexes kicking in. She jumps and flips, narrowly avoiding the first wave of attackers. She lands smoothly on another rooftop, her breath coming in quick bursts.

"Great. One pigeon chasing me is enough, two is more than enough… a couple of hundreds seems too much," she mutters under her breath, surveying the situation. "This is the third time today, as well…"

The pigeons are now swarming around her, relentless in their assault.

♡

Felix wanders through the shelves in the library, his fingertips lightly grazing the spines of books as he skims past them. 

When lunch came, Felix ignored his need for food and decided that if there is one place in this whole building that would give him some time alone from other people, it's the library. 

The titles blur together in his mind, most of these in the classics' section he has already read, and he takes a random pick. He reaches out and plucks one from its resting place on the shelf. Opening it, he flips through the pages, taking in the writing style and noting any words that pique his interest.

As he reads the book, an unexpected occurrence grabs his attention. A book from the adjacent shelf topples to the ground with a soft thud. Felix's curiosity is piqued. He kneels down to retrieve it, his fingers trailing over the cover. It's a contrast to the first book—with no title, no images, just a plain black cover devoid of any markings.

Turning it over in his hands, Felix searches for a blurb or any indication of its contents, but finds nothing. Still this intrigues him, he opens the book and begins to flip through the pages. What he finds inside is unlike anything he's ever seen before. The words are written in a script that is entirely unfamiliar. Each letter, if it is even comprehensible to be established as one of four thousand written languages, blurs into the next in an unnatural style.

It doesn't even look like cursive Russian.

Maybe it's a book written in a secret language, thinks Felix briefly. But then, the librarian would have checked every book that is brought into the library. Perhaps he should ask. Perhaps it's a diary, meant to guard its owner's thoughts from prying eyes.

Lost in thought, Felix continues to flip through the pages until something unexpected catches his eye—a ring, slipping out from between the pages and clattering to the floor with a soft cling. Temptation tugs at Felix's conscience, but he can't resist the allure of the tarnished, silver but mysterious ring. 

Though uncertain of the reason, his curiosity impelled him to put on the ring, as if it would have some sort of outcome that would explain it and the book. 

Well, Felix thinks, it may simply be one of the strange aspects of attending public school.

Before he can ponder on its significance further, out of nowhere, what looks to be a tiny black cat materialises in front of him. But this, this is no ordinary cat. It has two long black antennas protruding from its head, a tail just as long as its body, and an aura of darkness emanating from its very essence which follows the creature's every move as it flies around.

"A… cat?"

"Yep! But the correct term is a kwami," The creature speaks with such a loud tone and with such enthusiasm that it nearly makes Felix flinch. "What time and date is it? Location?"

"1:12pm. Monday, the first of September. 2016. Paris, France."

"That's right… I was in Paris when I last closed my eyes," the cat muses, stretching its tiny arms and yawning. Its mouth can open as wide as its head. Then, it smacks its lips a few times. "That was a very long nap."

Felix almost gags at its bad breath.

"A long nap? What do you mean?"

Felix struggles to accept that he is conversing with a miniature, flying black cat in the school library. Out of all of the things he has been informed by his tutors, this is the last thing he expects in a public school.

"So… what's happening today?" The cat ignores him. "Every couple of centuries, the world changes. It always surprises me to see what you humans are up to, you get so creative with yourselves."

Frustrated, Felix grabs the tiny cat within his hands, its head that is much more huge in comparison to its body pops out of the hole created with his thumb and index finger. Its tail, long and thin, moves in a circular motion with some kind of flow. The end of it tickles Felix's hand.

"Listen here: tell me, what exactly are you?"

The cat sighs, its little yet sharp teeth exposed as its mouth widens. "I told you already, I am a kwami. The Kwami of Misfortune. With good, there exists bad. With light, there exists darkness. With creation, there exists destruction. With fortune, there exists misfortune and I am the physical embodiment of Misfortune." Then it tilts its head casually, "and Destruction."

"You are not making any sense."

"I am making sense. It's just that you're human and humans haven't seen magic in a long time, so it gets too difficult for their brains to comprehend it. Don't worry, it happens every century when someone discovers my existence. I'm used to you and your people's limited, yet forgetful knowledge. And you, you'll get used to me real quick." The cat smirks with a tiny laugh, its antenna moving effortlessly around its head as if it speaks in a form of expression. "I used to be human too, ya know? That being said, I'm hungry."

Felix finally lets the cat out of his hand. It immediately flies in the air and around Felix's body a couple of times. "Other than the fact that you are 'hungry' and the 'Kwami of Misfortune', how else do the people address you?"

"Plagg. Call me Plagg, young monsieur!"

"Felix."

"Hm?" Its ears twitch.

"My name is Felix Agreste, but you can call me Felix."

The cat—er, Plagg lands on Felix's shoulder and sits down comfortably. It begins to sway its head from side to side as it speaks. "Felix… Felix… Felix, Felix, Felix… Felix!"

"Would you stop repeating my name?"

"I'm getting used to you. This is how I like to start it off, before we transform you and I get into your body and mind and we become one, and spend time together and eat delicious food together and sleep together, and before you and I develop an everlasting bond before you lose me and forget about me."

"I'm going to pretend that I didn't hear any of that… becoming one," Felix says, then mutters with some amount of disgust, "With a cat."

"What's so bad about being a cat?"

"Nothing. But I don't want to imagine myself as half cat, half human."

"Oh, it's not so bad! You'll just be a human in a cat costume. Don't worry too much, anxiety isn't good for you."

"Easy for you to say," Felix mutters. "Regardless, what I worry about is none of your business and I doubt we would ever become one and spend any more time together."

"What? Why?"

"Because…" and Felix raises his hand, of which he wears the silver ring, and with his other hand he begins to pull the ring. "What?"

Plagg raises his non-existent eyebrow. "What, what ?"

"What… I… I can't pull it off." 

With more force exerted from his left hand, he tries again to pull off the ring. Each effort grows more desperate until the realisation dawns upon him: For one, the ring is not coming off, and two, his index finger is growing sore and red. It seems the only way to get rid of this ring is to sever his finger, a thought he dismisses quickly. It's a ring, surely he can get it sawed off by a professional.

"That's 'cos it's fate," Plagg states confidently. "See? We're bound to be together, forever."

"No," Felix says breathily in disbelief. "Nonsense."

"You're right. I lied," Plagg agrees, and confesses with a nonchalant shrug. "It's actually a curse. The curse, you see, won't let you take the ring off. Oh, and the ring? It has a proper name because that's how powerful and important it is. It's actually called a 'miraculous'. Just so you're aware and all that. Just don't tell anybody else about it or refer to it as a 'miraculous', they can't know."

"You are serious?"

"Mhmm!" Plagg answers rather cheerfully.

"This is nowhere near miraculous, to have met you by accident…" 

Nails digging into his palm, he clenches his hand hard into a fist. Felix lowers his arm, placing it at the side of one leg and then punches himself out of frustration. Felix bites his lip, his teeth digging in the flesh deep. He could punch himself  again, hell, he could go and slam his hands down a piano. He wants to take the creature called Plagg and squeeze the thing to death, and hopefully then the curse will be lifted.

There is no way he will spend an eternity like this with a ring stuck to his finger. What excuse will he make up when his father mentions it?

Hissing, he then mutters. "... Some serious bad luck I have encountered."

"Heh, bad luck," Plagg says, sort of mocking him. "You don't know what bad luck truly is." 

"I cracked my phone this early morning."

"Don't care, want camembert." 

"Camembert?"

"You know? The lovely, gooey, majestic cheese?" Plagg makes gestures with its arms as it describes the cheese, then rubbing its hands or paws that don't seem to look like hands or paws, with no fingers or toe beans, and licking its lips. 

"I know what it is, but why would a cat ever want to eat cheese? Wouldn't you rather fish or milk?"

"Fish is okay, milk makes me constipated."

"I did not need to know that." Felix grimaces, then asks: "But if you are unable to drink milk, then why is cheese okay?"

"Ehh…" Plagg thinks for a moment, then, it answers: "Dunno! I just eat whatever I want and see if I like it or not."

"As much as I don't want to give you cheese, I can't just leave the school building just for camembert."

"Oh, we'll get it later, rich boy."

"What do you know about me?" Felix questions with a brow raise.

"You dress better than my previous holders," Plagg states plainly. "I usually prey on poor and sad individuals but you are apparently just a sad individual. Anyways, the chances of you finding me are incredibly low. To be called like this must mean there is a reason for me to come out of my miraculous." Then the small cat mumbles to itself, "Now that I think about it… where is my box?"

"And what could be the reason?"

Plagg scratches its head, thinking deeply. "There could be danger running about."

"Danger is always running about."

"You're right," he says. "But you're also wrong."

"How so?"

"The event must be so dangerous and threatening and big since it requires my existence. Since my body is used to sensing this kind of danger, I now naturally wake up when these things happen. Given that you now embody misfortune, you will attract all kinds of it. So, if you start tripping more often—don't worry about it. You just have to be prepared for it in time, in case, you know… you're too shocked and scared that you wet your pants. Happened before." Plagg gives a small chuckle. "But don't worry, Felix. I'm a pro now, I've seen all kinds of mistakes happen."

Abruptly, a teacher bursts into the library. "Everyone! Get out of the school or hide! Now!"

"What is it?" asks a student who has yet to panic.

Before the teacher could answer, the overhead intercom buzzes.

"Good afternoon, students…" the principal begins, but his calm, measured voice is overlapped by the teacher's panicked shout.

"Something is happening outside! We can't risk getting you all in danger in case anything happens to the school. Go home, immediately. Now!" the teacher replies, her voice urgent as she rushes off to the next room to inform other students.

The room explodes into motion. Chairs screeches back as students stand up. Backpacks are zipped in a hurry. The librarian abandons her cart mid-shelving, only making an effort to grab her purse at the desk. One of the library assistants clutches a hardcover book to her chest as though it will protect her from whatever is out there.

"Wait!" one student calls after. "The principal just said to stay inside !"

Another student scoffs and shoves their laptop into their backpack. "Dumbass, you wanna die?"

"Hey!" shouts the library assistant. "No swearing!"

A third student sighs. "Of course this happens on the first day."

The principal's voice continues to drone on from the intercom, unaware of the chaos unraveling below.

The only person left behind is Felix, who glances down at the ring on his finger. Then, at Plagg, the kwami, who nods his head knowingly.

"That's our cue," Plagg says, his voice low and urgent.

"Instruct me," demands Felix. "What should I do?"

"Just say: Plagg, claws out."

Brushing his fingertips against the ring, he feels a wave of strong force diffuse onto his skin and into his body. It's indescribable but it feels incredible, as if he is able to overcome any nightmares. 

"Plagg, claws out!"

He tightens his grip on air, on nothingness, as if he is in possession of it all, and his hand turns into a fist. His limbs feel lighter, he feels free, and such feelings compels him to move accordingly. Raising his fist, a circlet of purple aura emanates around the ring, indicating its source of power. 

Plagg is swiftly drawn into the ring, his form shrinking and spinning as he approaches. The cat's black essence trails behind in the shape of orbs until it vanishes entirely.

Felix feels his body moving without volition. He throws his fist behind his head, his face pressing forward into the crook of his bent arm, while his other arm extends straight behind. With a final movement, his right arm is propelled back and raised high in the air. This motion triggers the ring's power, initiating his transformation. Shots of black essence shoot out from the ring. 

The purple of it all glows brighter. 

His mundane attire is replaced with a sleek black leather suit and fashionable thigh-high boots. The tips of his fingers are adorned with glossy pink beans. A belt encircles his waist, its length matching his height. The tight leather suit leaves his neck free to breathe, with a large collar and a prominent bell serving as a zipper.

Felix's hair lengthens and fluffs out, framing his face in a tousled mane. Though reminiscent of his morning dishevelment, this messy, uncontained hair suits this version of Felix far better. With a black mask and neon green eyes, no one would recognise him.

Perhaps the most striking feature of Felix's transformation is his claws, razor-sharp, and with a flick of his wrist, he can extend and retract them at will, ready to defend himself against any threat.

♡

In the cafeteria, a tall, toned girl with golden blond hair tied in a sleek high ponytail sits alone at the end of one long table. She wears a white button-up shirt, layered with a stylish purple knitted vest, paired with white jean shorts and casual white tennis shoes.

Having denied eating lunch together with the new girls in her class in favour of Bridgette, and potentially a handsome boy, she now pitifully looks like a loner. It has been ten minutes, there is no way Bridgette is that lost that she couldn't find the direction to the cafeteria, especially when everyone has headed there. 

"Seriously… she hasn't even responded to my texts," sighs Allegra with a heavy heart.

"Hey, can I sit here?" a male voice interrupts her thoughts. She glances up to see a boy standing across from her.

"Yeah, yeah, whatever."

After reading her own messages for the fifth time, and seeing that Bridgette has still not looked at them yet, she sighs once more before setting her phone down screen facing the table. Her ham and cheese baguette remains untouched as she waits, refusing to eat without her friend.

Finally, Allegra looks up to fully take in the boy now sitting across from her. He's alone, too, and even though he is seated, it's clear that he's naturally tall. His glasses give him a studious appearance, but there's no denying he is good-looking to some degree.

"I'm Claude. My friend Felix is busy, but if he comes by can he sit with us?"

"Uh, uhm," she stammers. "Sure!"

God, what is she doing?

"You're in tenth grade too?"

"Yeah."

"Cool, same here. What do you do for fun? Like a hobby, not as in learning Chemistry equations in your free time or whatever. Although, that being said, I like making music but I also very much enjoy Maths. Just something about how it all makes sense intrigues me. When I'm not making music, I do like to practise a bit, especially when I'm preparing for Maths Competitions. But like, it's different to Chemistry or History or Literature. Maths is like a game. Oh, but, talking about music! Do you like rap…"

As he rambles on, Allegra feels another wave of disappointment wash over her. Instead of meeting an interesting young man who might also be rich and charismatic, she's simply met a smart yet, in her eyes, rather dull one.

She forces a smile, nodding along to his words, but internally, she's already counting the minutes until lunch is over. Until school ends today and until she finds Bridgette and beats the girl up.

"Hey, guys! Look!"

At the table to Allegra's right is a boy showing everyone the content on his phone. It's a video of a man dressed in a pigeon costume, somehow raised in the sky as he is supported by what looks to be hundreds of pigeons. The background confirms it is set in Paris, and many Parisians who have been casually going about their day are now running for their lives. 

"What's that?" asks Allegra. "A new movie?"

"No! It's being broadcasted on Instagram right now!"

Allegra drops her nice act. "Yeah, idiot. And isn't the camera filming it?"

"No, you don't understand," interrupts Claude, the boy opposite her. "This typically requires a green screen and CGI, it looks to be in real time is what he's trying to say."

"Well, it looks like they're doing a really good job."

Suddenly, the door bursts open, and a teacher runs in, panting heavily, her face flushed with exertion. It's clear she's been running for quite some time.

"Everyone, either hide or go home now!" she shouts. "Paris is being attacked by a lunatic!"

Students exchange fearful glances, the initial confusion quickly giving way to being concerned when the principal makes his announcement.

The teacher's frantic eyes scan the room. "I mean it! This is not a drill. Find somewhere safe, or head straight home if you can. Avoid the main streets if possible. Go, now!"

"I need to find my friend Felix!"

Chapter Text

Deep breaths.

Bridgette spots a CCTV pole jutting out from the side of a nearby building and quickly formulates a plan. With a powerful leap, she uses the yo-yo to grab hold of the pole, the yo-yo part securing the string in place, allowing herself to swing around. Launching herself high into the air, she lands perfectly on the roof of a new building with a click from her heels.

Bridgette turns around and releases her yo-yo, swinging it skillfully in circular rotations to create a protective barrier as she faces the pigeons. A voice in the back of her head reminds her that she is able to summon a bug shield. The pigeons closest to Bridgette are hesitant to continue forward, unsure of what this big spinner could do to them should they dare to approach it. 

Seizing the opportunity, she stops swinging in circular motions before imitating the slash of a sword, cutting the group of pigeons in half. The pigeons, however, evade in perfect timing. None of them injured. 

Monsieur Pigeon is just behind standing on a cloud of pigeons, slowly advancing towards Bridgette. 

"You need to stop this!" she demands, her voice resonating with authority. "Why are you doing this?"

Monsieur Pigeon glares at her, his face contorts with bitterness. "They never listened to me! They never respected the pigeons! Now, they will pay for their indifference!"

Bridgette's heart softens slightly at his words. She remembers who he is now— Monsieur Remier. Despite his actions, she can see the pain and loneliness driving him. "I understand you're upset, Monsieur Remier. but this isn't the way to get people to listen. You're only causing more harm!"

"Call me Monsieur Pigeon from now on."

With a mere wave of his hand, he sends a torrent of pigeons her way. 

Bridgette takes off, darting through the streets of Paris. It feels like an eternity, but at least the citizens have taken refuge indoors, leaving the city free to become their battlefield. Each time she takes a glance back and sees the sheer number of pigeons, the overwhelming feeling returns amidst the freedom she feels in the air.

Her yo-yo can take down one, perhaps a few at a time, but against thousands? It's an impossible task.

She's grateful her superpowers subsides off exhaustion; otherwise, she'd have collapsed long ago.

Try and target Monsieur Pigeon himself, Tikki's voice advises in her mind.

"Right," she says. ""He's the one controlling the pigeons."

Desperation creeps into her voice as she continues to run. 

"When will luck show up?" she asks herself, realising that soon she will have to stop running, her breath catching in her throat. "Come on, Tikki. You promised me fortune, so prove to me that it exists."

Suddenly, Monsieur Pigeon comes into view, just five feet away. This is not the luck she was talking about. Bridgette turns to confront him, but before she can make her move, a swarm of pigeons descends. The birds, in a coordinated frenzy, start to surround them both, their wings flapping and beaks clacking menacingly as they form a formidable, swirling ball around them. This should be more ridiculous than scary but Bridgette is barely making it alive mentally. 

"As they say: you can run but you can't hide," Monsieur Pigeon says mischievously.

Bridgette tries to look for an opening. There is no point in just attacking the pigeons by swinging her yo-yo repeatedly, considering the attack won't damage them eminently. As soon as she swings her yo-yo again, the gaps left by the fallen will just be filled with other pigeons.

Just when all seems lost, a sudden disruption in the mass of pigeons catches her eye. The formation shifts, and amidst the blurred colours of greys and whites, a distinctive black figure with bright blond hair appears. As the figure lands, his details become clear: a boy as young as her, but taller, clad in a black, cat-inspired attire, complete with a massive bell and thigh-high boots. 

An odd choice of pairing, thinks Bridgette, but somehow he makes the combination work. Fashionably… At the same time, it isn't as if her attire looked any better. Yes, the suit might be simple but the red still sticks out like a sore thumb, making her an easily more identifiable target. 

If this was not harsh reality, the three of them would look like they belong on a children's show where adults dress up to entertain kids. In fact, the news is probably painting both her and the black cat boy as the two other terrorists. Bridgette shivers at that thought. 

"Or, if you're like me, you don't run nor hide. You fight." The boy declares with a smile towards Bridgette, then turns a smirk at Monsieur Pigeon. "Hey, Monsieur Pigeon Poop! Why don't you tell your friends to stop and go home and we'll let you off with just a scratch, eh?"

"You should be afraid of me," Monsieur Pigeon retorts.

"Afraid?" the boy repeats, his tone mocking. "No, your pigeons are afraid of me."

The cat raises his right hand into a fist, then releases it. As he does, his claws create a ball of pure black energy that stretches as tall as he is. The energy pulsates with dark power, and a portion of the pigeons get sucked into the black hole before it dissipates, their wings beating in panic, thinning their numbers significantly.

Monsieur Pigeon's brief falter seems to affect his army as well. As he takes a step back, his pigeons do too.

"Seems like it's not just me who has been chosen by luck."

"Luck? What luck?" The boy scoffs at Bridgette, his next words hanging in the air which leaves Bridgette feeling suddenly nervous. He then says, in a joking tone, "Today is officially the worst day of my life. I did not ask to become a cat, you know."

Bridgette could sense the frustration behind his light-hearted demeanour. Equally, she feels the same way. Yet, there is no time to dwell on his grievances.

"You don't want to be a superhero?"

Well, neither did she.

"That's up for debate."

The boy narrows his eyes at Monsieur Pigeon. He leaps forward, using his agility to close the distance between them. Monsieur Pigeon tries to command his pigeons to form a defensive wall, but being a cat, the young boy is only too quick and he darts between the pigeons. They try to clip at his shoulder, peck at his face. 

When he reaches Monsieur Pigeon, a powerful swipe of his arm brings his claw into contact with the man's face, eliciting a scream that spoke of a long, harsh scratch.

"You're all my prey!" the boy states confidently, "I wouldn't be caught dead afraid of any of you."

Bridgette seizes the moment, using her yo-yo to bind Monsieur Pigeon, pinning his arms to his sides.

"Gotcha!" she exclaims.

But before she can celebrate, a pigeon dives at her with surprising ferocity. She releases the yo-yo and swings it to fend off the attacking bird, inadvertently striking it with more force than intended. The pigeon lets out a distressed squawk as it tumbles and falls before Monsieur Pigeon dives to catch it in his arms.

Monsieur Pigeon's eyes widens in rage. 

"How dare you!" he cries out before going back to cradling the pigeon in his arms. "My deepest apologies, my beloved friend," he whispers, stroking its feathers tenderly. "I shouldn't have made you fight with such a terrible person! A fiend! A monster to Mother Nature!"

"I am literally a ladybug!" Bridgette retorts, exasperated.

Monsieur Pigeon glares at them both. "Pigeons! Attack for our injured friend! Only we know what loyalty is!"

Their wings beat the air like war drums.

The duo jumps back.

"Get rid of the pigeons again, wont ya?!" Bridgette shouts over the sound. "I need to get Monsieur Pigeon on his own."

"Can't, unfortunately," he says, casting an apologetic look. "They're contained in that space. If I summon my black abyss again, I'll release them back into the air."

"Okay, then distract them while I get to the target!"

"Sure, uhhh…"

"We should give ourselves new names, to keep our real identities a secret," she says, realising his struggle of addressing her. "Call me… Ladybug!" she declares, thinking of the name in a split second.

"You're actually serious?!" The boy asks in disbelief. He ducks down to avoid flapping wings.

She takes in his response bitterly. "What do you mean by that?!"

"You're treating this like a superhero would, giving yourself a stage name?!"

Ladybug finally remembers to summon her bug shield, which her yo-yo transitions into. She blocks a small bunch of pigeons from attacking her. Their heads knock against the shield, causing them to drop to the ground. "Well, you must know me by something!"

"Alright, alright!" he exclaims, raising his hands up in a gesture to calm her. "I guess I'll be Cat Noir then."

She hums in approval. "Simple. I like it."

Cat Noir shouts, "Black Storm!"

From his ring, an intense energy begins to emanate, rapidly coalescing into a swirling black ball crackling with electric bolts. The sheer impact cuts through the flock of pigeons. Overwhelmed, they squawk in panic before many of them collapse, fainting from the shock.

"Wait, Cat Noir," she tries to stop him, though the attack has already been fired. "Don't you think it's wrong to attack the pigeons back? This feels like animal abuse!"

Cat Noir kicks at the approaching birds, keeping them at bay. "Not if they're attacking you first! And you just attacked one earlier!"

"I didn't mean to!" Ladybug pleads, "Hey, Cat Noir, please! Stop hurting them!"

"If we keep going, he'll quit!"

"No, he won't! They're all dropping to the ground, look!"

Cat Noir glances down, taking in the scene. The sight makes him feel a wave of sickness churn in his stomach. Unconscious birds lay strewn across the pavement. Still, something in him stubbornly makes him disagree with her.

"No offence, but Monsieur Pigeon still has about a hundred of those left. And I don't see your ladybug army around."

Ladybug prevents herself from a sigh. She swings out her yo-yo, wrapping it around Monsieur Pigeon and lifting him into the air. She catches him and carries him in a bridal style, leaping across rooftops, while Cat Noir fends off the remaining pigeons. From the corner of her eye, before she turns around, it does look like he is trying not to harm them, but fails as they continue to swarm.

"They'll catch up to me!"

"Not until you stop this nonsense, Monsieur Remier!" she retorts.

"I told you, it's Monsieur Pigeon!" he snaps back.

Ladybug stops upon a rooftop, her grip firm upon Monsieur Pigeon's arm, allowing the rest of his body to dangle loosely over the edge. With her free hand, she summons her bug shield. The sight of Monsieur Pigeon in such a vulnerable position spurs the pigeons to rush past Cat Noir urgently to his aid.

Expecting them to attack her, Monsieur Pigeon instead yells out: "Retreat! Retreat, pigeons!"

The advancing wave of pigeons halts abruptly in mid-air.

"Why don't we take a stroll to the police station, Monsieur Pigeon?" Ladybug suggests.

At this, Monsieur Pigeon yanks at Ladybug's arm with his free hand, causing her to lose her balance. The sudden shift sends them both hurtling towards the ground below.

Monsieur Pigeon's lips curls into a smirk..

The pigeons instantly swoops in. They catch Monsieur Pigeon mid-air, their collective strength lifts him upwards while Ladybug continues her descent. As she watches him ascend, she anticipates his next move to win the fight. But what would even be her next move? 

To her astonishment, he chooses to retreat. His looming presence rises until him and his pigeon army fades away in the distance. 

There had been absolutely no way for him to keep going with so few pigeons left.

Behind her, Cat Noir dives off the roof. As he reaches her, he gives her a sheepish smile, but Ladybug's eyes remain focused on Monsieur Pigeon, who is now standing proudly with his arms crossed. 

"Don't know what he's smiling about," Cat Noir attempts to comfort her. "He's running away too."

They land safely on the ground, avoiding the piles of injured pigeons.

"Thanks," Ladybug mutters. "That surprised me."

"He's left his injured pigeons behind. It's all about befriending them until he forgets them and leaves them here to die," Cat Noir observes.

"Technically, we hurt them. I'm sure he's still angry and planning to come back," Ladybug says, her concern deepening.

"Should we run and leave the police to deal with this?" Cat Noir suggests.

"That gives us a bad look," Ladybug counters, biting her lip as she thinks. And I barely did anything. I had Monsieur Remier in my arms. The police station isn't too far from here. If I wasn't so foolish, he wouldn't have ran away. 

She closes her eyes briefly, seeking guidance. 

Tikki, what should I do?

In response, her vision turns black for a moment.

A Paris that has just been attacked by pigeons a minute ago, which one can argue has been relatively peaceful, suddenly becomes engulfed in flames. The fashion of the people is vastly different, reflecting an era long past. Her vantage point, where she still oversees the city from above, is now elevated. This technically gives her a better idea of the total area affected by the flames, but even then, there are still flames consuming the city from as far as the eye can see.

People are running in every direction. Parents frantically search for their children, dragging them barely alive from burning homes. Their cries for help pierces through the air. 

Though the language sounds slightly archaic, Bridgette still comprehends it as French. And, for a brief moment, she imagines modern day Paris in this chaos.

She listens beyond the cackling of fire: The people are terrified. 

Bridgette's attention is drawn to one girl amongst the rest. The girl, with eyes wide in terror, pushes through the crowd, her small frame struggling against the tide of panicked adults. She eventually comes to a stop.

Bridgette feels her heart at unrest. The scene before her is almost too much to process. 

She thinks intensely on what she should do, although her thoughts are quickly interrupted as a building nearby the girl explodes. Her heart quickens again; the bricks and pieces violently hurls out, the flames gushing perpetually like waterfalls, its appearance cackling in excitement as it grows larger by the second, and the girl has just enough strength to run to the opposite side. Narrowly avoiding any harm.

The other remains of the flames scatters the area, the streets and all of the streets' corners. 

Somehow, despite the distance, the girl spots Bridgette from high above. Bridgette looks down to her own feet and sees that she is wearing a red and black suit similar to that of her own. The only difference is that she is wearing black boots that reach her knees, the polka dots adorning the rest of her body. She touches her face and feels the presence of the leather mask. Her hair is tied in a braid that runs down one side of her shoulder. 

The other people are too panicked to notice her presence.

But, the girl screams out, "Ladybug!"

Bridgette feels her body move beyond her control. Her arm thrusts upward, her index finger pointing to the sky, confidently, as if she has done this before. A white glow—of hope, perhaps—emanates from the tip of her finger. The brightness of the glow spreads. 

Then, as Bridgette waits impatiently for what is about to happen next, the vision slowly disappears, leaving a blank white expanse in her mind. 

The words "Miraculous Ladybug" echoes before fading into nothingness. 

Her eyes snap open, returning to the present world. Paris in 2016 stands before her. It is vastly different from the catastrophic vision she had just witnessed, but the sight is still unsettling. 

She takes a deep breath and looks around, assessing the damage. The combined force of all the pigeons has left its mark: benches are overturned, lampposts are bent, phone booths are shattered to  shards, and memorial poles are knocked askew. The buildings themselves are stained with white bird poop, and several windows are cracked. Ladybug grimaces, realising that Monsieur Remier's intentions went beyond mere disruption; he intended to hurt the people inside as well.

This whole thing feels like a dream.

There is no way one man has this much power.

Monsieur Remier was practically praised to be a kind and caring old man, almost pitifully. But he has changed.

But what's worse isn't just that it's reality; it's that she knows he will come back, and his revenge might be more than what she can imagine. A feeling of unease settles in her stomach. The damage today is minimal, but it serves as a stark reminder of the potential for greater harm.

The vision in which she pointed to the sky lingers in her mind. Her curiosity won't let it go; and, having visualised it must mean that it's important.

So, she does the exact same thing.

"Miraculous Ladybug," she whispers quietly to herself, raising her arm skyward.

A glow shines from the tip of her finger and soon spreads wide, farther and expanding into the endless horizon. Everything the light touches is restored to its original state. Buildings that were previously damaged are instantly repaired. Pigeons that had been injured are revived, now standing on the ground fiercely. Most of them begin to fly away as citizens cautiously exit the buildings where they had sought refuge.

"H-how?" gasps Cat Noir from behind.

"As Ladybug, I have the power of recreation." Ladybug finds herself answering, suddenly filled with a sense of knowledge. 

A small smile curls upon his lips. "You haven't seen cataclysm yet."

"Oh? What's that?"

"Destroy anything I want with my hands." He flexes his fingers. His silver ring shines.

Ladybug smiles. "I guess the power of fortune has also kindly fated you to be on my side, and not Monsieur Pigeon's."

Cat Noir smiles back, but as soon as she turns to face the citizens, who are slowly beginning to cheer, his smile falters. The thought of her being blessed with good fortune and him with misfortune understandably infuriates him.

As he stands there, surrounded by the cheers of the crowd, Cat Noir can't shake a nagging thought from his mind. He wonders if Ladybug is also cursed in some way, if she too carries the weight of a hidden burden that no one else can see. After all, there is no way her life can be that perfect. But, if she says she possesses the power of fortune, she probably doesn't feel burdened by the new powers at all.

"Who are you two?" The people ask, excited.

"Uh," Ladybug hesitates, casting a glance at Cat Noir before turning back to the crowd. At the sight of the approaching police car, she swiftly makes the decision to leave. "I've gotta go! See ya later!"

She swings her yo-yo and leaves, leaving Cat Noir to decide how much he wants to interact with the public. He wastes no time in departing either, with his enhanced cat abilities, he leaps forward and exits the crowd.

♡

Her brown brogues leaves loud clacks on the pavement as she dashes back to Lycée Françoise Dupont in search of Allegra. 

She's not sure what went through her mind to just forget and leave Allegra alone at lunch, though she at least hopes Allegra has found new friends in her absence. 

Worse still, Bridgette had left the school grounds entirely and had forgotten the rest of her afternoon classes. She may as well go back to see her face plastered on 'Missing' posters. If she hadn't known Allegra, she could probably lie and said she went out for lunch. Bridgette hadn't even been certain of whether she was hallucinating or not before she recklessly broke the window, which, now that she has thankfully learned of her recreation powers, is restored.

As she runs, she recounts the day's events with Tikki, who is nestled comfortably within the pocket of her denim shorts. In the other pocket sits her phone, which she has forgotten to check. 

"Tikki."

Tikki, who will now always be there by Bridgette's side, answers, "Yes?"

"I had a vision… I was in Paris, in an older time. There was—there was fire. There was running and screaming," her words come in short sentences as she breathes heavily. "There was a woman, too, dressed as Ladybug on the rooftops in place of me…"

"Visions of past ladybug miraculous holders can sometimes happen, Bridgette Cheng."

"You can call me Bridgette," she says, after a moment's pause, "or Bri."

"Bridgette."

"I wouldn't have known what to do without the vision. Is that what Paris will become if I don't save it?"

"Perhaps," is Tikki's measured response. 

"Tikki?" Bridgette calls her kwami again.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember Paris at that time, when it was in flames?"

"I do. I've witnessed many cities in similar states, some even worse," Tikki responds, solemnly. The kwami doesn't dwell sadly for long, as Tikki quickly pops its head out of the pocket, wearing a smile as her antennae bounces. "But Bridgette, you're not alone in this. I'm here to support you and guide you. The miraculous believes that you are the best-suited hero for this time and place."

Bridgette returns the smile, caressing Tikki on the head.

At last, Bridgette arrives at the main gates of Lycée Françoise Dupont, which are now closed. She stumbles to a halt, having lost control of her legs. Bending forward, her hands placed on her knees, she closes her eyes as she takes a  minute to catch her breath. 

Now—how would she get in again? 

The gates had been open that morning for the arrival of new students, as well to commence the first day back, but now Bridgette is faced with the barrier of security. Bridgette nervously glances around the front of the school. Beside the gates are two buttons, one grey and the other green. She hesitates, unsure which one to press, wondering if pressing them would even manage to call the reception. 

They might have all gone home. Moreover, if she gets connected with the reception, what would her excuse be?

To her slight surprise, and unbeknownst to her—luck, she spots a familiar figure at the other end of the street. It's the boy with the blond hair she vaguely recalls from her homeroom. He strides down the sidewalk with his vest casually slung over his arm, the top buttons of his shirt undone. 

Something about it makes Bridgette's stomach flutter with butterflies.

"Oh, you're back as well?" Bridgette tries to start casual conversation. 

"I'm just here to grab my bag," he replies curtly. She then watches him press the green button, activating a beeping pattern as the gates slowly creak open. 

Bridgette, seizing the opportunity, casually walks alongside him. Once within the grounds, she finally remembers to check her phone for the time. School might've finished already! With a quick glance, she discovered an avalanche of messages from Allegra—a combination of more than fifty concerned text messages and 'sent images', which Bridgette guesses are cat memes.

"What's your name again?"

"Felix Agreste."

"I'm Bridgette, but you can call me Bridge or Bri if you want."

Felix, with an air of indifference, barely acknowledges her presence. "Are you also collecting something?"

"Hm?" Bridgette's ahoge forms into a question mark.

"You could have left your belongings here and retrieved them tomorrow. I just needed to grab my phone in case my father needed to reach me."

"Wait, school was cancelled?" Bridgette's surprise is evident in her voice.

Felix shoots her an irritated glance as they reach the steps to the main doors. "Yes, due to the incident. You could have stayed in school until it was resolved or gone home. Not that it's any of my business but I simply asked if you needed to collect anything."

A million thoughts rush through Bridgette's mind.

"Uh… yes!" She raises her index finger at him.

She can't use her phone as an excuse as he had just seen her checking it. As Bridgette tries to come up with the answer as to what was so important that she needed it today, she doesn't pay attention to the ladybug that flies onto her hand. As the ladybug settles on her finger, Bridgette feels a small sharp pain on her skin, causing her to gasp and instinctively jerk away.

Felix blinks in surprise, trying to process what just happened. When his senses regains him, he quickly shoos away the ladybug.

"Are you… alright?"

Bridgette winces, shaking her right hand in an attempt to alleviate the pain. 

Felix grabs hold of it and places his thumb against it to suppress the pain. 

Bridgette's cheeks flush with a delicate shade of pink as she finds herself drawn in by Felix's gaze. Her lips subtly part, her eyes trace the contours of his cheekbones as she watches him concerned over her. His hair is so beautifully blond, and, although his eyes look to be a sad shade of grey, under the sun, it shines just as bright as real diamonds. She only wishes that time can slow down.

Just as she relaxes, no longer feeling the pain, Felix lets go, revealing a small red bump.

"Ladybugs shouldn't bite. This will probably go away by tomorrow."

And with that, Felix walks on.

"Hey, wait for me!"

♡

After separating with Felix, Bridgette takes Tikki to her home. 

Upon seeing that it's a bakery with many delightful, sweet treats, the sight overwhelmed Tikki with such a joy that the kwami could hardly be contained. Bridgette still feels bad for pushing Tikki's head down, nearly suffocating her. 

Her parents are obviously concerned for her, and the many frantic calls Allegra has given them. Her friend has remained in school anxiously waiting for Bridgette's response, who never picked up her phone. 

Bridgette's alibi is that she ran out of the school when the pigeons came during lunch, hid in the post office, and had forgotten her phone but couldn't leave to retrieve it until the end of school. Before her parents can question the validity of her explanation, Bridgette runs up the stairs as she exclaims that she had to catch up on the classes she missed.

After a while, Bridgette sneaks down when the bakery starts getting busy again, aware that her parents were too preoccupied to ask her how she is. She takes a selection of pastries, then retreats to the kitchen to prepare a platter of samples for Tikki.

Bridgette makes herself a cup of green tea and Tikki explains the origins of the Ladybug and Cat miraculous to her. 

Before she knew it, it was already late.

"That explains the basics," says Tikki, finishing off the final bite of the macaron. "So, to conclude: I am the embodiment of Fortune and Creation, and Cat Noir's kwami is the embodiment of Misfortune and Destruction. A hundred years ago, a similar attack on Paris has occurred and I was there in aid of protection, along with my holder in your stead. We grant you powers that can make you stronger. These battles between us and the enemies are long, but every time, as soon as it starts, it ends again. There is just too much to unpack. We never fully know their next move. And you mustn't tell anyone that you are Ladybug, and that Ladybug's true identity is Bridgette Cheng."

Bridgette listens intently to Tikki's explanation, her mind swirling with the new knowledge. 

Tikki, seeing her astonished face, continues, albeit with a hint of weariness. She hopes the new and naive girl does not catch onto her deliberate attempt at omitting important information. "But, if I were to tell you everything I know, then it would take at least a decade for a millennium of history. Besides, it's already ten. You should get to bed."

"A ladybug miraculous. A cat miraculous," says Bridgette. "And there is someone out there against us specifically?" Bridgette sits on her bed in her pyjamas, consisting of a cotton tank, black and white polka dot shorts and fluffy socks. She feels tension in her shoulders and drops onto her bed with a heavy thud.

Fluttering her eyes shut, she can still vividly remember the colour, size and shape of the flames. The way they moved, as if they were dancing to a melody of screams. 

A thought crosses her mind, and she wonders if there are any accounts or sources of real-life superheroes. Perhaps she should ask her homeroom teacher, who teaches History. Then again, with the power of 'Miraculous Ladybug', all evidence of fire would have been erased.

She can't help but feel overwhelmed by the realisation that she's now a part of something so extraordinary.

"Bridgette?"

"I'm sorry, Tikki. It's just so… weird." She lifts open her eyelids slowly, facing the painted purple ceiling. "Never in my life did I think superheroes would exist outside of comics and movies, such things as miraculouses…" Then, Bridgette sits up and gathers Tikki's tiny body in her two hands, rubbing her head, "And a cute little thing like you!"

Tikki rubs her head against Bridgette's warm skin.

"Good night, Tikki," she eventually says.

Tikki falls on the pillow, nestled in Bridgette's long untied hair. "Good night, Bridgette."

A buzz comes from her phone and Bridgette immediately sits up, flinging Tikki in the air from her hair. "I forgot to respond to Allegra!"

♡

The warm water cascades over Felix's skin. 

With deft hands, he massages shampoo into his long hair, the rich lather filling the air with a fresh, invigorating scent. Despite the tranquillity of the moment, a small frustration continues to nag at him—the persistent presence of the ring on his finger, an unwelcome reminder of the new responsibilities thrust upon him. 

Memories of him becoming Cat Noir replay in his head. The instant the ring slips onto his finger, it was like a light switch was turned on in his head. Instincts flooded in and he knew exactly what to do (in a world outside of his boundaries), albeit a little confused with this new situation and he acted less like Felix and somehow more of a feline. He knew exactly how to deal with opposing people which he had never known how to before. Even with his father, Nathalie, or his father's colleagues who had made remarks about him, Felix had endured these people, either ignoring it or accepting it. 

He knows Cat Noir is a stranger to himself; and he has no wish in becoming a stranger. Someone new, entirely different.

Felix exits the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist and another smaller towel around his neck for the water in his damp hair to soak in. His room is dark, with only a soft lamplight on, casting long shadows across the walls and floor. Plagg, perched on his desk, seems lost in the pages of a book, his tiny form swaying gently as he hums a tune.

How can he be so happy?

Felix approaches the kwami with a furrowed brow. "You didn't mention anything about a ladybug kwami before," he remarks.

Plagg glances up momentarily from his reading. "I thought she was still dormant," he explains simply, before returning his attention to the book.

"Just because the ladybug kwami was dormant doesn't mean you couldn't have told me about it!" Felix counters, a note of frustration creeping into his tone. 

Plagg pauses as he tries to think of an answer. "Well, we were pressed for time," he offers. "And there's so much more to this world that you don't know—about magic, history, people, and kwamis like me. I've lived for thousands of years, so it would take me about two centuries to tell you everything I know. That is, without any toilet or snack breaks."

Felix doubts the kwami. If anything, the reason why it would take him so long to explain is because he doesn't shut up.

"Really? "

"Believe me, I've done it before. It was a waste of time," he grumbles.

"Who on earth is able to live a century or so?"

"But it's not necessarily a bad thing that she's here," Plagg resumes, ignoring his question. "You two can work as a team to save Paris."

Felix's expression darkens at the suggestion. "I have no interest in helping anyone."

"Felix." A muffled voice can be heard from outside. Plagg pulls out the drawer from Felix's desk and hides within. With a silent nod exchanged between them, Felix closes the drawer, ensuring Plagg remains hidden from prying eyes.

Felix steps out of his bedroom, crossing the threshold into the modest living space. It's simply a small apartment-sized combined living room and kitchenette. Before Felix, this was a second sitting room, and Felix's bedroom had been a painting room with a small closet for storage. As Felix grew older, his father thought it would be a good idea for Felix to learn what it's like to live alone. After all, he couldn't live the easy life as a son of a multi-millionaire. 

Inevitably, he spends a lot of his time in his room apart from mealtimes and classes. It's just like how his father wanted. Out of his sight.

He stands at the door and asks, "Who is it?"

"Sylvia," comes the response from behind the door.

"Don't open the door," Felix commands.

"Oh, okay. I just heard you yelling. Is everything fine?"

"Yes, apologies for the noise. I was merely... uh... vocalising my thoughts. It helps with concentration," Felix explains.

"I see. Would you need anything else?"

"As a matter of fact, yes," Felix responds. "Could you please check the kitchen for any camembert? I suddenly find myself feeling a bit peckish."

"Camembert?" Sylvia echoes.

"Yes. Camembert."

"I'll see to it."

"Thank you."

Felix turns around and rests his back against the cold door. 

His mind swirls with a torrent of questions and uncertainties, each one a heavy weight pressing down on his shoulders. Felix wonders how many more days will he have to ask Sylvia for camembert, how many more days of being cursed—perhaps the rest of his life?—and how many more days of public school. He shudders at the thought of spending the rest of his days trapped in this cycle of longing and despair.

Tomorrow, he would have normally seen Monsieur Laurent for English and Literature, then he would have had piano lessons with Madame Aubert. After that, he would usually eat lunch alone. Instead, tomorrow he will have similar classes. He would wake up just as early but instead of doing so for the sake of starting classes early, it would be to walk through the streets of Paris for about a solid half an hour. He isn't opposed to it. Felix thinks he quite enjoys the scenery. 

But, for lunch, he would either have to find somewhere to eat alone peacefully or tolerate the boy. What's his name again? Oh, yes, he slowly remembers it. Claude. Damn the library for prohibiting food.

Lost in his thoughts, Felix stands there in the dimly lit room, the cold wooden floor chilling his bare feet. Water droplets from the mess of his hair fall rhythmically, each sound it makes reminds him of the solitude that he greatly appreciates alone—

"Hey, Felix!" Plagg flies in. "I've bumped my head against the drawer ten times and you didn't come for me!" The kwami angrily folds his arm. 

"Sorry, I didn't hear you."

"Lies! You're doing this purposely to make me suffer because you think I've made you suffer, aren't you?!"

This cat is so loud. So obnoxious.

"Go to bed."

"Is that you telling me to shut up? Don't you know how old I am? Isn't everyone saying to respect your elders, and here, what are you doing?"

"Quiet, you fool! Sylvia will come back when she hears you shouting!"

What an unfortunate encounter it is, to meet Plagg destined by fate.

♡

Within the streets of Paris stands an abandoned building, with various deteriorating signs of its old residing businesses. Its windows, once elegant and ornate, now stand mostly cracked with two void of glass. 

On the second floor of this forsaken structure stands Gabriel Agreste. No night is as dark as this, and from now on these nights will only get darker.

Monsieur Pigeon, with the assistants of his pigeons, flies through one of the empty windows. The birds slow his descent, forming a living staircase as he steps down lightly.

He lands before Gabriel and immediately lowers his head. "I'm sorry, I have failed you and myself. I was too weak to keep going. I was on my way to destroying Paris for you, but I did not ever think that I would be opposed in such a way."

"You need not worry, Monsieur Pigeon," replies Gabriel in a low, measured tone. "Failure is but the beginning. I have many plans still in motion. "For now, I still have use for you. Your powers remain intact. I therefore grant you the right to continue serving me."

Monsieur Pigeon gasps in surprise. "Thank you! Oh, thank you, sir!" He bows deeply.

He then looks up at Gabriel, their eyes meeting. 

"What do you require me for?"

Gabriel gives a small smile. "The two so-called heroes you have met today."

"Ladybug and Cat Noir! Those animal abusers!"

"I need their miraculouses."

Monsieur Pigeon hesitates, confused. "What... is a miraculous?" 

"Their jewellery. Ladybug's earrings and Cat Noir's ring," Gabriel answers, a curve growing into his lips as he mentions these jewellery. "Take them. By any means necessary. Defeat them, separate them, do whatever it takes. Bring me their Miraculouses—and I will reward you far beyond your current form."

"Understood, sir."

As their secret meeting concludes, Monsieur Pigeon straightens himself and turns around to leave. 

Gabriel watches him fly away with his new companions.

He is just one piece, he thinks. One small step.

His fingers curl slowly, power crackling faintly at his fingertips. He can feel it shifting within him—this strange energy he's only beginning to harness. However, its true potential still eludes him.

For now, his underlings reflect the strength of his will.

And as his own power grows… so too will theirs.

Soon, Paris will tremble.

Chapter Text

Featuring:
a shattered mirror, a broken man,
in the darkest nights, but the brightest lights—
—unspoken sorries, my actions bleeds

♡

Bridgette Cheng pats her face dry with a soft pink cloth. Just before she puts it back on the towel rail, she inhales the warm air the cloth offers. Her parents like to keep the window of the bathroom open for proper ventilation, so it is always cool.

Still in her pajamas, Bridgette eyes her reflection critically after completing her morning skincare routine, which she may or may not have abandoned for the past few weeks. With the return of school, as well as starting high school, she figures it was necessary to maintain good habits again. The last thing she needs is her middle school acne staging a surprise comeback.

"Bridgette, are you in the bathroom?" Sabine calls from outside.

Startled, Bridgette nearly jumps at the sound. Her eyes snap to the small, endearing red creature that is perched casually on her shoulder. Tikki blinks up at her with those big, round black eyes.

She hasn’t exactly familiarised herself with the idea that doing her daily routine, with a new addition to the household, would cause shock to her parents’ faces if they entered without asking or permission.

"Quick, Tikki, hide!" she whispers with urgency.

Tikki does so promptly, opting to hide in the bathtub. Bridgette pulls the grey shower curtains, printed with Chinese mountains and mist clouds, for extra protection.

Her mama's voice grows more insistent now. "Bri, I need the bathroom before I go downstairs to help your papa!"

"Yeah, coming out now!"

Trying to appear as normal as possible, she slips out of the bathroom and mumbles a quick "sorry", before hurrying up the stairs to her room. 

Throwing her pyjamas on the bed, she rummages through the pile of clothes on her chair, pulling out the white button-up shirt and a pair of denim shorts. She pauses, debating whether to grab her jacket. She has worn it twice already in the first week, the second time matched with a denim skirt instead of shorts. Would that be too much?

A sudden knock on the window jolts her from her thoughts. She spins around, eyes wide, and sees Tikki hovering outside. Confused at first, she is quickly relieved when she remembers that she had left her kwami. She rushes over and unlatches the window.

"Your mama closed the door after she was done, so I went out through the window," Tikki explains.

"Oh, sorry, Tikki." She glances over her shoulder to ensure the coast is clear, and that no one who is out might catch a glimpse of red in the air, before gently closing the window behind Tikki.

Bridgette begins to brush her hair, with one arm carrying the tail of heavy, slick-straight black hair and the other brushing through strands. She sets her brush down then splits her hair in halves. Tikki brings her two hair ties from her vanity and Bridgette mutters a "thanks", tying the first pigtail.

After tying her hair, she checks the time and notes that there is still five minutes before she needs to go down and help papa. No other child or teenager in Paris wakes up at six like Bridgette does. Then again, within her lies a quiet satisfaction knowing that she is awake whilst everyone else is asleep. Not that Bridgette necessarily enjoys waking up early.

Out of the corner of her eye, she spots a white mask sitting on the floor beside her desk. She had been going through her room, clearing out things she no longer needed for a fresh start before school began. The mask, alongside a few other belongings, comes from her middle school Drama class. Bridgette thought it'd be best to keep it in case she needed it for a future design project. She's yet to sort it out though, hence it lies on the floor.

Absent-mindedly, she reaches for the mask, feeling the cool, smooth surface under her fingers. She turns towards her vanity mirror and places the mask in front of her eyes.

"Maybe I should cut my hair," Bridgette thinks out loud.

Bridgette watches Tikki flies into view. "How come?"

"Are you sure people won't recognise that I'm Ladybug?" Bridgette asks, frowning, recounting yesterday's explanation, in which Tikki briefly mentioned that it's absolutely impossible for one to link anyone to a superhero and find any similarities. Still, the thought was still on her mind when she went to sleep. "I mean, Ladybug still has my black hair, my pigtails and my eyes."

"I am certain. It is not just the clothes that make you unrecognisable but the mask itself. There is magic in it that separates you from your ordinary self, and it separates others' perception of you and Ladybug. To them, you exist solely as one and not the other."

"I guess so," Bridgette concedes, setting the mask down and stretches her arms above her head. "I mean, surely if Cat Noir looks the same then I should be able to recognise him."

"The chances of you seeing him is low. Paris is the largest city in Europe."

"Yeah, back in the 1500s. Then again, it's still a big city so I guess you're right," Bridgette turns to Tikki and gently rubs her head. "You think I should meet up with him? Just to get to know him, just so I know I can trust him."

Tikki ponders shortly. "The decision is yours, Bridgette. It wasn't uncommon for previous ladybug and cat miraculous holders to enjoy time together outside of work."

Bridgette opts for a red knitted jumper from her drawers. She places it in her bag to wear it later, knowing that the bakery is quite warm to work in.

"Hmm… maybe not."

♡

The Cursed Boy awakes feeling groggy. 

He hasn't necessarily done much as Cat Noir yesterday, nor did he do much at school for it was cancelled, but something about the new change lingers heavily in his bones. Is disorientated the right word? For thirteen years, Felix has had the same tutors, almost the same routine every day and week, and has grown accustomed to his father's dead eyes and the dim-lit rooms of their grand, yet lifeless, mansion. 

None of his tutors have ever asked about his weekend because they occupied his weekends too.

Before, the day Friday, and the summer, meant nothing to him. After all, he still busied himself during the weekends. But now, attending public school has introduced him to the concept of 'the weekend'—the best part of the week, where his classmates shed the burdens of homework and hang out. Outside of the house. The malls, cinemas, cafes, wherever it be.

Yesterday was only Thursday, yet Claude and his teachers still asked him what he plans for the weekend. For Claude, it was mere curiosity. For his teachers, it was curiosity in the sense that he and the rest of them live in two separate worlds, so they wanted to know what someone of his status does in his spare time. 

Felix, knowing his hair is already a mess, makes his way to the bathroom.

His reflection in the mirror shows a boy with tousled hair and bleary eyes, a far cry from the composed image he usually presents. He can be as perfect as his father wishes him to be, but he will never fit in within public school with a face like his. It isn't just his attire or the way he styles his hair. Not even the books that he reads.

He recalls his walk to school on the first day, when he had attempted a smile in front of a boutique window, only to be caught in the act by the staff. For him, the effort had been monumental, but by the next day, the memory of that attempt had faded. How can something as simple as a smile be so foreign? He immediately reverted to his usual self, cold and distant, disregarding everyone around him. It was too awkward for him, too unnatural. Still, it has only been a week since he decided to make an effort. Surely, a change in his attitude wouldn't surprise anybody, wouldn't it?

He bites his lower lip, then twitches the sides of his mouth, slowly until it forms an upside down crescent. The muscles in his face resisting the unfamiliar movement.

Suddenly, the mirror shatters with a piercing sound. Felix's eyes remains unblinking as he watches, frozen in time. Outward comes a cascade of glittering shards, tinkling loudly as they hit the tiled floor. For a moment, it sounds almost beautiful. A shard scrapes his cheek, leaving a thin, red line in its wake.

"BWAHAHA! YOU'RE SO UGLY THE MIRROR BROKE!" comes Plagg laughing. 

Felix watches the kwami's reflection in the mirror, rubbing his stomach from the pains of laughter in contrast to his own distressed wrinkles beginning to form. The creature's irritating voice filling the bathroom with echoes—echoes that he will deal with for the rest of his life.

With a furrow of his brows, he grabs Plagg from the air with both of his hands, nearly choking him before he lets the poor kwami go. Felix demands, "What did you do?!"

"N-nothing!" Plagg coughs out. "Sometimes this kind of bad luck just happens with the curse!"

"How am I supposed to explain this to Nathalie and father?!"

"Chill, kid. You're rich! Get another one installed."

Felix ignores Plagg's words, placing his left hand against the edge of his vanity, avoiding the shards. His right hand rubs his temples as he tries to think this through. "First my phone, now my mirror? What's next? The windows? The whole house?!"

His eyes drift downwards at the shards. With an inevitable sigh, Felix curls his fingers around the cool metal handle of the vanity left door where the brush and dustpan sits. Carefully, he sweeps up the pieces and dumps them in the trash.

♡

Fred Haprèle remains transfixed in the mirror. 

He should be making his breakfast by now and heading out the door for work. But instead, he stays there, rooted in place with a toothbrush hanging limp in one hand, foam slowly dissipating in the sink below. With just about twenty minutes of freedom, he wants to make the most of it, to lose himself in contemplation.

The man staring back at him isn't who he once imagined he'd be. 

His own lanky figure stares back at him pathetically. Slouched, his shoulders slump with a heavy weight he can't seem to carry with pride. His eyes are sunken. 

He runs a hand down the front of his faded polo shirt, as if smoothing the wrinkled fabric might smooth out the wrinkles on his face too. The shirt was once navy blue. Now it is somewhere between storm clouds and dishwater, speckled with unidentifiable stains and blotches that never came out in the wash. The collar curls in on itself. The hem is frayed, a small hole near the side seam widens with every wear.

More holes will appear. The same way it did to his heart. But, he knows better to not buy new or wear clean shirts for such a crappy job. One that does not even provide uniforms. 

Each day blurs into the next. Wake, wash, work. Promise progress, deliver routine. He's told her—promised her—that things will get better. But he's no closer to that future now than he was a year ago.

"Papa! I'm away to school!" Madelaine's happy voice calls from the kitchen of their incredibly modest two bedroom apartment.

Fred hastily fixes the collar of his polo shirt before stepping out of the cramped bathroom.

At the door stands Madelaine, already laced into her scuffed white sneakers, her school bag hung presentably across her shoulders. A smile lighting her face. Her jacket is slightly too big for her, and her braid is a little crooked, but her smile makes her glow.

She is everything he isn't. 

"I also made your toast, jam is on the table. Since you were taking so long."

"Oh, thanks, ma chérie." He walks over to his daughter, leaving his toast cold on the table, and gives her a kiss on the forehead. "Have a good day. I'll probably be working late so just worry about your own dinner, okay?"

She nods, but her smile flickers. "Okay."

Fred sees it, even if she tries to hide it. 

"Love you, Madelaine."

"Love you too, Papa."

The door closes softly behind her, barely a click. He stands still, staring at the empty space she just filled, before dragging himself to the kitchen. He takes out an old butter knife and grabs some strawberry jam and spreads it over his cold toast.

He eats standing up, chewing slowly. The jam tastes like nothing. He washes the plate, dries it, and places it back in the cupboard. His movements are mechanical—what a mundane life it is.

Fridays begin with the Banque de France. No one greets him, but he's used to that. In the afternoon, he moves on to four smaller businesses across two floors of a commercial building. He's not fond of it, for his true dream was theatre. Cleaning is boring and hard, but it was the only job that responded to him two years ago. He finds himself staying there, as it is the only job he is practically qualified for, and is able to keep him and his daughter alive. 

At a time when his wife was still in the picture, she kept the three of them going as an accountant. Meanwhile, he was able to pursue his passion as a mime. Though he was only training, having just realised his dream in his late twenties. Late nights spent perfecting his craft, collecting and modifying his costumes from old charity shops with an old sewing machine. His daughter helps often as well, as she is artistic and more creative than he will ever be.

Then, one day, out of the blue, his wife vanishes without warning. She leaves the money for the next month's rent and a shattered dream. Fred was left to pick up the pieces. 

All the promises made by her were false.

Despite the numbing routine of work, Fridays he remains hopeful for as it's the weekend. After work, he would come home, put on his costumes and go out on the streets of Paris and step into the world of make-believe. It would be better if he had his own make-up studio and some assistance, for it is tedious to apply the make-up on himself. But that is only something he can dream of.

Fred makes sure to never let any of his neighbours see him in this attire, not that any of them ever paid attention to him. Especially because Madelaine is always embarrassed of her father, even if she tries to not let him know. Her face says it all. He doesn't mind himself either, that his two identities are separate, though he would prefer if he was Fred Haprèle, a talented and famous mime.

He doesn't make much money from it, but the people and the children and the tourists who enjoy his show are all worth the time.

He hates pretending that he is okay for his daughter, but it is all for Madelaine's sake.

♡

"I got you your croissant!" Bridgette raises the brown paper bag high, her ahoge waves at Allegra. "I bought macarons as well so we can share with others."

"For your homeroom?" asks Allegra. She reaches for the bag, her fingers brushing Bridgette's. "Thanks, Bri. You're a lifesaver with these treats."

"Homeroom, and lunchtime as well. If you want to share it with anyone."

"Nah." Allegra wipes a crumb from her cheek, then licks it off of the back of her hand. She only ever does this in front of Bridgette. "You still on for today?"

"Afterschool? Yes. Shopping and getting a snack?"

"Hell, yeah!" Allegra says around a bite. "I'm so glad we waited for Friday. But it sucks that we couldn't hang out after Monday,, especially after the pigeon incident." 

Bridgette nods, almost shivering. "Yeah, the city smelled awful."

Allegra lets out a laugh. "I mean, who does that? A guy in a full-on pigeon costume trying to take over Paris with actual pigeons? Dude had a whole army. And then two randos show up in ladybug and cat outfits? Fighting him in broad daylight? It's been trending all week."

Bridgette snorts, then catches herself and glances around. 

Tikki, hiding in Bridgette's pocket, shifts a bit. Bridgette lightly presses against the denim, hinting at Tikki to stay low.

"Do you think it'll go on for a long time?"

"I hope not," Bridgette replies softly.

"I hope the police catches all three of them."

Bridgette's ahoge stands up in surprise. "Huh? Why?"

"I'm kinda curious to see who the ladybug and cat are also," Allegra admits, taking another bite. "Trust me, it was so hard not to spend all fifty euros in one go just cause I saw a cute shirt."

Her friend makes a fair point. 

"It's your money."

"Shirt was fifty euros," Allegra says between mouthfuls. "I had to physically pull myself away. By the way, nice earrings."

Bridgette lifts a hand to touch one, almost forgetting they were there.

"Uhh… thanks!" Bridgette beams. "I made them myself."

"Just black ones?" asks Allegra, her gaze curious. She doesn't expect a lot of detail but she has seen Bridgette's sketchbook before. Bridgette nods. "When?"

She tries to think of an answer. "Uhh… Monday afterschool?"

"That's fair," Allegra says. She finishes the croissant, crumples the bag, and lands a perfect shot into the nearest trash bin without slowing her stride. "You always ignore your phone when you're focused."

"So do you," says Bridgette in a lighthearted tone. 

Allegra smiles.

♡

The lunch line snakes slowly forward. Bridgette and Allegra stands ahead of Claude, who decides to initiate a conversation.

"Are you made of copper and tellurium?"

Allegra raises an eyebrow, turning toward him with a look that is equally bored and amused. "What?"

"Because you're Cu-Te," Claude finishes the nerdy pick-up line, officially establishing his crush towards her. It makes sense; Allegra has always been popular, effortlessly commanding attention no matter what she does.

There's a half-second of silence, then Allegra lets out a short, sharp laugh. "Wow," she says. "You're such a loser."

However, hearing the word loser nearly forces Bridgette's brains to pop out when she notices Claude's slightly saddened look. 

She interjects, "Oh, she's not actually calling you a loser cause you like Chemistry. Allegra uses the term endearingly; for her, it is the same as calling someone 'sweetheart' or 'darling'!"

Allegra frowns.

"That's not true, I meant what I meant."

Claude slumps his shoulders in frustration. He tries his best to ignore Allegra as she slowly starts a small commotion in the line, feeling everyone's eyes on them. 

On him. 

His eyes scan the large cafeteria, some of his old classmates in middle school will not stop staring at him. He responds with a cold glance, the bright glint in his eyes disappearing, only for it to reappear when he spots a mop of blond walking through the large, opened wooden doors. 

He puts on his perfected smile and waves at Felix, then makes a 'come over' gesture with his fingers. Felix looks at him blankly but subtly shakes his head and takes his place at the far back of the line. 

"Damn, what's his problem?" Allegra mutters, turning her head around, her tail of fair blond brushes against Claude's glasses and cheek. 

Claude shrugs. "See you later, girls." 

With that, he steps out of the line and makes his way to the back, where Felix stands.

Bridgette watches the two with intrigue, her eyes following Claude's movements. From the walk to the wave and the smile that follows. Allegra taps her on the shoulder, bringing her back to the present. She gestures forward, indicating Bridgette's turn to order.

♡

Later, during French Lit class, Bridgette, seated to Felix's right, notices a thin red line on his cheekbones. She hasn't realised until now. 

The first time she sees him today was during homeroom, in which he buries his head in a worn book titled 'The Strange Case of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hide'. Looking at the other words on the book cover, she realises that he is reading the book entirely in English. The rest of the time in which the two would be together in a room, he chose to remain as far away from her as possible, including when he chose the end of the line over cutting.

"What happened to your cheek?" She quietly asks when discussions amongst her classmates arise halfway.

Felix tries to not pay attention to the miracle girl. "A scratch," he simply answers and continues writing his analysis.

"How did you scratch—"

"Would anyone like to volunteer to take these copies to Madame Robert in 2C5?" The teacher, Monsieur Legrand, cuts through the air with his voice. 

Felix stands up immediately. "I will."

"Would anyone else like to volunteer to help Felix Agreste?" Monsieur Legrand glances around the room, patting the copies of books split into two stacks.

Just as Bridgette is about to raise her hand, Claude from two rows behind stands just as fast, pushing his chair backwards so hard it scrapes the floor. Bridgette winces, using her hands to cover her ears.

"I'll go!" Claude blurts.

"Very well," says Monsieur Legrand, seemingly unperturbed. He hands one stack to Felix and the other to Claude. "See you two shortly."

Felix doesn't even glance at Claude as they step out. He walks with a steady pace.

Claude jogs a step to catch up, immediately initiating a conversation. "So… as a homeschooler, how's your first week of proper school?"

"So-so."

"What's the difference that stands out the most to you?" Claude shifts his hands to better support the books.

"People," answers Felix. 

"Okay, not much of a talker, huh? Well, want to play a game where I ask you questions, and you answer in one word?" He suggests, still looking at Felix, who was facing straight ahead, ignoring him. "Since you're already doing that, let's play. Believe it or not, one word can reveal a lot about a person."

Felix sighs. "Whatever."

"What do you think of public school?"

"Pigsty."

"Uh, okay." A nervous smile creeps up on Claude's face. "What do you think of homeschool?"

Felix thinks for a while. Claude is certain it cannot be any better than public school. 

"Routine."

"What do you think of routine?"

"Home."

"Your opinion on Claude Savard?"

"Weight."

"Hey, I'm not—oh wait. You think I'm a burden on you?" He asks with a feigned pout.

Felix sighs, again.

"Describe Paris in one word."

"City."

The light shining into the hall is particularly dull today.

"Describe the feeling or vibe of Paris."

He pauses this time, his eyes flicking upward like he's reading something written on the ceiling. "...Confliction."

But before Claude can comment on that, Felix stops and knocks on the door to classroom 2BE. Claude nearly walks on before he realises.

The teacher opens the door and lets them in to set the textbooks down on her desk. They leave quickly.

"In one word, describe why you feel this way about Paris."

In an instant, "Identity."

"Okay, my analysis tells me that ur a pessimist!" Claude confidently concludes. "No problem, where optimists exist, pessimists do as well. Now ask me the same questions, or different ones, whichever ones you want."

Which part of him being a weight did the boy not understand? Felix sighs once more, but internally, for he doesn't exactly want to be rude. Strangely, he finds himself going along with it. "Public school?"

"Experience!" he answers happily.

"Paris?"

Claude answers in a dramatic tone, "Love!"

"Life?"

"Valuable."

This is a hard game, Felix thinks, as he tries to come up with questions. It is especially hard considering how he isn't exactly interested in getting to know Claude Savard the same way Claude is with himself.

He throws out, "Black cats?"

"Cute—wait no, misfortune! No, actually, cute!"

Felix enters the opened classroom, walks back to his desk, ignores Bridgette's sweet "hello" and gets back to work.

♡

The two decide on trying out a small and quaint coffee shop, situated on the corner of a street. Inside, Bridgette and Allegra stand in the line waiting to order.

It is rather busy today. Around them is the chatter of older adults interspersed with the chirrups of their children playing with one another. Bridgette recognises Waltz in A Minor by Chopin is being played in the background. She looks around and sees the mismatched armchairs, polished wood counters that are chipped at the edge, and the soft lighting emitted from the warm light shades.

Allegra's arm bore a white paper bag, containing shirts combined that deems more to her satisfaction than the one single shirt she liked previously. Bridgette holds onto a much smaller black bag, inside with just a small perfume which is all that she is satisfied with.

Allegra orders herself a black coffee and a chocolate éclair. Turning her head around, she asks, "What would you like, Bri?"

"Uh… the same!" The girl responds, unable to decide.

Bridgette takes Allegra's bag and chooses a small table with two seats, as Allegra waits for the coffee and éclairs. Here the sunlight doesn't quite reach them through the window. But it is very busy, Bridgette thinks, and so this will do . 

When the barista places her order on the tray, she chirps a 'thanks' and takes it to Bridgette. Allegra sits down opposite Bridgette, who attempts the black coffee before sticking her tongue out, grimacing at the taste.

A soft sigh escapes the blond's lips. "I don't know why you ordered it when you hate black coffee."

Bridgette pouts, her ahoge faltering. "I was just trying to be cool like you."

Allegra gets up and walks over to the condiment stand at the side. She returns with a spoon, two small plastic cups of milk, and two packets of sugar. Carefully, she pours the milk and sugar into Bridgette's cup, then stirs it with the spoon. 

“It sucks so much that we're not in the same homeroom this year. I wonder if it'll be like this for the rest of high school or will they change it every year?” Her ponytail swings to the other side as she tilts her head. "Made any new friends?"

Bridgette's ahoge mirrors Allegra's ponytail. She kicks her legs lightly beneath the table as images of her classmates flash in her head. "Well, not best friends but Felix is quite nice."

"The Agreste kid? He's your friend?" Allegra raises a brow, her fingers taps the ceramic mug as she gives Bridgette an expression that says she is unconvinced.

"No, not really, even…" She glances around, her eyelashes flutter when she returns her focus to Allegra. "On the first day, actually, we both happened to come running back to school to get our stuff. I didn't realise school was cancelled. He knew but he forgot his phone. And you won't believe this, Allegra," Bridgette pauses her breath, still remembering vividly the unfortunate encounter with the ladybug. "But a ladybug flew onto my hand and bit me! It hurt only a little but I freaked out, and Felix just… I guess he saw my scared face and grabbed my hand. Anyways, he looked concerned is what I'm saying."

Allegra fails to hide a smirk. "Sounds like someone has a crush."

"No, I don't!" She protests. Still, a light pink flushes her cheeks. "I haven't liked anyone since Andrien in fifth grade!"

"Chill, I was just teasing you." Allegra relaxes, leaning back against the cool, green-painted metal chair. She crosses her legs and folds her arms, which Bridgette knows is a sign that Allegra is in her comfort zone. "He's a bit off, isn't he?"

Bridgette shrugs, swirling her now-milky coffee with a gentle motion. Her red sleeves pulled back. The coffee shop is rather busy, yet it remains chilly somehow. "Well, he's friends with Claude."

"I don't think they're friends."

"No, but I think Claude is trying to be Felix's friend—"

Allegra bluntly interrupts, "I think Claude doesn't have any friends himself, so he's trying to befriend Felix."

A lull falls between them as they each take a moment to reflect on Claude and Felix's peculiar dynamic. The background noise of the coffee shop fills the silence.

"Claude's just nice," she tries to defend him. 

Even if she doesn't necessarily care for Claude, she finds herself slowly starting to care for Felix since Monday. If Felix could open up to Claude, then surely he would open up to her. It would even be great if the four is established a small friend group.

"There's something off about Claude," Allegra counters, her brows furrowing. "How can a guy be so nice, into gaming and be good at Maths, want to be friends with Felix? I mean the Maths part makes sense but Felix is still uninterested. You can just tell he doesn't care. Claude can be friends with anyone, but somehow he is only talking to Felix. And nobody in Class seems to talk to Claude as well, even though some of them went to the same middle school as him…" She pauses, her eyes narrowing in thought. "Take Madelaine, for example. She's nice and even she doesn't talk to him even though she knows him. I feel like something happened and he's trying to restart his life."

Bridgette nearly finishes her chocolate éclair. She feigns the last bite, covers it with her hand and drops it to her thighs, where Tikki's head pops out and takes it off. "I guess, yeah, that is strange… Claude is really nice though."

Allegra shrugs, still unconvinced. "Well, besides him, anyone else?"

"No, you?"

"There's girls in my homeroom who talks to me."

"The ones you followed on Instagram?"

"Yeah," answers Allegra. "They're nice, but… if I was being honest, they're kinda fake."

Bridgette shrugs. "Give it some time," she lightly suggests.

Bridgette recalls the late-night rants Allegra has had over phone calls until midnight. 

Allegra has always struggled to make friends who genuinely understood her. It seemed everyone just used her because she was pretty, blonde, and happened to do ballroom dancing. Everyone loved her Instagram posts showcasing her elaborate costumes, but Allegra struggled a lot mentally throughout it all. It wasn't just about body image; she struggled to see herself for who she really was—her own words—and was always a different person depending on who she talked to. Even her parents. Even Bridgette. 

What soon followed next was Allegra breaking down, the façade crumbling as she confessed her struggles. It explained why Bridgette and a few other girls thought Allegra was friendly and kind, whilst others thought she was snobby or rude.

That moment marked a turning point in their friendship. 

Bridgette stayed with Allegra through her struggle, whilst everyone else left.

"I don't mind Claude," she finally admits. "I guess he is being true to himself but he tries too hard. And, I guess I also don't mind Felix. He doesn't take anyone else's bullshit just because his dad is famous, so good for him. He is pretty, so I can see why you like him."

Bridgette's ahoge tenses up. "What? I don't have a crush on him!"

"Your face tells me you do."

♡

Felix, in the midst of his contemplations, decides not to go home early, choosing to spend his late afternoon in the library researching for the possibility of a mirror breaking by itself. 

The incident from this morning has been gnawing at him. He had hoped, with some measure of naive optimism, that nobody would care for his scratch. Nathalie for certain did not care, but that was because her concern lies in the mirror itself. Felix is not exactly sure why, it did not belong to her heritage. Unfortunately, the miracle girl annoyingly had to ask.

He finds comfort in the musty scent of old paper and the faint smell of polish from the wooden shelves. It is the only part of public school that is reminiscent of home. Felix walks through the aisles, his fingers lightly brushing against the spines of countless volumes. Eventually, he finds the section on physics, then in another section a book on how to fix broken objects, hoping to find some logical explanation for his excuse. 

An hour slips by as he pours over various books, but nothing provides the answers he sought. During this whole time, Plagg is napping on a windowsill. Frustration slowly begins to bubble up, but he isn't ready to give up just yet. Determined, Felix slips his phone out of his pocket and glances around, making sure the coast was clear.

Felix grabs Plagg, who is awakened from his nap, his fingers grip around the kwami's mouth to muffle his screams. He carefully navigates to a secluded spot between two towering bookshelves. There, a single round table and a chair is situated, hidden from the librarian's view.

He settles into the chair, the old wood creaking slightly under his weight, and turns on his cracked phone.

"Okay, so mirrors that are framed too tight can put it under pressure, therefore leading it to crack…" Felix mutters to himself.

His head turns to the window, his thoughts wondering if it would crack anytime soon, whether a misfortune demands his presence in the moment for it to happen or whether it only occurs when he least expects it.

"What are you daydreaming about, kid?"

Felix turns to the kwami, although not exactly paying him any attention, and answers his own question, "I guess not."

"You guess not to what?" Plagg's voice persists.

Felix ignores him.

"Felix!" Plagg flies close up to his face.

He grabs Plagg by its body and hushes at it. 

"There's, like, no one here."

"The librarian," Felix says sternly.

Plagg smirks, his big green eyes, the size of Felix's thumb, glinting mischievously. "She's got her earphones in. She's been at her computer writing fanfictions since lunchtime, she can't hear us."

Sometimes, he truly ponders on the nonsense the cat likes to speak. He lets the kwami go. 

"Let's go home."

♡

As Felix turns around a corner in the streets, he encounters a mime performing on the sidewalk. The mime's face is painted white, with his eyebrows and the line shaping his eyes drawn in black.

The mime, spotting Felix, immediately tries to engage him in a performance. He pretends to be trapped in an invisible box, his hands pressing against the unseen walls with exaggerated effort. He looks at Felix, his eyes begging for help.

Felix stands still, unblinking. He observes the mime for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching due to disdain. "See, Plagg? This is what I meant by foolishness," he says, his voice low and dismissive. "And Cat Noir is just on the same level as this."

Plagg, who has his head resting through an opening in Felix's bag, where the cover is open, snickers. "Oh, come on, Felix. Lighten up a bit."

The mime looks at Felix with a smile. 

Felix shakes his head slightly. "Let's go. It's nearly dinner time."

♡

"You're home," says Nathalie. "I've been looking for you."

Felix closes the door behind him, the soft click echoing in the quiet foyer. 

On the ground floor of the Agreste mansion are surrounded by predominantly white walls adorned in sleek black accents. The floor is made of white marble, and in the centre is a round black motif, which under closer inspection is reminiscent of a graceful peacock. Large cylindrical lighting fixtures hang from the high ceiling of the second floor. Ahead is a grand white staircase.

Nathalie, standing on the stairs, descends slowly to approach him. Like always, her footsteps are measured and deliberate.

"Hello, Nathalie," Felix greets her, his tone polite but reserved. "I stayed behind in the school library to study."

Nathalie's eyes narrow slightly, suspicion slowly etches into her eyebrows. "That explains why you didn't respond when I knocked on your door. Still, I had thought you would have told me if you weren't coming home immediately," she says, her voice firm yet gentle. "Were you… perhaps hiding?"

Felix straightens, meeting her gaze evenly. "Not necessarily. Why do you ask?"

Nathalie decides to directly confront him. "Is there anything you wish to tell me?"

"Yes," says Felix. "If Sylvia has not told you yet, I need a new mirror installed. I had asked her this morning to inform you."

Silence stretches between them.

"Did you break the mirror, Felix?"

Her eyes searches his face for any hint of deception.

"If you're suspecting that I broke it, then no. I did not," he asserts firmly, clutching the strap of his bag. "It's been there since forever. It's a good mirror." He then bites his lip. "Unfortunately, good things do not always last long."

Nathalie's expression remains impassive, but he can see the flicker of concern in her eyes. "Your father is the one who suspects you," she reveals. "He thinks you broke it out of frustration, since you were forced into public school."

Felix's jaw tightens slightly at the accusation, but he maintains his composure. "He would be incorrect," he says.

"Then how did it break?"

"Well, since it's been there forever, it's old. Perhaps fragile. I'm sure it's not unheard of fragile mirrors simply breaking. Actually, if a mirror is framed to the wall, the frame may be too tight putting it under pressure. They can even crack due to temperature changes, and since that mirror has been in this house for longer than I've been alive, it's gone through enough changes in temperature. If anything, I would say that we were fortunate enough that it has lasted this long."

"Don't argue with me, Felix," she warns. 

"I'm not," Felix replies calmly. "I'm just answering your question."

Nathalie sighs, her frustration evident as she removes her glasses and rubs her temple. "When did it break?" she asks, putting her glasses back on.

"This morning," Felix replies, then hesitates before continuing, changing his story slightly. "Well, it was broken when I woke up."

"So it broke during the night, then?"

Felix shrugs. "I suppose so."

"You didn't hear it?"

"I'm a heavy sleeper," Felix offers simply.

"Just like your father." Nathalie's sigh is heavy. "I will get it reinstalled but they would need to come in to double-check the measurements themselves. It might be a week before you get a new one. In the meantime, I will fetch you an old standing mirror. Your father had it somewhere."

"Thank you, Nathalie."

He steps away from Nathalie, who then proceeds to make her way down the hall. Her brisk footsteps echo faintly in the background, the rhythmic click-clack of her heels punctuating the silence. Briefly, he wonders if she is going for a smoke again.

Felix himself ascends the stairs. At the top of the stairs, he turns left. His footsteps are soft against the polished wooden floor of the hallway until he reaches the very end where his room resides.

♡

Felix throws his bag on the floor beside the sofa. Plagg promptly flies out and scolds him for being so rough with such an important kwami. He ignores the cat, sitting down, his arm on the right armrest, and his fingers rubbing his temples just like Nathalie from earlier.

"I want out of this curse," he eventually says.

"It's only been a week and you already don't want to be a superhero anymore?"

"I don't really care about saving the world," Felix answers without a second thought, ignoring the gaze of the floating creature in front of his eyes. "Being a superhero doesn't appease me."

"Ladybug clearly tried her best last time. So did you. If you don't help her, who else will?" Plagg's antenna bounces back and forth. "Fate chose you for a reason, Felix."

"Yes, but why is it that I am cursed and Ladybug isn't?" Felix's eyes finally confronts the cat's bright green ones. "Is it simply because cats resemble bad luck? If so, then it sounds too easy to figure it out. There must be some other reason…"

Plagg's ears twitch, a barely perceptible movement, but Felix catches it. "You are hiding something from me."

"What do you know about me?"

A smile nearly creeps up on his lips. "Your ears are twitching. They twitch when you're nervous."

Plagg's eyes widen in surprise, and he quickly folds his arms, turning his head away. "No, I don't," he mumbles, his voice defensive.

"They twitch anytime I tell you to piss off," Felix continues, his tone almost playful.

Plagg humphs like an angry girlfriend. But after a moment, he sighs, turning back to Felix with a resigned expression. "Alright, Felix. There is one way to pull off that ring,"

"Speak."

"Camembert."

Felix rolls his eyes. "Get it yourself."

"The fridge door is too heavy," Plagg counters, a hint of a whine in his voice.

With an exasperated sigh, Felix rises from his seat. He strides over to the fridge, opening the door and retrieving the pungent cheese. Carefully, he slices a portion with the cheese knife and places it on a small China plate. Setting it down on the coffee table, he watches as Plagg eagerly digs in.

Felix looks at him through his lashes. With the unusual tone the kwami spoke in when he finally revealed that there is indeed an answer, a cure to his curse, this surely means the solution to his problem is far from ideal.

After devouring three large bites of camembert, Plagg licks his lips and lets out a small burp. He savours the moment, drawing out his voice slowly to build anticipation—an effort he knows is annoying Felix to no end. But, the boy needs to learn patience. 

"Okay, it's dead simple, but may not be an easy task depending on the circumstances…" Plagg begins, watching Felix's jaw almost tighten in irritation. "In order to be freed from the curse of this ring, the cat miraculous holder must attain a kiss from the ladybug miraculous holder."

Plagg braces himself, expecting Felix to blow up in anger or frustration. Instead, to his surprise, Felix leans back against the sofa, his gaze drifting to the ceiling.

He speaks quietly, "So, I have to convince her to kiss me."

"Yes. And depending on who you are, who Ladybug is, whether you two have a relationship or an interest in building one, that is romantically, it may or may not be an easy feat."

"Can't I just tell her and have her kiss me, then?"

Plagg pauses between bites of camembert, considering the question. "I suppose you can," he replies slowly, "But then she would know your identity."

"I don't care so long as I am freed."

A heavy silence falls between them, the weight of Felix's words sinking in. Finally, Plagg breaks the quiet. "You could flirt with her and see if she will fall for you. You obviously adopt a new personality when you're Cat Noir," he smirks. "More confident, should I say."

"Felix Agreste is just as confident," Felix retorts, though his tone suggests otherwise. He pauses, contemplating his next words. "And besides, I doubt she will fall for me… but it seems that I do need her."

Plagg hovers closer. 

"Play the long game, kid. You might like it."

Felix's annoyance flares. "Why do you keep on insisting that?" he snaps. "What makes you think I would enjoy being a superhero? Who on earth has ever enjoyed being cursed?"

"Well, it's technically not a curse. It just gained the name overtime when the previous holders opposed it, but it doesn't have to be a curse when you don't see it that way."

"What do you mean? The previous holders didn't enjoy being Cat Noirs, either? Did they call it the curse?"

"Uh, yeah," Plagg burps again, the sound echoing. The smell of camembert infiltrates Felix's nose. "Think it was Hans… or maybe Alexander. Can't remember very well, they were very similar."

Felix learns forward, a sharp glint briefly appears in his eyes. "Why exactly is Ladybug's the cure?"

"Oh, it's basically a long history from millennia ago, with one of the previous miraculous holders. I still remember it till this day, they were Lady Red Bug and Cat Man."

"Cat Man?" Felix repeats in disbelief at the name.

Plagg nods solemnly. "They were the first Ladybug and Cat Noir to fall in love. Cat Man vowed to always be at Lady RB's service. However, when she tragically died, he took the ladybug miraculous and wished that in another life, Cat Man would be tied to his Ladybug forever until their last kiss. Inevitably, it created a curse. All Cat holders will remain dutiful to their Ladybug partners, meaning that the ring cannot come off. You may be freed of it with a kiss, or, your last kiss."

Felix tries to process it all, but one word stands out to him. "Wait, a wish?"

"Yeah, if you combine the ladybug and the cat miraculous, you can use it to make a wish."

Felix stands up abruptly, startling the kwami. "You choose to tell me this now?!" He realises the fright in Plagg's eyes and promptly sits back down, trying to calm himself. "Nevermind. So, I can unwish it?"

"You can," Plagg replies cautiously. "However, there are always repercussions. You cannot make a change without an impact to balance it. The consequence of this specific wish is that every Cat holder will be tied to their Ladybug. Since, you know," Plagg shrugs, "he said 'another life,' the wish interpreted it as other beings of the Cat holder."

Felix tries not to let his rage get the best of him. "And you let this happen?"

"I couldn't stop him!" Plagg waves his arms up in defence. "He was in control of me! And I couldn't unwish it! Kwamis like me don't have the power to make wishes. And, yeah, since Cat Man said 'forever', you're gonna be stuck with me until you get that kiss, or until you die, and so will the rest of the cat miraculous holders!"

"Cat Man," Felix nearly spits his name. "A stupid name and a stupid man. From the sounds of it, I'm guessing he tried to be poetic and the miraculous took it literally."

"Basically, yeah."

"So, if I kiss Ladybug and that is our last kiss, then I would be able to remove the ring."

"Yep."

"... What happens if that is not the last kiss? Not that I have any interest in her."

"You might be removed from the curse, which is not actually a curse as I've said before. You will still be able to take off the ring but it will follow you. Fate will also know your last kiss, and if you wish to, you may remove the ring for a final time. But from what I've seen, many of the previous cat holders tend to remain pretty loyal to their ladybugs. Although, not all cat holders fall in love with their ladybug holders and vice versa."

"What did they do then," asks Felix, "If they can't remove the ring?"

"One committed suicide… but he also had a hard life. Being a hero wasn't for him. One had Ladybug in love with him but he couldn't return her feelings. He didn't want to be with her, so he kissed her and left the country. Ladybug ended up having to guard her city herself, but that was way after their main enemy was defeated. Then there was this one guy who was in love with his ladybug, but she never returned his feelings, so he remained Cat Noir forever, promising his loyalty to her. Yet, he knew she had someone. I've seen it all, kiddo."

"How did my life get this bad? Why didn't you tell me anything earlier?"

"You didn't ask," shrugs Plagg. "And if you ask me, your life looked boring anyway. Let loose. Be yourself when you're Cat Noir. You did look as if you enjoyed fighting Monsieur Pigeon Poop."

Felix abruptly stands up, unwilling to hear whatever positive affirmations Plagg has to say. "I'm going to my room to study. Do not disrupt me." He slams the door to his bedroom.

Plagg shivers. "Cold."

Chapter Text

Today, so far, has been a successful day.

He has managed to draw a crowd earlier around dinner time. 

His first act happens when he stops a couple and their little daughter, holding a small ice cream cone. With a practised, exaggerated motion, he pretends to take out his own ice cream and licks it, before he accidentally drops it to the ground. The little girl, sympathetic, almost offers him hers, to which her father nearly steps in.

Fred raises his index finger at him, as if to say 'wait'. From his back pocket, he pulls out another ice cream. He bumps his ice cream with the girl's like a playful fist bump, then waves them goodbye with a bright smile. The father mirrors it and hands him a five euro note. 

No sooner as the family walks on that another little boy comes running up to Fred, eager for his own moment of magic. Before long, Fred finds himself busy with an evening crowd, all waiting for their turns.

The clock nears half seven and the night begins to dark. When the crowd slowly disperses, making their way home, Fred checks his phone and sees his daughter's concerned messages. The last one saying:

Madelaine: I left your dinner in the fridge.

As the streets were now empty, Fred prepares to go home.

Just then, he notices three men in suits walking by, their laughter and careless banter echoing through the street. They look to be in the mood for a good show. Just one more performance , Fred thinks, stepping into their path.

He pulls out an invisible long rope from his pocket and throws it to the other side. His face is confident until it changes to a sudden shock, his whole body is yanked to the side. Fred immediately pulls the rope back, his other hand assisting, as if he is playing a game of tug-of-war. His face reddens with the strain, the heels of his shoes dig into the ground as his body is once again forced forward, giving the illusion that he is on the brink of losing. 

Suddenly, with a theatrical jerk, he stumbles backward as if the rope has snapped. He tumbles and rolls on the ground.

He swiftly rises to his feet and bows.

He looks up, and upon closer look on their faces, flushed with pink, he can tell that they are clearly drunk. 

They pause and look at him with a confused look. 

One of the men, taller and broader than the others, turned to his friends and smirked. "Who the hell does he think he is, eh?!"

Before Fred can react, the man seizes two fistfuls of his shirt and lifts his frail, thin body into the air. The world spins as Fred feels himself being hoisted up, his feet dangling uselessly. With his free hand, the man punches Fred so hard in the cheek that his head swings to the other side. Throbbing pain grows in his cheekbones and the world bangs at the thin walls of his head. Fred nearly spurts out blood, tasting iron in his mouth, the knuckles bruising his cheek.

Looking up, Fred can see the man's twisted expression. Sweat begins to run down his forehead and back. He knows this is not the end of it, and now, all he wishes he can do is go home to his beloved Madelaine.

"Hey!" The man keeping him imprisoned screams at him, thick with alcohol-induced rage.

Another blow lands squarely in Fred's stomach, the force of it causing his body to convulse like a puppet on strings. The man tosses Fred, who tries to land on his feet only to stumble on his back and fall. The rough concrete ground scrapes at his bones through his thin costume.

"Why don't you speak, old man?! Speak, huh?!"

Fred falls to his back. He tries to scream through the chokes but he can barely see when his vision darkens at the edges.

His friends join in on jeering him, kicking him in the legs as the first man jumps on him, crouches down and aims a vicious punch in the left eye. White blurs into his vision. Desperation claws at Fred's throat as he struggles to draw breath, to form words that refuse to come.

"Stop grunting and plead for my forgiveness, it makes you look pathetic." The man sneers over more punches at the mime's chest. "Come on, scream! Scream for help!"

"M-Mad… e… laine."

♡ 

Madelaine sits on the smaller chair of the two, her fingers twiddling nervously as her gaze shifts between the plate of food before her and the one set at the far end, intended for her father.

The curtains of their window are still undrawn, and through it she can see how dark the sky is and how the stars could be so much brighter. 

Her heart bleeds with an endless stream of worry.

For two hours now, she has been anxiously glancing at the clock. Upon returning to an empty apartment, she knew her father was out again after work to work on one of his passions. This is not unusual for him and to have her wait for him;  though she would rather have him home, she doesn't exactly mind so long as, at the end of the day,  she has her father with her. 

Like usual, she proceeds to make dinner just before six. She then sends a message to let him know to come home… and usually she never needed to do this, but seeing that her papa hasn't read her texts yet, she sent him three more.

Unable to wait any longer, she wraps his untouched dinner in cling film and places it in the fridge. 

The apartment is small—and only feels smaller when consumed by the shadows—with the wooden floors creaking every step, and the faded wallpaper peeling in certain places. The landlord doesn't care enough to replace it. Although Madelaine is certain that if the wallpaper fully peels off then they would be charged for it. The kitchenette, squeezed into a corner, is at least functional, but the vintage cabinets above are chipped and the small, grimy sink seems to be perpetually stained.

In the dimly lit room, an old brown sofa sits against one wall, its fabric threadbare and sagging from years of previous use. Opposite the sofa is a small table with two mismatched chairs

Madelaine looks at her phone again. No response.

A notification pops up from the 2C3 homeroom group chat, momentarily diverting her attention:

Jean: Anyone wanna come to mine for a party at the end of this month? My parents will be away to Italy.

Lilou: I'm up for it.

Gabrielle: I'm down for it, lol.

Gabrielle: @Allegra, you better be there or else you're squared.

Jean: Yah, cool kids only.

Madelaine shuts her phone off, and begins to eat dinner silently.

♡

Within the right wing of the mansion, in the owner's sitting room lies Gabriel Agreste on a grey Chesterfield sofa. 

His head resting on a darker grey cushion, his feet resting on the cushion on the other side. His eyes remain closed, unafraid of any threat the universe sends him.

"I brought you water," Nathalie speaks up, knowing that he is not truly asleep. 

He opens his eyes, sits up, and they exchange glances before Nathalie settles into the matching grey armchair. 

He sits up and takes a drink. "Thank you," he barely mutters. He takes a few more sips, clears his throat and speaks in a clearer voice, "I'm feeling better already."

Nathalie knows this to be a lie.

"Would you be able to look through and organise my next business meetings in the next month?" Before Nathalie is able to answer with her usual 'certainly', Gabriel adds, "I haven't told Felix yet but he is to stay here in Paris. And, his attendance must be adequate."

"Suppose that's his punishment?"

"I honestly don't know what that boy is doing."

"He's adamant that he didn't break it. I had suspected him doing so because he is sent to public school, but then he told me he stayed late in the library to study. I'm conflicted. I'm not sure if he hates it or is slowly starting to open up to it."

"I hope for the latter," Gabriel confesses.

Then, he stands up and sets the glass on the side table, on top of the reflective coaster.

"I'll be back," he says, his voice carrying the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts.

♡

Gabriel steps into the spotlight, his steps leaving a trail of echoes in his wake

(How can silence be so painful?)

Nathalie remains unaware that his suffering runs far deeper than she can fathom. Perhaps the only solace lies in his gradual familiarity with this pain.

Purple consumes him, as if the very shadows conspire to drag him into their depths. Yet, he stands tall, his hands clasped behind his back in a posture of quiet dignity.

He inhales deeply, a slow and deliberate breath, and as he does, his right hand clenches into a tight fist. Then, with a controlled grace, he opens his hand, releasing a delicate butterfly that flutters within the bleak light offered by the moon. It knows where to go.

At the scene, a mime lies crumpled on the cold pavement, his once pristine face now marred by tears that carve paths through his ruined makeup. A tragic mask of suffering. His body, battered and broken, refuses to obey his will; he cannot walk, cannot even stand. Just as a distant figure notices the mime and begins to rush forward, a sinister butterfly descends upon the scene.

The butterfly strikes its wings through his skin. It burrows deeper, merging with his essence, and the mime's cries of agony are swallowed by the encroaching darkness.

"Don't you worry, Monsieur. I'm calling the ambulance!"

Almost all sounds cut off from the mime's world. The only thing he can hear now is the roughness of his own rapid breathing and a mysterious voice.

"Beaten and bruised. This is your painful reality but truthfully, you have felt this way for years, haven't you? I know you can't respond, still I know what you're thinking. You cannot go home like this, not when she sees you this way. I know how you feel. I understand your pain, for I've gone through the same," says Papillion. "Promise me your loyalty and I will make you the man you want to be."

The mime closes his eyes, drawing a deep, shuddering breath as the transformation begins. 

His pale, bruised skin starts to shift, taking on a light shade of purple that spreads across his body like a creeping twilight. The mass of his body expands into a person as strong and tall-standing as Papillion. The white makeup that once adorned his face disappears. In its place, a striking black eyeliner appears, accentuating his eyes dramatically. Two black dots appear on his cheekbones. His eyes that once had sorrow reside in now holds an unsettling amount of calmness.

His attire remains the same, as it is already perfect, however he now dons a black tophat.

"It feels right to be on my side, doesn't it?"

♡

The Mime walks down the alleyways of Paris, his saturated shadow following him. 

The city seems to glow a haunting hue of blue from the night sky. He glances around cautiously, his eyes scanning the empty streets for any sign of life. 

Finding none, he keeps walking until he sees a big wall of graffiti, which he distinctively remembers placing his blasting plunger here. The moonlight just so happens to shine perfectly at the spot, and the shadows of the thin cylindrical body and T-shaped handle runs high onto the walls.

He has been spending his time setting up the explosives in one of the more prominent buildings of Paris as he is instructed. This explosive act is no random act of destruction; it is a deliberate signal, designed to catch the attention of two very specific individuals.

The Mime positions himself in front of the blasting plunger, his large hands grabbing the air until he feels for the cool handle. And, with his large body and increased upper strength, with ease, he pushes down. The snoring burst of magnesium flash illuminating the night, almost blinding the moon, from the rooftop of the designated building. 

For a moment, time seems to stand still before he hears every citizen of Paris wakes up. His muscles imprinted with reality forces him to move, as he must make his presence known so that Ladybug and Cat Noir can find him. 

He leaves the blasting plunger as he materialises a scooter from the shadows. Mounting the scooter, he kicks off towards an exit where he can see the world better without the walls. Apartment windows rapidly light up with faces of horror as they watch the smoke on the roof expand, the flames above bloom into the sky and the debris scatter over the ground like glitter. 

Its surrounding buildings are fortunate to be public buildings, not homes.

♡

Bridgette sits at her desk, the warm glow from her lamp pooling over her open textbooks and half-finished homework. 

Her focus is abruptly shattered by the insistent chiming of her phone. She turns to look at the notifications and sees that it is mostly from Instagram, her homeroom groupchat and the rest from Allegra privately.

With her pen in hand, she opens up the latest notification with her left hand, which is a video posted on one of her classmate's Instagram story. The footage, captured from a far distance, reveals the roof of an infamous bank in Paris exploding. Now engulfed with flames. In the background are the clamour of their neighbours and the growing sound of the fire engine.

The pen in her hand drops onto her homework, leaving a mark.

Visions of the previous memory of a tragic city flickers in her mind.

Bridgette's muscles tighten. Her mouth opens but holds no words, to which Tikki notices and speaks for her. "We have to go," says Tikki. "Bridgette, listen to me. Do not fret, you will manage this."

Bridgette takes a deep breath. "You're right, Tikki. Let's go kick his pigeon ass!" she declares. "Tikki, spots on!"

Tikki flies into the earrings, merging with a flash of radiant light that envelopes Bridgette, transforming her into Ladybug.

Without wasting a second, Ladybug secures her bedroom door, locking it to prevent any interruptions. She strides to the window, unlocks it and launches herself into the night

More determined to save the city than ever.

♡

 His shattered phone screen fades to black.

"You should transform," urges Plagg.

"There is no indication that this is the Pigeon's doing. Besides, the firefighters are on their way."

Plagg flies in front of his face, his small form radiating frustration. "There is no way of knowing, I understand! But you should try and make an effort," he nearly pleads, his eyes wide with earnestness. "Ladybug might be there."

And those are the words that convince him.

Felix sets down his phone and raises his hand, his ring glinting. "Plagg, claws out," he commands.

Plagg swirls into his ring and a green light envelopes them.

"I forgot how ridiculous I look," Felix mutters, examining his transformed appearance in the standing mirror.

What are you on about? Voices Plagg. All of my holders are equally majestically classy.

"Must my hair be this long?" Felix grumbles, tugging at a stray lock.

Hey! Plagg nearly destroys Felix's brains with his internal shout. It's the wild side of Felix Agreste!

Cat Noir rubs his temples with his knuckles as his claws were in the way. 

Sorry, Plagg's voice softens. This is also why kwamis don't speak much when you are transformed.

Cat Noirs opens the window and jumps out. If only he had a balcony just like how it is in father's room.

As he moves through the darkened city, his vision sharpens, the outlines of buildings and streets becoming vividly clear. Every shadow, every flicker of movement is distinct in his enhanced sight.

Your superpower also includes night vision, just like a cat but better. You're also better at climbing buildings than Ladybug, she has to use her yo-yo.

Although he doesn't exactly feel up for a challenge, that didn't stop him making his way to the bank as fast as he can. If he wants a kiss from Ladybug, he knows he needs to be on time for her to trust him. The first time he crossed paths with Ladybug and Monsieur Pigeon, it was brief, barely a moment before the fight broke out. This time, he needs longer. He needs a chance.

He didn't think that being Cat Noir, a boy with enhanced abilities, can feel quite amazing.

He races across the rooftops, the city blurring beneath him, the wind whispering past him, blowing his new hairstyle back.

In the distance, he spots Ladybug soaring into the air, with the moon as a backdrop. With the way she moves, it's almost as if she was one the moon. A radiant smile lights up on her face as she enjoys the freeing feeling, the wind blowing her bangs, her red-ribboned pigtails following behind. She sure is enjoying the start of being a superhero, isn't she?

She lands on the next roof. Ahead of her is a chimney, and instead of climbing up as he might have, she executes a flawless handstand. Then, with a powerful push, she springs into the air, her body spinning in a full rotation before she jumps over. 

She really is enjoying this.

Captivated is beyond what Cat Noir is.

♡

"Where are you, Pigeon?!"

Off in the distance, another building explodes. Ladybug immediately snaps her head in the direction, not to see the flames once more but to find the culprit. Her eyes narrow.

"Show yourself!" Ladybug demands as she runs towards the explosion like a fool. "You wanted my attention. Well, here! You got it!"

Just as she reaches the halfway point, a figure emerges in front of her. His skin is stained a deep shade of purple, a stark contrast against bright, yellow flames. He stands tall and imposing, matching the stature of Monsieur Pigeon, with a similarly formidable build. A black tophat sits proudly on his head.

"Huh? You're not—" Before she can utter another word, the man moves with startling speed. 

As he brings his powerful arms down, a voice echoes in her mind. Quick, Bridgette!

Ladybug calls her bug stick to her hands and counters the descending blow. The force of the impact reverberates through her arms, and she grits her teeth against the unexpected weight of the weapon,

Transitioning her bug stick into her compact yo-yo, she swings it around the unknown weapon, wrapping it tightly. With a sharp, precise tug, she snatches it away from… a man dressed as a mime? And with superpowers like that, there is the possibility that he must be working with Monsieur Pigeon, or at least working for the same person Monsieur Pigeon is also working for!

She tosses the weapon to the side. He creates another blow.

Maybe not…

Ladybug, focus!

She vanishes her yo-yo, rolls to the side and jumps over his tall figure. Delivering a powerful kick, she aims to dislodge the weapon from his grasp. However, even against her enhanced suit, the force of her kick proves insufficient. She turns around from her landing position. She glances up, meeting the man's eyes. In her peripheral vision she sees the shadows on the ground revealing the outline of a hammer, its head disproportionately large, and catches sight of his arms rising once more, preparing for another strike.

Darting forward, she aims another kick that rebounds her on her feet. She staggers backwards until her back hits against a wall of chimney pots. The cold, unyielding surfaces press into her back, and she turns her head left and right, frantically. 

Her eyes widen and her lips part, and a scream begins to build in her throat as she fears the man's eerily blank expression.

"UAGH!"

The hammer just about to hit her. 

The man smashes it against the edge of the chimney. The bricks crumble and fall under the force of the blow. Dust glitters her black hair.

Ladybug escapes just by chance.

Propelling herself into the air by summoning her bug stick, aimed at the roof, she immediately charges back down for another kick in the head. She struggles to even knock off his tophat. He blocks it with his iron-like fists. She tries another kick and he aims another punch, both perfectly missing one another's attack. 

Ladybug lands on the ground and sprints towards him. Holding her fist out, she hopes it would trick him into thinking that she is now opting for a different tactic only to throw out her kicks at his head again.

"Who are you?!" 

Nearby, Cat Noir lands gracefully on a taller rooftop. His sharp green eyes scanning the situation below him.

Despite the cat he is, a ladybug can still be much faster than him.

He jumps down to their height and lands on all four feet. "Monsieur Pigeon was a ludicrous man," he remarks, his voice carrying a hint of disdain. "I'm not surprised he's friends with a clown."

Cat Noir extends his claws, lunges forward at the exact same moment that Ladybug jumps back, and attempts a strike.

His attack meets nothing but thin air, thwarted by an invisible barrier he hadn't anticipated.

"He's a mime!" Ladybug shouts. His claws retract.

The Mime summons another weapon. As he lifts it, his thumb pressing into a part of the weapon emitting a distinctive click sound. Instantly, Ladybug and Cat Noir recognize the threat. They know exactly what it is, and with no time to react and no possibility of seeing the bullets, Ladybug summons her bug shield and ducks her head down to cover her face.

The bullet fires and Cat Noir summons his black abyss just in time, expecting to absorb the bullet.

To all three of their astonishment, hundreds of pigeons release. The bullet pierces through a few of the birds, their feathers scattering in the air. The rest of the pigeons, startled and disoriented, scatter in every direction. Half of them aimlessly fly forward, their frantic wings beating against the night sky, while the others veer off to the sides

Cat Noir stands momentarily frozen. 

Ladybug, equally taken aback, blinks in disbelief. "What the…?" She struggles to get her words out.

Cat Noir tries to lighten the mood, knowing Ladybug's distaste of harming innocents. "Whoops! Guess 'Miraculous Ladybug' doesn't dare touch a cat's possession. Don't worry, we'll get it fixed by tonight!" And with that, he opens his claws again for a second black abyss that swallows the gun.

The Mime resummons a shooting weapon and shoots at the exact moment Cat Noir's black abyss closes. before they can react, a wide layer covers them. An almost airy pew sound leaves the shooter. Ladybug reaches out and touches what seems to be a net, feeling the sturdy construction and the holes in its mesh. It's a net.

Ladybug uses her bug sword to try and cut it. "It's tough," she notes.

Cat Noir opens his right hand, and with a smirk, he shouts out, "Cataclysm!" A surge of energy radiates from his hand as he makes contact with the net, causing it to disintegrate into shimmering black particles.

"So that's Cataclysm," she remarks.

Cat Noir summons his black abyss once more, absorbing the net shooter into its swirling darkness. The Mime, undeterred, continues to summon various weapons in rapid succession. The three almost dance in a circle with Cat Noir and the Mime on opposing sides, consistently using his black abyss whilst Ladybug tries to attack the Mime discreetly, to which he skilfully avoids.

"You know I can keep doing this forever," quips Cat Noir.

The three continue in a flurry of movements and attacks. With a swift backward leap, the Mime suddenly jumps back. Before Ladybug and Cat Noir can pursue him, the Mime hurls a hard object to the ground. Clanging. This releases a thick cloud of smoke that billows outward, obscuring his escape.

"Looks like we got him." Cat Noir stretches his back.

Ladybug glances at him frustratingly. "No, we didn't. We just tired him out. He can create anything which we can't see. He'll certainly scheme a plan and find us again, or worse, destroy Paris overnight." Her frustration falters, turning into worry. "We can't just go home yet. The Mime will come back. Surely."

It's not just a hunch. Ladybug can't shake the feeling that their fight isn't finished yet. She doesn't recall him looking tired either, as when he left, he remained in strong eye contact with them. A serious one. As if his eyes says that he will be back soon.

"Hey," Cat Noir calls out softly. "Why don't we patrol the streets a bit? See if there's any more trouble."

She nods. 

♡

They jump down from the roofs to Place des Vosges, located in the Marais district, a public park surrounded by tall metal fences. At the heart of the park is a fountain.

"I hope the people don't come out for us," says Cat Noir.

"You're right. It's dangerous out here," Ladybug agrees. "But then it's night time. I hope they get back to bed. If only there is a way that I can protect them, with, like, a magical barrier or something. Everytime an enemy comes out to fight. That way, they won't get hurt." Looking down at her weapon, she vanishes it with simply her mind power. She then adds, “I could probably generate a large blanket with my mind, but then I would be weaponless in battle.”

He suggests, "So, how about a bigger black abyss?"

"That's what your black hole is called?" Cat Noir nods in confirmation. "Shouldn't black holes be infinite?"

"Well, it isn't a black hole so I suppose not." He tries to change the subject, moving closer to Ladybug who is scanning around, "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?"

Ladybug replies absentmindedly, her attention still focused on their surroundings, "It's always beautiful in Paris."

Cat Noir feigns a shiver as he closes the distance between them. "Bit chilly, though," he remarks, his voice playful as he extends a hand towards her. "My hands are cold, mind warming them up for me?"

Ladybug turns around, not really paying attention. "Uh, yeah. No problem." She takes his gloved hand in hers, then drops it suddenly in realisation. She furrows a brow at him. "Wait, what are you trying to get at here?"

He tries to reach for her hands but she pulls away. He pouts with a cat's version of puppy dog eyes, his head tilts and his mess of a hair follows. "Nothing, just cold," he simply says.

"Please, your hands are covered in leather."

He flashes a grin, Ladybug catches the first glimpse of his fangs.

They stay silent for a while, hoping to detect any unusual noises, constantly keeping an eye out in fear of the Mime catching them by surprise. 

Cat Noir wonders what Ladybug is thinking. His mind traces back to the first day, when the cameras came and she immediately left, leaving them no room to talk. He needs to get to know her better, for he knows she won't give him the satisfaction of leaving the world of saving Paris sooner than later. Her face says it all. Seriousness. And a determination that he cannot match.

This is sooooo boring, Plagg interjects his thoughts.

"Shut it."

"Hm?" Ladybug turns around.

He needs to play it cool. "I'm thinking…"

"A plan?"

"No, a poem. Under this beautiful moonlight, this precious serenity, this peaceful Paris. My mind is going places, is all," he says, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Under the moon's soft glow, they dance on air, Butterflies fly with delicate flair. Though danger lurks in the depths of night, Beauty and fear entwined in flight."

What is it with this guy? Ladybug thinks to herself, there is no way that Cat Noir is confessing his feelings to her. No way that he is interested in her, she thinks in disbelief, not when they are still new to each other.

"Guess I'm the beauty and you're the fear?"

"Together, I think we make a magnificent pair," he replies smoothly.

"No thanks," she retorts.

In the blink of an eye, a flash of pale purple appears out of thin air before Ladybug. She immediately summons her bug shield, pushing it forward to combat whatever weapon he is wielding. He jumps back and so she mirrors him, and again, when he charges to attack her.

"Cat Noir!" Ladybug yells out, vanishing her bug shield.

From the side, Cat Noir summons his black abyss. 

Ladybug takes this chance to swoop in and attack him on the chest with a hard kick. As he staggers back, she wastes no time in following up her attack with another kick, forcing him down. She plants her heels firmly on his torso to keep him pinned down. With a quick motion, she summons her bug stick, pointing it directly at his face

Just as she is about to speak, the Mime's hands close to her feet summons another weapon. It seems to grow taller like a pole, combating Ladybug's own bug stick. This pushes her bug stick upwards, and the Mime impels it forward so far it catches Ladybug off balance and she falls to her back.

"Cat Noir!"

The Mime turns to Cat Noir. He tries to summon another weapon, however, Ladybug swoops in front of him and delivers a powerful blow of a kick to his legs. He falls back. Ladybug steps over him once more but each foot is one on of his palms, her heels digging in further and further as he tries to move.

She points her bug stick at his face again.

"Who do you work for?!"

"My lady," Cat Noir follows behind, "he doesn't seem to speak."

"Dammit!" she nearly screeches. She forces the bug stick hard onto his chest, a faint crack following and the Mime chokes a very cough. "Literally, what is wrong with you?!"

She can't shake the images of destruction from her mind—the collapsed buildings, the sense of chaos and despair that had gripped the city. It all feels too real, too close for comfort. She never imagines that the vision would manifest into reality so soon. Even if the current situation isn't as catastrophic in terms of scale, the sense of dread weighs heavily on her shoulders.

Cat Noir thinks of calming her for a moment. 

Second day and she's already breaking down. A part of Cat Noir thinks that perhaps Ladybug doesn't want to be a superhero either but not in the sense that she hates her new job. No. He knows it's the opposite, Ladybug has shown that she is incredibly committed, but, but, he also knows that if villains like Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime were not here, then she doesn't need to fight. Blood doesn't have to paint Paris. 

However, it seems that Ladybug can get incredibly emotional. He can't shake the nagging thought that her emotions might be a tool he can leverage to their advantage.

A spark glows at Ladybug's heels.

Cat Noir's eyes widen, "Ladybug!" He dashes forward and grabs her by the waist, pulling her back. 

The Mime jumps back, and retreats into the night.

Ladybug instinctively tries to run after him but Cat Noir's firm grip holds her in place. "I think this is it for him," he says softly and lets her go once he feels that she is no longer fighting him to let go.

After a while, she speaks up, "You think they get tired from fighting? I mean… they all look very strong, especially Monsieur Pigeon compared to what he used to be. But I don't think they have enough stamina, at least not as much as we do, otherwise, we would be here all night.

He doesn't have any valuable information to add. "I know I'm tired," he simply says, "A cat needs his sleep."

Just as he is about to leave, Ladybug grabs hold of his arm firmly. "Wait, Cat Noir!" She looks into his green eyes and quickly lets go. "We should talk," she says.

"About…?"

"Us."

"Yes, I agree. We should definitely talk before our relationship gets serious."

Ladybug is almost repulsed, as evident by her face. "Don't you have anyone else in your life?"

"None of them matter when I have you."

"No," she speaks firmly, her tone indicating that they should take this seriously, and Cat Noir thinks that's enough teasing for the day. "I meant us as superheroes, and how we're gonna track them down. It seems there's no way for us to capture them, and we need to find out where they are getting these powers or who is granting them these powers. they're not just turning into villains suddenly."

"Alright, but…" Maybe not, he thinks. He takes her wrist, "Let's go elsewhere."

"Hm?"

Cat Noir leans down to her height as he whispers in her ear, the warmth of his breath tingling her ears red, "Eiffel Tower. You never know who is listening."

♡

Ladybug uses her yo-yo to swing herself across the city, and up the tower. Meanwhile, Cat Noir climbs up the Eiffel Tower with ease.

She stands there, resting finally after they reach the third floor of the tower. The travel isn't necessarily arduous, as she has super strength and does not tire easily, however, the break after the fight is quite nice. She needs to catch her breath.

Cat Noir approaches her with his hands behind his back. The heels of his boots clangs against the material of the floor.

"I got you something on the way," Cat Noir reveals his surprise—a single red rose, delicately cradled between his fingers. His tail sways back and forth

Ladybug blinks, taken aback by the unexpected gesture. "Did you steal it?"

"It's only one rose!" he protests.

Ladybug folds her arms, turns her head the other direction. "No thanks," she replies with a dismissive huff, her lips forming a slight grimace as she maintains her stance.

Cat Noir's face and tail falters.

"Oh, come on!" He pleads: "Won't you give me a chance?"

"No, let's talk." 

Hearing that, Cat Noir stands straight.

"My cat senses told me someone else was there with us."

Ladybug throws her grimace away. She looks at him for a moment before she says anything. "I believe you. I trust you, Cat Noir."

His eyes gleam. "You do? Yes, I guess trust is a fundamental part of a relationship."

At this, Ladybug recognises that the only way to be taken seriously is to start ignoring his flirtatious speeches. 

As Ladybug walks past Cat Noir, the flow of her twin tails in the gentle breeze brushes against his nose, eliciting a brief tickle that causes him to twitch involuntarily. She grabs onto the railings and propels herself upwards, now standing on the balcony, watching the view. She can see the two buildings that are now crumbled. When she was on patrol earlier, she had forgotten to restore it—how stupid of her.

She whispers again: "Miraculous Ladybug", and watches it all gradually restore with a halted breath. A radiant glow envelops the cityscape, bathing it in a warm and comforting light. Even if everything gets fixed, the emotional wounds inflicted upon its inhabitants may take much longer to heal. She is certain that, deep down, even Monsieur Remier is afraid.

Cat Noir interjects her thoughts, "Do you think I can do that?"

She doesn't turn around. "I think if you said 'Miraculous Cat Noir', the world would be destroyed."

Cat Noir shrugs. "You're right. Better not saying it."

Felix, however, toys with that thought. If he destroys the world, and himself, he wouldn't have to worry about a curse.

Cat Noir slowly makes his way beside her, his arms resting on the balcony. 

"Miraculous Cat—"

Ladybug stands up and practically smacks him as she places her hand over his mouth.

“Sorry,” she says, letting go. "I overreacted earlier." 

"Yeah, you kinda did." 

"Something about the fact that they think they can just ruin Paris however they want is…" As if trying to better explain her thoughts, Ladybug makes arm movements to show her anger. "... It's just unacceptable!"

"You're right."

"Why are you so calm about this?"

"It can be fixed, can't it?" the cat shrugs, rubbing his face.

"Yes, but they're hurting people! I don't know about the Mime but Monsieur Pigeon… he was Monsieur Remier, a kind old man who just wanted friends after his wife passed away!" Ladybug nearly yells at Paris. "Now they don't care at all! Whoever is controlling them, working with them, or whatever, is a horrible person and they deserve to be criminalised."

"I agree."

"Why can't you act like you care more?"

Because I never cared.

"I do care. it's just… as superheroes, it's better to put on a brave face, isn't it?" Felix is the greatest liar the world has ever seen. It's unfathomable how Nathalie can suspect him of breaking the mirror.

Ladybug, however, asks, "Didn't you say before being a superhero for you is up for debate? You didn't even want a name for yourself."

"I'm warming up to it."

"I—I guess you're right." Ladybug finally looks at him. "It's just so sudden. One day I was just a normal girl, starting highschool, and on the same day I became a superhero." A quiet moment passes between them. Cat Noir, who is finding himself enjoying the breeze, forgetting about his previous thoughts, almost shivers when Ladybug says her next words. "But I have you," she says quietly, "And you should know I would be there for you as well."

"Of course I do."

"We're partners now, working to save Paris together. We should trust each other without fail, even if I don't know who you really are, and you the same with me."

He notices her glancing at him, expecting an answer. "We're just two random people who got dragged into this because someone woke up one day and chose violence, and Fate knows we're two really good people despite who we are. If Fate has decided we're capable of defeating Monsieur Pigeon, the Mime and whoever else that swings our way, then surely we can do it. After all, we aren't the first superheroes to exist. It's been done before, right? It can be done again."

She smiles. "I guess so." She tilts her head. "Even if it's a first for me."

Cat Noir mirrors her smile.

However, disrupting their shared, peaceful moment is the appearance of Monsieur Pigeon. His head rises, his face wearing a cruel smirk, and he flies until he is able to force the two superheroes to look at him. His army of pigeons beneath him, and behind him is the Mime. 

"Good evening," he cackles.

"... The Hell?!" Cat Noir barely manages to speak.

Ladybug, unwilling to give up, especially after that moment, mirrors Monsieur Pigeon's smirk. "I'm not done being a superhero tonight."

Ladybug braces herself, summoning her yo-yo before she enters a fight with Monsieur Pigeon. The wind suddenly gains speed and whips past her, her hair flowing behind.

From behind, the Mime makes his move. He dashes in silently, jumping off a platform of pigeons. His eyes locked on Cat Noir with a cold, calculating gaze.

"I changed my mind, Cat Noir!" Ladybug yells ahead.

"On what?!" Cat Noir shouts back, his voice strained as he dodges the Mime's swift and surprising attacks. Cat Noir uses his cat-like agility to evade, jumping around the balcony.

"Fight back! Fight back ten times harder! I'll fix it!"

"Black storm!" 

His ring shoots out a swirling black disc which cuts through the Mime's weapon.

In a panic, he summons a barrier but the black storm manages to get him just in time. Panic flashes in the Mime's eyes as he tries to summon a barrier, but the Black Storm strikes him just in time. The force of the attack thrusts him backward, sending him over the balcony's edge. His hand luckily grabs the railing. Fingers clutching.

Cat Noir jumps onto the balcony like a cat, his right foot landing on the Mime's hand. "My, my, what do we have here?" he muses, turning over to see Ladybug and Monsieur pigeon poop distracted. "Why don't you call for help?"

His lips curve into a grin, wider than a drunk man's, as he watches the Mime struggle. The Mime's face contorts with fear and desperation, his other hand scrambling for a better grip on the slick metal railing.

Cat Noir immediately places his left foot on the hand.

The Mime quickly materialises a yo-yo just like Ladybug's, the object growing between his hand and the railing pushes Cat Noir's foot back. He takes this chance and wraps it around a nearby pole and flings himself up, landing opposite Cat Noir on the floor.

He conjures an array of guns, each one aimed directly at Cat Noir. Bullets fly, but Cat Noir swiftly summons his black abyss, swallowing each projectile into the swirling void. The Mime, undeterred, summons swords that he hurls with deadly precision. Still, Cat Noir's agility is unmatched; he dodges each blade with feline grace, and any weapon that gets too close is immediately sucked into the black abyss.

Cat Noir stands fearlessly on the balcony.

The Mime summons a large spring in front of him. He leaps onto it, the spring compressing under his weight before launching him forward with incredible force. Cat Noir's eyes widen in surprise as the Mime barrels towards him. Before he can react, the Mime slams into him, the impact sending Cat Noir over the edge of the Eiffel Tower.

"Ladybug!"

The Mime doesn't have to say anything.

Ladybug wouldn't be able to hear him. Not with the pigeons.

Cat Noir turns his body around and summons his black abyss beneath him.

He falls in.

♡

Cat Noir descends into the black domain.

He looks down and sees an empty void, Am I going to fall forever?

Think again, kid.

And he crashes upon something, a sharp pain shoots through his body as he lands on his back, and he lets out a long, hard groan. Something tells him there is no point in screaming, for no one is here to help him. And besides, it doesn't hurt anyway. Felix is just a grumpy teenager.

Something beneath his limbs shuffle from the impact of his fall. He slowly sits up, making sure not to move around too much or too fast, in fear of what can happen to him next. His hands press against an object. Cat Noir moves his hands around, feeling for the object beneath him. His palm gently presses against another object, though he can't quite grasp what it is, and just before he is able to grab it, just the slightest pressure pushes it off. 

Cat Noir listens to it fall.

The sounds vaguely tell him what it is, what he is sitting on. The object had fallen down a tower of the invisible weapons from the Mime. Said object emits a final sound, indicating to Cat Noir that although beneath him is all black, there is, indeed, a ground.

Congrats kid, you figured it out.  

Cat Noir cautiously makes his way down, navigating through the precarious stack of invisible weapons. He treads carefully, each step calculated, aware that any misstep could send him tumbling down. How the hell is he going to get rid of all this when his black abyss fills up? He knows he has to find a solution, and fast. The Mime and Monsieur Pigeon are still out there, causing chaos in Paris, and Ladybug might need his help.

Cat Noir's vigilance doesn't prevent him from stumbling. The heel of his left boot catches in a gap between the invisible objects, and as he tries to free himself, the precarious balance shifts. With a sudden lurch, the object beneath him dislodges, sending Cat Noir slipping forward.

With a jolt, Cat Noir hits the ground hard. He grits his teeth against the sensation, his muscles protesting as he struggles to push himself upright.

So he does get hurt, even with the suit. The impact just needs to be bigger, and he supposes without the suit, it would hurt tenfold more.

As he surveys his surroundings, Cat Noir's gaze catches sight of two pigeons fluttering about in the darkness.

"Now, how do I get out?" Cat Noir asks himself. "All black, nothing… this is what I envision as the end of the world." He calls, "Plagg?"

Use black abyss again, voices Plagg.

"Got it."

Unexpectedly, an object plummets from the invisible mountain of weapons and strikes his foot. He winces slightly, but the pain is dulled by the protective barrier of his sturdy leather boots.

"Wait a minute," he says. Somehow, the sounds the weapon makes is familiar. 

Bending down, he runs his fingers over the smooth, cylindrical shape of the object, his touch confirming its cold, metallic texture. Could this be one of the Mime's guns?

Cat Noir hoists the object up and over his shoulder, his muscles tensing as he prepares to test its functionality. He aims in the direction of one of the birds fluttering overhead, fingers poised to press the button. Too bad Cat Noir can't see through the scope.

"Ladybug won't know."

An almost airy pew leaves the shooter, and he can hear the direction the projectile is going. If he misses, that's fine. To his amusement, the pigeon retracts its wings and drops. Cat Noir's enhanced vision tells him for sure, that despite the distance, there is no blood.

Slowly, he walks towards it. He watches the pigeon try to move, standing on its feet, but struggles to fly as it expands its wings again. It's alive and well, breathing and cawing. He grabs the pigeon before it is able to escape, his fingers try to feel beyond his gloves what the pigeon is trapped in.

"A net."

With his other hand, he tries to destroy the net with his powers. 

"Oh, I forgot," he says, suddenly stopping, setting the pigeon back on the ground. "Well, I can't be wasting my cataclysms. It does take up my energy. You've survived a week, you won't die." He looks at the other pigeon that just landed ten feet away. "Don't worry, I'll let you both out by tonight."

He summons the black abyss with the opening of his fist, the net shooter in his hold.

♡

"Cat Noir?!"

"He's gone, friend!" Monsieur Pigeon cackles.

Ladybug swings off the pigeons with her bug stick. "DAMMIT!" She tries to hold in her breath despite her feeling tired, needing a recharge. "Two against one. I can do it."

"No," says Monsieur Pigeon with a delightful glee. "Precisely two hundred and five against one."

"Go home, old man!" She tries to aim the bug stick at his head. He avoids it, flying to the side.

Ladybug bounces back, twisting her upper torso, she bangs the bug stick on the head of the Mime who tried sneaking up on her.

High above, a swirling black void materialises in the sky. From its depths emerges Cat Noir, descending with the invisible net shooter slung over his shoulders. He takes aim and unleashes a barrage of nets at the pigeons. He aims over and over again until he can clearly see Ladybug, Monsieur Pigeon Poop and the Mime. 

With a swift descent, he lands on his two feet on the summit of the Eiffel Tower, and climbs his way down. 

He aims at both the Mime and Monsieur Pigeon. The net ensnares the Mime in its invisible grasp but Monsieur Pigeon flies away with the pigeons beneath him moving fast.

Ladybug seizes the Mime and swiftly binds him to one of the tower's sturdy metal poles with her yo-yo. "Monsieur Pigeon, if you want him back you must surrender!"

"Oh, he'll be fine!" Monsieur Pigeon waves it off. At this, Cat Noir shoots the net at Monsieur Pigeon just as he is distracted. "Hey!" he says as he tries to get out of the net.

"Well, that wasn't too hard," Cat Noir wipes away an invisible sweat on his forehead. He walks to the Mime and grabs onto his net so that he wouldn't run off.

Ladybug swings out her yo-yo and pulls Monsieur Pigeon over.

Seated side by side, Ladybug leans down meeting their eyes. "Who do you work for?" she demands.

Monsieur Pigeon averts his gaze, a look of defiance crossing his features.

"Answer her when she's talking to you." Cat Noir steps forward.

Ladybug transitions her yo-yo into her bug sword, shifting it and placing the edge to Monsieur Pigeon's neck.

"You wouldn't," says Monsieur Pigeon.

"You don't know that."

"You're a hero."

"And what are you? A monster?"

"You're a self-proclaimed hero," Monsieur Pigeon corrects himself.

Ladybug furrows her brows. "And so are you… what exactly is your goal?"

"I want to let the world know the value and intelligence of pigeons, I want the world to respect him."

"By destroying the world?" asks Cat Noir.

"I'm only doing it until they respect me."

"That'll never work and you know that!" She turns to the Mime. "Nevermind, what's his goal then?"

"Oh," Monsieur Pigeon utters, "He's just here."

"The two of you are working for someone," Ladybug states confidently.

"What makes you think that?"

"If he wanted something just as bad as you do, you wouldn't be working together. You'd be against each other."

"That's an extreme argument, young lady."

Ladybug's patience is running thin as she presses the edge of her bug sword closer to Monsieur Pigeon's neck, the blade barely scraping his costume. "Who is your leader?"

Monsieur Pigeon furrows his brows, a flicker of defiance crossing his face. He exchanged a quick, knowing glance with the Mime before shouting:

 "YOUR MOTHER!"

Before Ladybug could react, the Mime threw out a smoke bomb. The heroes' vision is immediately clouded by a thick, swirling fog that swells into their eyes.

As the smoke begins to disperse, Ladybug's heart sinks. The net that had held their captives is severed. She sprints to the balcony and sees Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime already flying away. Her fingers grip the railing so tightly.

A part of her wants to chase after them, but the other part of her is so, so tired. "Tricked. And escaped, again."

A hand softly falls onto her shoulder. "They'll be back, Ladybug."

"I'm so hopeless. I almost had him."

"You're tired. Let's go home."

♡

Whatever the Mime makes, the Mime can destroy.

They land in a hidden, narrow alleyway. A purple glow wraps around their bodies, and when it disappears so does their transformation, leaving them in their civilian forms once more.

Fred's vision blurs, and a sharp pain throbs in his head. The numbed bruises from earlier begin to ache. He places a hand against the cold wall, bends over away from Monsieur Pigeon, and throws up

"Looks like Papillon has ran out of energy again," says Monsieur Remier.

Fred wipes his mouth and straightens up, his face pale and weary. He glances at the old man. "You look so different."

"So do you." Monsieur Remier pulls out a fake moustache from his blazer pocket, then attaches it to his face. Fred gives him a weird look. Monsier Remier chuckles, "I'm actually going undercover now. Can't have the police capture the real old me. If you're able to, stay with me. Papillon treats us well."

"I can't," says Fred. Then, the realisation hits him and he scratches his head with his fingers, ruffling his hair. "The police… no! I have a daughter. Oh, God. What do I do?!

"Relax. You're a mime, do people actually know you are?"

Fred sighs. "You're right… they don't." He stops scratching his head, his arms faltering back to his side. "My daughter is quite ashamed of me, so I never let people know that Fred Haprèle is the mime on the streets."

"Lay on the low, for now. I'll take over the next two weeks. You're a good fighter, Papillon will want you back."

♡

Fred unlocks the door to his apartment. 

The time is 12:05AM. He only hopes that his daughter is in bed, tired from being angry. Tomorrow, she can shout at him all she wants and he will apologise over and over again until she's satisfied.

As he pushes the door open, his heart sinks at the sight of Madelaine sitting by the left wall, wrapped in a blanket for warmth. She's been waiting for him.

"Madelaine," he whispers, his voice heavy with guilt.

The click of the closing door startles Madelaine awake, and she blinks, looking up at her father with tired eyes.

"Papa?" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes.

Madelaine slowly gets up to turn on the lights. The sudden brightness reveals her father's battered appearance—the ruined make-up on her father's face is replaced with raw, purple bruises. She looks him up and down once more, to make sure she isn't dreaming. She is not. Because there are bruises on his arms as well, and his costume which he always keeps clean and neat is tainted with dirt and blood.

A tear escapes from Fred's eye.

"I'm… sorry," he barely utters. 

"Papa!" Madelaine rushes to embrace his frail body.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, my baby," he sobs, choking between every word. "I'm a failure of a father."

"It's okay, papa," She reassures him. "You're home."

Chapter Text

Featuring:
a dream, a desire in disposition
of unending hopes, dignity, for reputation—
—a contest of life leads to deflagration

♡

Do you dare to dream, Felix?

Once more, Felix, in his eight year old form, finds himself sitting in the splendour of his father's garden. In which its verdant character is too true to be amidst Paris. Upon entering, one would believe themselves to be in the countryside where they are far from the busyness of the city.

A delicate breeze blows his long hair back, strands of ashy blond tickle his cheeks. Today is a good day to read. During this time of year, the large, small, and green-veined whites, painted ladies, and holly blues are all out, flitting from blossom to blossom.

Even though he spends a lot of time here, he tends to forget that his mother had harboured a special love for butterflies. Passionately. Therefore, when she became pregnant with Felix, his father made the decision with no second thoughts  to transform their garden into a complete butterfly sanctuary.

Felix looks down at his small hands, his thin fingers clutching a thick book. His nails are trimmed by his babysitter who, although makes an effort to hurt Felix in the process, makes it look impeccably clean. The cover is worn, and the pages inside are yellowed with age. He's sitting on one of the white-painted iron garden's benches. Father never liked the deep-sea green that Paris is adorned in. The old tree behind him spreads its branches wide, providing a cool, dappled shade that shields him from the sun's warm embrace.

The words in the book are incomprehensible yet he seems to understand it just fine. 

From the bushes to his right comes a sudden rustling. A black cat emerges, its fur sleek and shiny, eyes a piercing green. The cat pads silently over the grass, its gaze fixed on Felix. Uninterested, Felix turns back to his book. He much less cares to think how a cat was allowed within the grounds of the Agreste mansion in the first place.

But suddenly, without any reason, the corner of its pages slowly disintegrates into black ashes, the particles scattering in the breeze. Felix moves his fingers away. His heart begins to pound as he anticipates what will happen next.

Felix looks up, his breath catching in his throat.

The tree behind him begins to fade into nothingness. The vibrant roses, the dense bushes, the lush greenery, the gently trickling fountain, and even the grand mansion in the background—all slowly dissolve into nothingness. The bench beneath him disappears, and he finds himself falling through the air. The breath is still stuck inside his throat. He tries to scream. He really tries.

As he descends, he looks up and sees the black cat. It meows softly, and is the last to disappear. 

Felix falls into a black abyss.

How foolish you are, my boy.

♡

Felix makes his way down the grand staircase, his sturdy leather bag on his back, concealing Plagg within, who is contentedly indulging in his second breakfast of camembert. 

The sight of his father pacing sound in circles, albeit slowly, around the foyer with his hands behind his back mildly surprises Felix. The man checks his sophisticated and advanced watch, seemingly waiting for a message from someone.

As Felix takes his last step, his father looks to him. Wrinkles creases around his eyes. "Have you seen Nathalie?" he inquires with a hidden urgent tone.

"She's probably smoking." Felix shrugs, recalling the last few days where Felix has constantly caught her with a cigarette in hand. 

"This early in the morning?" He tries not to yell as he asks. Gabriel Agreste turns his head towards the front door, where it leads to the garden. "Not in the garden, I hope."

"She smokes in the house, too.”

“I've told her not to do that.”

“Well, besides, if she isn't in the house, she would be out in the back, smoking in the reserved smoking area you asked to be built for her." Felix walks past his father, his hand on the handle about to open the door. "Don't you remember?"

♡

Closing over the last page, after reading the final words, '... I bring the life of that unhappy Henry Jekyll to an end', Felix finishes 'The Strange Case Of Dr. Jekyll And Mr. Hyde'. 

It is a short read at only over ten thousand words.

He has picked the book up before becoming Cat Noir. However, during the past events—of becoming a superhero, of fighting Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime, and becoming so stressed over the curse of the cat miraculous—he hasn't had the time to finish it, having only a little time during homeroom last Friday. He finds that homeroom gives him fifteen minutes of peace, and whilst it's not as good as the peace he has from homeschooling, it's better than nothing.

The storytelling is excellent, of course, and reading it Felix finds that he is able to come up with answers to his own questions. 

One line strikes out particularly: "... I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both; and from an early date… I had learned to dwell with pleasure, as a beloved daydream, on the thought of the separation of these elements."

Jekyll and Hyde, although the same person, are very different. Whilst Dr. Jekyll is born to 'a large fortune' and was granted a bright future, he still harboured a darker side which is personified in the character of Mr. Hyde. Both sides are intrinsic to his being, and he struggles to separate the two.

Felix finds himself relating to Dr. Jekyll. Jekyll, like Felix, is seen to be perfect by the people around them. For Felix's whole life, this has been his father, Nathalie, and his tutors. The only difference between them is that Jekyll is friendly, kind and respectable, and has his friends for company. On the other hand, Felix does not. He's confident in his self-reliance, and his solitary nature sets him apart from the more sociable Jekyll.

He will say that whilst he is also radically both Felix Agreste and Cat Noir, he would not and never dare dream to combine the two. He wishes for the two to stay separate as well. He doesn't hate acting different to how he usually does, and the anonymity adds to that freedom, but he does feel grimace in the idea that he is forced into a heroic role. 

Moreover, the curse is also bound to him.

In fact, he is so sure of separating the two that he refuses any possibility that his character overtime will become more like Cat Noir. And if his father were to see Cat Noir and Felix side by side, he would not know that Cat Noir and Felix are one and the same.

His father would be appalled if he ever discovers the truth.

But, it's not like Felix would go out of his way to kill himself… unless the suffering of being cursed by bad luck becomes too much? He ponders that thought, his eyes aimlessly looking at the blurb on the back of the book.

Bringing his own unhappy life to an end, huh.

"Hey, Felix! You wanna hang out tomorrow after school?" Claude interjects his thoughts. "I can't do today cause I've got Maths club." Claude turns behind and calls out Miracle Girl's name from two seats behind him. "Hey Bridgette! You and Allegra wanna join as well?"

Bridgette's ahoge stands up, and red flushes to her cheeks. However, she declines.

"Sorry, Claude," she answers. "I have something planned today and Allegra has dance every Tuesday."

Bridgette returns to her sketchbook, initiating a conversation with her seatmate, Nathaniel.

"Just you and me then, Felix?" 

"I've no interest."

"Aw, come on, man!"

Felix puts his books away, seeing that there is one minute till homeroom finishes. "I have violin today."

♡

"Madelaine hasn't been in yesterday," Monsieur Legrand calls out to 2C3. "She's not in today either, can any one of you please text or call her for me?"

"Oh, yeah, Monsieur," one of the students answers. "She's home taking care of her dad. Apparently, he's down with a really bad infection."

"I haven't been informed of such," Monsieur Legrand looks through the register, marking Madelaine as absent once again. "Let her know she must inform me, otherwise I will assume that she is skipping."

"Yeah, yeah."

♡

In the library, Felix searches through the books. 

His heart, however, is not focused on any academic pursuits nor any new novels to read; it is set on a more personal quest.

Felix takes notice of any books that involve romance, relationships or courtships. But it seems that there is no complete guide in the library, only romance books which he must force himself to read through hundreds of pages to study. And he certainly doesn't want to waste his time on that. He needs tips on flirting, on building a relationship, hoping to find something, anything, that could help him make Ladybug fall in love with him.

Plagg, who is more bored out of his mind than ever, being involuntarily forced to go to the library every lunch break, thinks of new ways to cause mischief. Felix hasn't had any signs of bad luck over the weekend, so someone needs to remind his holder of his place. The little kwami flits about restlessly, his green eyes glinting with mischief.

Surveying the scene, Plagg spots Felix deeply engrossed in a book, oblivious to his surroundings. With a devious grin, Plagg flies up to the top shelf of the bookshelf to Felix's side, his tiny body moving with practised ease. With one swift swipe of his arm as he flies from left to right, the books immediately fall down.

Loud thuds echo through the library as the books rain down on Felix. He barely has time to react before he's covered with open books, one placed precariously on his head, another draped over his shoulder.

Plagg's mouth opens with a cute cackle. He flies up to Felix and pretends to kiss Ladybug, making exaggerated smooching noises and fluttering his eyelashes dramatically. 

Felix folds his arms in dismay, a deep frown settling on his face. "Really, Plagg?" he mutters under his breath.

Plagg continues to laugh mischievously. Becoming Felix's kwami is the best thing to ever happen to Plagg.

♡

After school, Bridgette parts ways with Allegra.

The weekend passes, and Bridgette is still adjusting to her new life as a secret superhero. The transition hasn't been easy, but she is managing. During this weekend, she and Cat Noir encountered two more incidents with Monsieur Pigeon at the scene of the crime. Fortunately, all of which were relatively minor and quickly resolved. Despite their brevity, each fight still leaves her feeling stressed and on edge.

Contrary to what she had expected after each fight, the physical and mental exhaustion did not help Bridgette sleep quicker. Instead, she finds herself struggling, constantly thinking through the fight and what she should do in the next one.

It seems that after a while, Monsieur Pigeon just gets tired and retreats. It's strange. Reflecting on it now, she realises that Monsieur Pigeon isn't as destructive as the first time when it comes to harming Paris. He just creates one scene, which always immediately gets shared to social media, and then Ladybug runs to the scene. It's as if he's just trying to get her and Cat Noir's attention. The Mime, on the other hand, hasn't been around at all. At least it's better , as she finds fighting the Mime harder, especially since he's capable of dealing more damage than pigeons pooping the city.

This is all indeed very strange.

Although Bridgette prefers it this way. The shorter, less intense battles give her a chance to catch her breath and gather her thoughts, but they definitely don't diminish the pressure she feels.

This is why she and Cat Noir need to train. They need to be ten folds better than the other two in order to end this.

As much as she would love the opportunity to hang out with Felix, and get to know him better, she has to prioritise what is important. She even lied to her parents in order to skip dinner, saying that she will be at Allegra's again. She is only grateful that Allegra's parents are so busy these days that they don't communicate with her mama and papa as much.

Bridgette quickens her pace, her mind already set on finding a hidden place where she can transform. She has one place in mind—a secluded alleyway just ten minutes into a walking journey to the Eiffel Tower, where she and her partner had agreed to meet up.

Just five minutes in, however, Bridgette finds herself walking towards Felix, who is only ten feet ahead, engaged in a conversation with an old lady. The elderly woman, with her silver hair neatly pinned up, wears an eager expression on her face.  

Bridgette pauses for a moment, a soft smile spreading across her lips as she watches the interaction. Her ahoge forms a heart. She knows that deep down, Felix can be kind-hearted.

At this, Felix so happens to turn around. He catches Bridgette's signature ahoge and black pigtails, and Bridgette is sure his eyes just lit up seeing her. The thought of this makes her all the more excited.

"Bridgette," he calls out to her, this is the first time he has used her name. Bridgette promptly walks up to him and the old lady. "Are you busy right now?"

She beams. “Nope, not at all!"

"Great." Felix places his hand on her shoulder, as if he needs her, and Bridgette's stomach explodes with butterflies trying to escape. Her lips form an 'o' shape for them, as if to immediately tell him she loves him. Felix glances at the old lady. "Can you please help this lady with directions? I have somewhere to be right now, it's urgent."

Bridgette's ahoge drops. "Oh, uh… sure."

"Thank you, Bridgette," he looks into her big blue eyes. "Really, I appreciate it." And with that, Felix removes his hand and immediately speedwalks away.

Dammit, Bridgette! Why did you say yes when you promised to meet Cat Noir?! She thinks to herself.

The old lady begins, "See, the last time I was in Goult, I couldn't find—"

"Madame, this is Paris…"

In the pocket of her denim shorts, Tikki sighs knowing that it will be a long while before they get to the Eiffel Tower.

♡

"You're late," states Cat Noir.

Ladybug hops down from the balcony railing, landing gracefully beside him. The long string of her yo-yo retracts smoothly back into its compact form. "Sorry," she says. "I had to help out an old lady with dementia. We literally went back and forth every sentence. I ended up making it someone else's problem as well."

"Sounds familiar," Cat Noir almost smirks at this. "Yeah, that's what I would have done. You're a superhero, not a doctor."

She sighs, her shoulders dropping. "I hope that since Monsieur Remier is at that age, he's gonna get dementia soon and forget about the pigeons."

"Yeah, but that means we'll never end up finding out who was behind it all." Cat Noir jumps around the tiers of balconies, warming up for their training. From above, he innocently ponders and asks, "Can you imagine if we got dementia? It'd be super sad to forget we were superheroes."

"I'd love to forget you completely."

Undeterred, he grins. "You should forget that you dislike me so we can go on a date."

Ladybug is not impressed. "At what age? Seventy?"

Cat Noir finally jumps back down, his height towering over her, and runs his hand through his messy hair in the most romantic way possible that he can execute. "Yeah, why not?" 

"I'm done talking to you." 

With that, Ladybug swiftly raises her leg up a hundred and eighty degrees, aiming a kick at his face. 

Cat Noir's reflexes are just as quick. He immediately blocks the kick, his right hand taking hold of her ankle with ease. He lowers it gently, ensuring she maintains her balance, and uses the opportunity to get a better look at her face. Their eyes lock.

Hers, blue, shimmering. His, green, glinting.

"Nice move."

Ladybug quickly summons her bug stick.

♡

Madelaine, sitting on the smaller chair, opens her textbook hoping to accomplish some reading for History to make up for her absence.

Fred walks out of his room to go to the bathroom. When he comes out, Madelaine looks up from her book. Concern colours her face. "You look like you need more rest, Papa," she says softly.

His face is pale and worn. He gives her a gentle smile. The bruises on his face and arms have subdued significantly since his last fall, but Madelaine still finds herself greatly worrying for her papa. She's confident that her papa needs more rest, and that when he returns to work, he will forget about his part-time role as a mime. After all, it's what has gotten him targeted last week.

She closes her textbook, setting it aside as she stands up to approach her papa. "Promise me you'll take it easy, Papa," she implores, placing a hand on his arm.

Fred's smile softens, and he reaches up to squeeze her hand. "I promise, sweetheart. I'll make sure to rest."

Madelaine prays it isn't a lie.

♡

The exact next day, Monsieur Pigeon chooses to unleash chaos during school hours. 

The school goes into lockdown, in fear that Monsieur Pigeon will make his way to Lycee Françoise Dupont, with teachers hustling students into classrooms and securing the building in a desperate attempt to keep everyone safe.

"No one's going home today," declares Madame Bustier. "The attacks have been more recent, and the school cannot afford to risk any of you going missing."

"But, Madame Bustier!" pleads Bridgette. "School's just ended."

"I understand your concern, Bridgette Dupain-Cheng, but this is what Lycee Françoise Dupont believes is best for your safety."

Crap , thinks Bridgette bitterly, screw Monsieur Remier for being a retired old man! If only he had a day job and became a villain only at night. She looks down to her pockets and exchanges a worried glance with Tikki. She needs to think of an excuse to be able to go out and take down Monsieur Pigeon ASAP.

Just then, Felix raises his hand, drawing Madame Bustier's attention. "Yes, Felix Agreste?" she acknowledges.

"May I still be permitted to use the bathroom?" Felix politely asks. 

"Yes."

Bridgette watches Felix get up from his seat and walk out. That's it! That's what she needs to do.

"Madame, may I also go to the bathroom?"

Madame Bustier tries not to sigh. "When Felix comes back, you may."

Bridgette hates it whenever teachers do this. They're not even the same gender. It's not the same thing as girls where they go to the bathroom to have a gossip!

Ten minutes past. Bridgette eagerly raises her hand again, "Felix has been away for a while. Can I just go?"

"Fine, but quickly."

Bridgette runs to the same bathroom she first found Tikki in, knowing that she is able to climb her body through that window.

♡

Cat Noir's keen eyes scan the sky, identifying Monsieur Pigeon's presence in the close distance, noting the apparent absence of the majority of his usual legion of feathered minions. Probably because Monsieur Pigeon Poop knows he's gonna lose most of them either way, especially when he's up against a cat.

Cat Noir crouches atop a nearby building, though he isn't necessarily avoiding attention. Quite the opposite, actually.

"Hey, Pigeon Poop!"

Monsieur Pigeon takes notice of the black cat's threatening presence. "Oh-ho! The cat's revealed himself, hasn't he?" he sneers, spreading his arms wide in a mockery of welcome. 

"You know it," Cat Noir calls back. "Not afraid of a thing like you."

Monsieur Pigeon, just as unafraid, performs a dance. He flaps his arms like a bird, and with a turn, he brings his arms out with his hands pointing in the direction of the black cat. At his command, the pigeons immediately take to the air. 

In a flash, Cat Noir jumps up the slope of the roof with feline agility. He leaps towards the chimney, using it as a springboard. With a powerful push of his paws against the chimney wall, he twists in mid-air, changing direction and propelling himself straight towards Monsieur Pigeon.

However, the pigeons swarm Cat Noir in a dense mass in the air. Cat Noir just about escapes when he extends his hands, the pigeons immediately sensing danger and retreating. He lands onto another roof, the building shorter in height.

Monsieur Pigeon, perched on top of his cloud of pigeons, turns his beady eyes towards the sleek black figure. The man lightly jumps off the cloud and steps down on the roof. Cat Noir stands on the other end.

"Ready for round three?" asks Cat Noir, flexing his claws. He shifts into a defensive stance.

Monsieur Pigeon lunges forward but Cat Noir is faster. With a fluid motion, he sidesteps the attack, darting off to the side in a blur of black and green. In the blink of an eye, he ends up exactly where Monsieur Pigeon stood moments before, his back now to the advancing pigeon army.

Monsieur Pigeon stumbles slightly. He whirls around and sees a sly smile curl on Cat Noir's lips, his own feathers bristle with rage. He straightens, regaining his composure, and gestures sharply to his feathered minions. At his command, they circle Cat Noir. Just when Monsieur Pigeon thinks he's got Cat Noir, the cat slides beneath the ring of pigeons and makes a run towards Lycee Françoise Dupont.

From that direction, Ladybug arrives. "Where are you going, Cat Noir?!"

"Oh, just taking the pigeons for a stroll! I'm sick of always fighting in the same places!" Cat Noir's voice fades into the distance, the flock of pigeons trailing behind him like a bizarre parade.

She turns her attention back to Monsieur Pigeon, who is cautiously making his way across the rooftops, not used to not having to travel by himself. 

"Why don't you call the rest of your pigeons?" she asks with the furrow of her brow. At least this will make it easy for her to deal with him.

With widened eyes, Monsieur Pigeon immediately straightens back to his confident posture. "Oh, yes! You're right!" 

And with just the raise of his index finger, almost instantly, the sky darkens as a massive flock of pigeons appears behind him, emerging from every rooftop and alleyway. Their collective coos create an eerie symphony that echoes through the city. Monsieur Pigeon laughs triumphantly, his confidence restored.

Curse her and her big mouth. 

She could really use Cat Noir right now, who is luring a portion of his pigeons to Lycee Françoise Dupont. 

♡

"Black storm!" he calls out, watching it swipe out all the pigeons in the vicinity. 

They drop like confetti, scattering across the school's roof and grounds. That'll be enough for an excuse when Felix arrives back to class. He will just say he got kidnapped by the pigeons through the bathroom window, which is not exactly believable but it's better than nothing.

♡

I just need to tire him out quickly, then I can go back.

"Alright, let's make this quick," Ladybug mutters to herself. She turns to Monsieur Pigeon, swinging out her yo-yo, "Is this all you've got, Pigeon? I've seen stronger flocks in a petting zoo!"

Ladybug darts to the side, moving faster than Monsieur Pigeon's eyes can follow. A dozen pigeons swarm towards her, but she effortlessly dodges the attacks of their beaks. She focuses her efforts on the densest part of the flock, scattering them.

Monsieur Pigeon jumps down and engages in a hand-to hand combat with her. His movements are wild and aggressive, and Ladybug can tell that he's improved as a supervillain as well judging by how quickly and easily he can get up close to her. She just about avoids a grab at her pigtail.

As they exchange blows, it becomes clear that Monsieur Pigeon has changed his tactics. There's a point where he is less concerned about the harm towards his pigeons. He knows Ladybug will fix them anyway, so now the way he fights is different. He doesn't focus on harming innocent Parisians; instead, he directs all his aggression towards Ladybug and Cat Noir, especially Ladybug.

Ladybug ducks under his arm, delivering a quick elbow to his side.

"Looks like your feathered friends are getting tired! Maybe they need a break?" she shouts.

Just then, Cat Noir jumps in with his black hole and pulls in half of the pigeon army. He was already feeling tired at the repetitive fights, at least fighting the Mime is way more interesting but the latter hasn't showed up.

Ladybug uses her yo-yo, extends her string and flings Monsieur Pigeon far away. So far, far away that the distance breaks off the string of connection he has with any of the pigeons surrounding the two heroes. The pigeons halt in mid-air before returning to their previous agendas.

"Nice."

Ladybug beams. "Been practising my throws." 

"He's probably de-transformed by now," says Cat Noir.

"For a bird, he sure is faster than us."

"Should we go chase after him?" Cat Noir suggests, even though he knows it would be hopeless. In the last two instances during the weekend, Monsieur Pigeon somehow is able to hide discreetly when he tires out. He and Ladybug would search and patrol the vicinity, even extending to surrounding areas, just for him to never return. Monsieur Pigeon is an unexpectable villain.

"Sorry, kitty. I've things to do today, I can't keep fighting." She places her hand on his shoulder and smiles. "You can chase after him if you want."

He shrugs. "Nah, if I do anything bad, I can't 'Miraculous Ladybug' my way out of it." She rolls her eyes at him. "By the way, before you do just that, can you wait an hour later? I took the pigeons to somewhere where I can use it as an alibi, you know."

"So that's what it was. Sure."

"I'm gonna take my cat nap now. See ya!"

♡

Felix is certain that there is no way a pigeon could have pooped on him. Yet, the undeniable evidence is there, a splatter of white tainting his dark vest.

When he arrives back into the bathroom, he furiously scrubs the stain with a blue paper towel. He spends so long trying to wash out the pigeon poop that he completely forgets to fix up his overall appearance. His hair, usually perfectly styled, now falls haphazardly across his forehead

In the background, Plagg snickers with amusement. Felix Agreste is truly the best thing to ever happen to the kwami.

"Curse this bad luck," Felix mutters under his breath.

♡

Bridgette drops in through the window in the bathroom, landing silently on the cool tiled floor.

She has waited patiently for the last two girls to head home after they heard an announcement from the speakers outside stating that the lockdown has been lifted.

Honestly, Cat Noir's idea was quite helpful, seeing how a handful of pigeons were scattered outside the girls' bathroom. If she sees Madame Bustier, she will just lie and claim that the pigeons tried to kidnap her. Not exactly believable but with Monsieur Pigeon about threatening to poop the city before, it's at the very least convincing.

She looks in the mirror and quickly fixes her hair, with Tikki flying back into the safety of Bridgette's pocket. 

"I don't know how much more I can take of Monsieur Pigeon. He's taken up my whole weekend and now he's interrupting my school!" Bridgette whines, frustrated. Drawing a deep breath to calm herself, she continues, "At least the school goes into lockdown so I don't miss anything, but, still… now I need to write down a list of excuses."

"You can just use the bathroom trick again," suggests Tikki, her red head popping out of the pocket hole. Her two antennas bounce.

"Yeah, but then it gets old." Bridgette gently pats Tikki's head. "And besides, they'll get suspicious overtime. Like, why is Bridgette always going to the bathroom and why is she always getting kidnapped? You know what I mean?"

Tikki gives her a sad look with her big black eyes, and Bridgette can see that the kwami feels bad for forcing her onto these new responsibilities.

Before Tikki can apologise, Bridgette practises a bright smile at the mirror. "Don't you worry, Tikki! We'll get it sorted, I'm sure I can find more excuses! So long as I have my grades perfect, they shouldn't question a thing!"

The kwami smiles, "I'll be there, helping you."

Bridgette casts one final smile at her reflection before dashing out the door. Her school bag awaits her, sitting in the classroom, and Bridgette hopes that Madame Bustier would be long gone now.

Just as she exits the girls' bathroom, she spots Felix Agreste speed-walking down the hall from the opposite direction, where the boys' bathroom resides in. His expression is focused and slightly tense, as if he's on a mission of his own. She remembers now: he also went to the bathroom, and that he had gone before her as well.

Bridgette hesitates for a moment, wondering if she should say anything considering how he is making his way to her. To clarify, this hall is long and Bridgette stands in the middle, but slightly to the left. And, on the far left is the boys' bathroom and there is nothing beyond that. To Bridgette's right is the hall down to the classrooms, where she and presumably Felix are going. 

"Felix," she calls out, her body freezing on the spot as the words leave her lips.

Felix, now just ten steps away, acknowledges her with a curt nod. "Bridgette."

She wonders if Felix is happy enough to consider her a peer since she offered to help out the old lady in place of him. He better be grateful!

Bridgette nervously rubs her head, a forced smile plastered on her face. "Oh, wow! What a coincidence!" she chuckles awkwardly, but Felix remains silent, his expression unreadable. The silence stretches, making her feel increasingly uncomfortable, and Bridgette speaks again to try and make conversation, "You went to the bathroom before me and you just came out now? So did I! I went after you, but it wasn't like I was going number two or anything! I actually got kidnapped by the pigeons!"

Number two! Why did she say that?!

"So did I, actually." At this, Felix begins to fix the collar of his shirt.

Bridgette just now notices that his usually neat and styled hair is slightly messy, the side part now a dishevelled middle part. His clean and ironed shirt, vest and pants are tainted with dirt, which are obvious even against the dark colour palette. She supposes that there is no point to bother fixing himself in the bathroom when he is this messy, he would have better equipment at home. After all, school is already over. 

She doesn't even question why Felix, if he got kidnapped, chooses to come back through the bathroom instead of the main doors like last time. As ,if she asks him then he would most likely ask her the same. And she certainly does not have an answer to that.

Unexpectedly, her phone starts to buzz. Thank the Gods for saving her from this awkward situation!

Bridgette reaches down to the other pocket and takes out her phone.

Mama♡: Bridgette! I've seen the videos, are you okay in school?

Mama♡: Coach Tanaka says that jiu-jitsu might not be on today if most of us can't make it to class. In any case, just come straight home even if you have time. 

Mama♡: Just to let you know that jiu-jitsu is back on!

"Sorry, Felix! I gotta run," Bridgette informs him, as if he needs to know. "I got jiu-jitsu, but next time, let's definitely hang out!" And with that, she runs off.

Felix isn't sure why, but he stands there watching her run off instead of following her, despite the fact that he also needs to head home soon. 

Plagg comes flying out of his pocket. "You never expected her to be into that stuff, did ya?" he asks with a smirk, circling around Felix's head.

Taken aback, Felix asks, "What?"

"Face it, kid. You thought she was weak, like you do with everyone. You might be Cat Noir, a superhero with super powers and enhanced abilities, but if you're gonna fight Pigeon Poop and the Mime three to four times a week, you need to find a way to build your stamina."

As much as he hates to admit, he eventually says, "you're right."

♡

Madelaine makes her way home, her thoughts a jumble of school and the recent chaos caused by Monsieur Pigeon. 

She prays that she and her papa would never have to face the two villains, Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime, personally. Despite her own fears, Madelaine's concern for her papa outweighs everything else. Because of his job and status, her papa has previously faced a lot of abuse from his job even though he tries his best. He is the exact kind of person who would not stand up for himself, instead succumbing to the abuse.

Madelaine tells him to be stronger, but deep down she wishes she is the stronger one.

As she opens the door, the comforting sight of her papa making dinner greets her. Seeing him stand and mobile again eases her worries.

"I've seen the news, were you safe?" he asks, turning to her with a concerned expression.

She walks over and greets him with kisses on his cheeks. "Yes. Our school had a lockdown." She sets her bag down and begins to help him.

After a quiet dinner together, her papa clears his throat. "Madelaine," he begins, a hint of hesitation in his voice. "I wanted to let you know that I'll be out doing a few things over the next few weeks. I… I can't exactly let you know what I'm doing but I promise that you don't need to worry about my safety. And, it won't be related to my mime performances. My costume is ruined anyway." He sees the panic on Madelaine's face but continues, "I might be out some evenings, especially Friday evenings. I'll be home, I'll always come home, so please trust me."

Madelaine's heart skips a beat, and the worst comes to her head. She looks at her father with an expression that indicates she is close to crying. "You're not… gambling… are you?"

Her father's eyes widen in surprise, and he quickly moves to reassure her. "What? No, Madelaine, absolutely not!" He reaches out, gently taking her hands in his. "I promise you, it's nothing like that. I'm not doing anything harmful or dangerous. You don't need to worry about me."

"Can't I know, then?"

"I'm sorry, ma chérie." He sighs, running his hand through his hair. Madelaine knows from experience it's better not to ask.

♡

In the changing room, Bridgette untwists the neatly tight bun, feeling the tension release from her scalp.

Having fought Monsieur Pigeon earlier on certainly tired her out, she was only lucky that she could use her Ladybug form to arrive at the jiu-jitsu school in time. Her mama is also kind enough to pack Bridgette's bag for her, including her uniform and a change of clothes, saving her the trouble of running home first.

She grabs her brush from her bag and starts to smooth out the tangles. Then, she ties her hair back into the pigtails she so adored. Her ahoge returns happily, springing back to its usual position. 

Right now, she's waiting for her mama to finish taking a shower. Bridgette has shortened hers, choosing to not wash her hair today.

"I didn't know you did jiu-jitsu," says Tikki, flying around the changing room. "This will help you out greatly as Ladybug."

Bridgette and her mama are the last to shower and change, since her mama stayed behind to talk to the instructor. There isn't any point in Bridgette going ahead first, for she would still have to wait on her mama, so she joined in on the conversation. They've known each before Bridgette was born, and her mama has been attending for nearly twenty years. 

Actually, on the walls of the gym is a picture of Sabine Cheng wearing her purple belt, and in her arms is a baby Bridgette. Sabine had continued her lessons whilst she was pregnant, and still proved herself to be excellent. Thus, coach Tanaka insisted on hanging the picture framed even though it didn't commemorate a winning competition or a similar achievement. Papa has the same picture framed in the kitchen.

"Actually, mama wanted me to do kung fu but there isn't any close by," Bridgette recalls the conversation. "She couldn't apply for any kung fu classes either when she was here for a year abroad, but a friend told her about jiu-jitsu, and after moving to Paris officially after she and papa married, she kept at it." 

At the time, when mama was only studying in Paris, the jiu-jitsu school was much smaller than it is now.

Bridgette shakes her head as she looks into the mirror. "I've made a mess of myself in front of Felix today…" Her cheeks carries a faint blush from the embarrassment, and her mind replays the awkward encounter over and over.

"I thought you didn't like him?" asks Tikki.

"I think I'm slowly starting to like him, and I don't even know why!" Bridgette pulls on her pigtails out of frustration. The pigtails now slightly askew from her nervous fidgeting.

Tikki hovers closer, her tiny form glowing with a warm, reassuring light. "Sometimes you don't need a reason," she says with a knowing smile, her eyes twinkling with wisdom far beyond her years. "Maybe if you change your hair a bit, or put on some makeup, then Felix will see you differently. After all, change in appearance often makes people rethink their opinion of you."

"I don't know, Tikki… It's not even about what type of girls Felix is interested in, he might not be interested at all. I just want to be friends with him because he seems so lonely," Bridgette confesses. "But! Maybe after we become friends, we could start dating!"

Recalling the awkward moment again, she tugs her pigtails once more.

"I can't believe I said that! I'm never telling Allegra! Ever!"

Chapter Text

Before attending public school, Felix's schedule was tightly packed, with activities and lessons extending well into the evening, even after dinner time.

Now that he has started public school, he certainly has experienced a significant shift. The rigid schedule that once dictated every moment of his day is no longer there, instead, he finds that public school is—what most of his classmates find a terrible routine of nine to four—a more flexible routine to him.

Moreover, Felix's exceptional proficiency in his extracurricular activities–piano, violin, and languages such as English and Italian–allows him the freedom to no longer focus so much as he used to. There is no fixed time to practise violin, for a certain amount of time, everyday. If he thought his time was better spent learning a new part of History, or studying, or reading a few new books, then he could do so. 

Despite this, Felix still finds himself wondering if he even has the time to join a new extracurricular, especially one so time-consuming and unfamiliar as a sport. Sports were never a significant part of his life before, though he briefly took up ballet and gymnastics; his father never emphasised their importance either as long as Felix maintained his physique. Truthfully, Felix never ate much either for he never finds any joy in it. Meals were often a mere necessity. The book beside him always proves to be more entertaining.

Then again , he considers, he shouldn't have to worry much about whether he can balance it all if he takes some time away from school. He has already finished tenth grade and is studying eleventh grade materials in his free time. His only concern is the possibility of skipping his scheduled activity, or thinking of an excuse to cancel, if Cat Noir is required to save Paris.

Felix glances at his cracked phone screen again. 

Boxing seems to be a popular option.

Now then, how should he go about speaking to his father about this? He, of course, wouldn't exactly say no. No, that's not Felix's concern. What Felix is worried about is that he doesn't usually request his father for things, especially new extracurriculars. It has always been his father's job to assign Felix to these, not Felix for himself. 

He recalls vividly Christine suggesting him to start modelling, only for his father to dispute heavily against it.

He steadies his breathing, and knocks on the door to his father's office. Nathalie informed him earlier that his father would be here.

"Come in," comes the voice of Gabriel Agreste. Upon seeing it is his own son, he adds, "What a pleasant sight, Felix. I didn't think it'd be you."

"I knocked because I knew you were in here," says Felix. "And that you were busy."

"No, no," says his father. He sets down the pen on top of his paperwork, then takes off his sleek black glasses with the name 'Gabriel' printed in silver italics. "I meant as in you usually never come seeking for me, especially when I'm in my office. Tell me, son, what can I do for you?"

Felix closes the door behind him.

His father's office, with its towering bookshelves and imposing decor, always has a way of making Felix feel small. The heavy silence in the room is accompanied by the faint ticking of an old clock on the wall.

Gabriel gestures to one of the armchairs on the other side of his desk. "Sit down, Felix."

Felix does so promptly. He raises his head, meeting his father's gaze, seeing his own grey eyes reflected back at him. His father isn't exactly smiling, but neither is he acting unpleasant. Felix doesn't know how to feel about this.

"I've been considering taking up a new extracurricular activity," he starts. "Something different from my usual pursuits."

His father raises an eyebrow, intrigued. "Oh? And what might that be?"

"Boxing," Felix says, the word hanging in the air between them. He watches for his father's reaction, hoping to gauge some kind of response.

"Boxing?" he repeats, his tone neutral, yet Felix can sense the curiosity behind it. "That is indeed different. What brought this on?"

Felix hesitates for a moment, realising he hasn't fully prepared an explanation for his sudden interest. He just knows that he would like to partake, and the sooner the better. As much as he would like to be rid of the curse, and he knows it won't be easy. He needs to improve himself, his role as Cat Noir and his stamina, all of this can factor into the increasing chances of Ladybug trusting him, and later, falling in love with him. 

"Some students in Lycee Françoise Dupont take boxing," he lies. Actually, he doesn't know whether that is the truth or not.

"Very well, Felix," he remarks. And, to Felix's surprise, he says: "I think this might be very good for you. Whilst not exactly school-related, students in public school tend to have extracurriculars outside of their home and school. I believe you asked me with the expectation that this won't be like your other instructors or tutors, where they come in for a one-to-one?"

"Of course," he agrees. "Boxing is a sport that requires you to have and to respect your peers. I understand the importance of training in a group setting." The boy has done his research.

"Also," his father interjects before Felix can make his exit, "You might wish to consider eating less camembert. Its potent smell is strong and it is very high in fat. If you must eat during the night, ask the chef for something better."

Felix feels insulted at the thought that there is a chance that everyone in the Agreste mansion thinks Felix has an obsession with camembert. As if Felix would ever willingly go near that cheese if it were not for Plagg! At least they're not questioning why.

"One more thing," Gabriel continues, his voice gentle but firm. "Take a bath tonight. Allow yourself to unwind and release some of that pent-up stress. I've noticed you've been frowning quite a bit lately, and it's starting to show in the form of wrinkles on your forehead. I know public school hasn't been the easiest transition."

Felix recalls the time when Nathalie informed him that his father believes he broke the mirror. He nearly winces. "Thank you, father," he says and leaves.

♡

She still remembers the way her maman looked at her.

Despite the picture-perfect image her maman projects to the world, with flawless smiles and impeccable charm, presenting the most loving relationship with her papa and her, Madelaine knows the truth that lurks behind closed doors. Overtime, her maman slowly became a stranger. No matter how many 'I love you' and 'The greatest mother in the world' cards she made with her short, chubby fingers, her maman's eyes continue to dull.

Maman had still been kind to papa, but Madelaine thinks that papa has slowly blinded himself to the meaning of love. He busied himself with his artistic career, his passion for creation consuming him in a way that left little room for anything else. Madelaine often accompanies him, drawn in by his enthusiasm. He always made it fun. Yet, during the whole time, he was so invested in the idea of his dream career and happy family that he never noticed maman's slowly growing nonchalance.

She came home from work, her steps heavy with exhaustion, her eyes empty of the spark that once lit up her face. She didn't care, not about the dinner left untouched on the table or the tests that Madelaine passed with high marks.

Madelaine's ten year old eyes can see that her maman is somehow happier with other people. She notices the subtle shifts in her demeanour, the way her maman's laughter rings truer, her smiles brighten when she's in the company of her work colleagues. It's as if a weight has been lifted off her shoulders, and Madelaine can't help but feel a pang of jealousy, longing to be the one who can make her smile that way.

As the days pass, Madelaine notices a troubling pattern emerging. Her maman begins to stay behind at work more often, her absence stretching into the late hours of the evening. When she finally returns home, there's a heaviness to her steps, a weariness etched into the lines of her face. The scent of alcohol clings to her, lingering in the air long after.

"Maman, why can't papa know who he is?" she remembers asking maman one day.

"It's better not to ask, Madelaine."

♡

Sure, she's friendly with everyone, but Madelaine never seems to be able to stick to one friend group. People smile at her in passing, but they never make more effort to talk to her. 

It's not that she exactly cares, but she likes to think she tries. Maybe she's just not as interesting as she thought she was. Outside of school, she doesn't have any interest in any after-school clubs or competitive sports. She doesn't engage in the act of complaining about her parents either; she prefers to keep her thoughts to herself, being perfectly content knowing her papa is there, even though he is a mime.

She converses with Bridgette every so often, who is always kind and cheerful. However, being the stubborn girl that Madelaine can see she is, Bridgette hangs out with Claude, who Madelaine tries to keep her distance from.

"Wanna join us for lunch?" Bridgette asks one day, her smile warm and inviting.

"Uh, no thanks. I'm eating with Rose, Colette, and the others," Madelaine replies with a small smile.

When she sits down at the table with Rose, Colette, and the rest of their group, nobody makes the effort to acknowledge her. Nobody greets her. Instead, Rose immediately throws her head back laughing at something that Colette says. Madelaine did not hear it.

Feeling a bit dejected, Madelaine looks around the cafeteria to distract herself. Outside one of the windows is a bright white butterfly with a pale blue glow. It hangs onto the window pane, its delicate wings slowly flapping.

Even though it's alone, it seems content to simply exist.

Still, Madelaine can't help but feel left out.

She listens to their conversation. In the conversation, Rose promises to vote for Colette if Colette voted for her. Neither of them mentions voting for Madelaine, and neither does the rest of the table. Whilst she understands that in the poll you can only vote for one person, she has at least hoped that one of the two could vote for her.

She knows the popularity poll is just for fun, and she knows that silly things like polls shouldn't matter to her. 

To her surprise, when Madelaine excuses herself to the bathroom, she finds that Aurore is approaching her in the hall. "Madelaine," she smiles.

"Uhm… hello, Aurore!"

"I want to tell you that I want to vote you for the poll." Madelaine can't help but be suspicious. With her hands behind her back, it looks like Aurore is on a quick mission. "In return, I would like to ask if you could vote for me."

Knew it.  

"Are you sure you want to vote for me?" Madelaine asks, unsure. "You can only vote one."

"Yeah, absolutely!" she nods. "After all, everyone else has already secured a vote. I just want to make sure that no one gets left out."

"You really don't have to…"

"It's okay, we're friends!" Aurore beams.

"Thanks," Madelaine returns the smile. A small light of hope grows in her heart. "You're too kind."

♡

The air is thick with sweat and yet it is only 11AM on a Saturday.

Having known nothing about boxing and having only watched a couple of videos online, Felix steps into the Apollo Sporting Club nervously. Just standing in the reception area, he can easily hear enthusiastic shouts from rooms away. The club is conveniently located just about half an hour from Lycée Françoise Dupont, making it an easy fifteen-minute bus journey from the stop close to his home. 

Felix wears a simple black tank top with the letter 'G' in silver displayed on his left chest, paired with green shorts that comes down to his knees. It has two pockets, big enough to hold his kwami. His trainers are a blend of black, white, and green. He feels a wave of awkwardness wash over him as he surveys the area. There were clearly people younger than him but with more confidence and others older than him but just as new as he is.

A man with a tall stature and a muscular body walks up to Felix. His grey, sweaty shirt filling out his toned arms and six pack nicely. his sharp eyes take in Felix with a quick, assessing glance. 

"Are you Felix Agreste?" He offers his hand for a shake, covered in black hand wraps.

Felix shakes his hand.

"Yes, sir."

He beams. "Hello, son! I'm Dennis Abioye but you can call me Coach Abioye or just Coach. Have you ever done boxing before?" Felix shakes his head. "Any sports?"

"I used to do gymnastics and ballet as a child, but then I quit overtime to focus on my studies."

"What about in school? Any clubs?" asks Coach Abioye.

"I was… homeschooled." Felix almost hesitates, now feeling ashamed of the concept of being homeschooled. After the first day of school, he quickly finds out how uncommon it is to be homeschooled.

Coach Abioye pauses, clearly trying to tread carefully to avoid being rude. "I see… did you have health issues?"

"No, not really." 

This conversation couldn't get any more awkward.

Still, the coach's expression remains kind. "Well, Felix, I'm glad you're here. It'll be challenging since it's been a while, but believe me, anyone can box. I wasn't always great at it and now I'm a coach. Welcome to the club, son!"

Coach Abioye pats Felix on the back. It's painful but Felix doesn't dare utter anything other than a wince. 

He leads Felix down the hall to a room that is strikingly white, with black accents on the lower half of the walls, giving it a sleek, modern look, and translucent windows. The unpainted brick columns adds a sense of ruggedness. The black-painted floors contrast sharply with the bright lights. Motivational posters adorn the walls, reminiscent of Madame Bustier's classroom. 

Half of the space is filled with lines of brown punching bags, each emblazoned with the name 'APOLLO' printed in bold, white letters. The other half of the room is dominated by a boxing ring with black poles, and on the platform is the club's logo.

"This is where you will be having your private and group sessions," says Coach Abioye, gesturing around the room. "But we aren't starting just yet. As it's only the introductory session, it will mostly be me asking you questions. We can try out some warm-ups and I'll let you do some basic training but I won't be nitpicky about it."

"Sounds good to me."

Coach Abioye crosses his arms, leaning against one of the brick columns. "First of all, I'd like to ask you about your goals. Was there any particular reason you chose boxing, especially after your experience with ballet and gymnastics? You know boxing is very different.”

Because I'm Cat Noir and I can't defeat Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime.

But Felix has practised his answer perfectly before he arrived. "I wanted to challenge myself in a new way, both physically and mentally. I've always admired the discipline and strength that boxers have, and I thought it might be a good fit for me."

Coach Abioye nods thoughtfully. "I see. That makes sense. Boxing does require a lot of discipline and mental toughness, just like ballet and gymnastics. It's a good foundation you've got there. What about long-term goals? Are you looking to compete, or is this more for fitness and personal growth?"

Felix considers this for a moment. "I'm not sure yet."

"We'll take it step by step," says the coach. He stands up straight and walks Felix close to one of the punching bags. He pats Felix's shoulder with the same pressure as before. "I can tell it's been a long time since you've danced. You need to loosen your shoulders and knees, son, you don't want to remain upright. For now, let's start with some warm-ups. Follow my lead."

The coach begins by bouncing his body in the same spot, shaking his arms and legs in the process, not doing anything in particular. "Twenty seconds, ten more," he says. Felix tries to mirror the coach's actions, only to be told: "You're too stiff. You're not doing what I'm doing, you're only copying me."

After ten more seconds, he doesn't stop. Instead, Coach Abioye switches to a wider stance and bends slightly forward. "Now, a light shoeshine," he says as he begins to run on the spot quickly, driving his arms forward with his hands in fists.

Now running is okay but with a wider stance, Felix struggles, moving his arms side by side. 

"Push your elbows to the centre!" Seeing Felix slowly getting the hang of it, he remarks, "See how loose your shoulder is? That's what you want. You'll be much faster this way. Now, head up and down."

By the end of the warm-up, his breath comes in ragged gasps, and he can feel the burn in every muscle. As he finishes the last set of high knees, his legs trembles uncontrollably. His weak knees gives out, and he pathetically takes in a sharp inhale as he falls to the ground.

At least Felix is smart enough to decide on a sport over jiu-jitsu. Otherwise, Bridgette would have laughed and informed the entire school of his weak form.

The warm-up lasted just over ten minutes, and by the end of it, Felix pathetically takes in a sharp inhale as his weak knees bend over and he falls to the ground. He has never felt this tired as Cat Noir.

Just about ten feet away is a young, about thirteen-ish years old, boy with dirty blond hair, who has been having his one-to-one session with his own designated coach. He has just started punching after finishing his warm-up quickly, but seeing the sight of Felix, he comes jumping over. 

He removes one of his orange gloves and offers Felix a hand, "Are you okay?" 

But Felix can see clearly that the boy is trying his best to hold in his laughter.

"Jacques," says his coach. "Don't laugh."

"I told you, it's Jack!" The boy retorts. His coach slaps the boy on the back and they return to training.

Coach Abioye turns to Felix. "Let's start with some punches. The first one is the jab. All of the odd numbers are on your dominant hand and the even on the rear hand. Place your body weight on your back foot and hip." The coach begins to demonstrate, turning towards the punching bag but not close enough to hit it. "And you're gonna extend your leading hand forward towards your target, and then retract it all the way back to your face." The coach performs a few more in quick succession. "Just like that. And make sure to keep your elbows in."

Felix watches intently as Coach Abioye smoothly extends his left arm, his fist cutting through the air with precision, all the while ignoring Jack to his right.

"I wanna be just like my big brother and win championships!" Jack exclaims, hitting the punching bag. "Hey, you think I could punch down Monsieur Pigeon?"

Felix is one step away from punching Jack in the face.

As much as he struggles, he didn't think time would pass by so quickly. Before he knows it, the session is coming to an end, and Felix finds himself drenched in sweat. Now that he thinks about it, time often passes by fast when he's Cat Noir as well. The adrenaline, the focus, the constant motion. This isn't necessarily bad, just different. Sure he could be consumed by a book and long before he knows it, it would already be dinner time. However, studying for hours on end does drag on.

Life became dull overtime. 

With little to differentiate between the days, it blended into an indistinguishable blur. Felix can't seem to remember much about his childhood that was exciting, apart from the business trips he attended with his father. Even then, it was all just talk and paperwork.

This, boxing, is rather interesting. And being Cat Noir, as much as hates admitting it, is a breath of fresh air.

♡

Felix taps his card against the vending machine's reader, the water bottle tumbling down with a soft thud into the collection tray below. He puts the card back into his wallet and bends down to grab the bottle, his knees weak and shaky from the exertion.

"You smell amazing!" exclaims the black cat, its oversized head popping out of Felix's shorts pocket, taking a big whiff.

"It's sweat." He takes a measured sip of the water, resisting the urge to gulp it down despite his incredible thirst.

"You know what it reminds me of? Camembert!"

"You barely exercised. You'll have to wait until we go home."

Exiting the changing room, Kim Chiến Lê Ature sees a familiar student standing in front of the vending machine just down the hall. At first sight, the boy with messy blond hair is almost unrecognisable, especially in his sports attire, until Kim takes a second glance and recognises the stern face of Felix Agreste.

"Felix…?"

Upon hearing his name, he turns around. "Uhmm," Felix struggles to recall the boy's name but he definitely recognises him from school. 

"Remember me? It's Kim, from Chemistry." 

Ah, yes. Felix remembers.

According to their Chemistry teacher, who also has a habit of shaming bad students, Kim is labelled the worst in the subject. Though Felix never really cared whether his peers put in the effort in school or not, he was often annoyed because of the teacher's incessant habit of wasting class time berating students instead of teaching.

At the very least, if his father ever asks who else in his school takes boxing, he knows his answer.

"Felix Agreste," he reintroduces himself, though he doesn't offer his hand for a shake.

Kim does, however. He extends his left hand, "Kim Chiến Lê Ature." 

Just like Coach Abioye… thinks Felix, must everyone here have to come in physical contact with him?

He shakes Kim's hand, feeling obligated.

"Sorry, I'm left handed,” says Kim, even though Felix is perfectly fine responding with his right hand.

"It doesn't bother me," says Felix. "I'm ambidextrous."

Perhaps it's a boxing thing…

"I don't know what that means but I believe in you, man. Don't let any weakness stop you. Never seen you here before," Kim then states the obvious. "Guessing you just started, huh?"

"Yes, I did."

"Today is your first session?"

"Yes, it is." Felix notes the awkward face that Kim is making from Felix's lack of response, or rather, lack of emotion or enthusiasm in his responses. "These days I've noticed how weak my body has become, so I thought it'd be good to get into shape."

"You're in the right place, man! These guns didn't build themselves!" Kim flexes his arm. Felix cringes. "But yeah, it'd be good for you. I mean, from what I heard, Lycée Françoise Dupont doesn't really have much fights going on, but you also never know! And besides, I have been feeling bad for you because of all the rumours people have been spreading about you. You gotta defend yourself one way or another."

"What rumours?"

"Like… you're too stuck up to speak to any of us? But I can tell, you're just awkward, don't worry. You can be yourself around me." Kim awkwardly runs his fingers through his dyed blond hair. "Well, that's just the tip of the iceberg. Some of the boys have been saying that you pay the girls money, and that's why they're so obsessed with you. But it's obvious! You're quiet but you're cool. You dress weird but it works. You're smart but it's kinda admirable."

Apparently, the words of the books he sought peace in during the chaotic school hours are so hypnotising that it drowns out the voices of his classmates. Felix has barely heard any rumours in regards to himself, although he did expect some, but maybe he just didn't care enough to listen to his classmates.

This is how he has been surviving high school so far.

"All those words are irrelevant to me. So long as they are not true, it shouldn't concern me."

"Yeah, but," Kim's awkward smile slowly disappears. "You should be careful. Just in case."

"I will be fine."

"You never know. Bullying still happens in high school, even if everything appears normal on the surface." Kim presses the button for an energy drink. "I know you have your dad's money but…" He takes out a euro and tries to push it through the coin hole. The vending machine displays a message saying 'card only'.

Felix feels himself compelled to move, his fingers reaching for his card. The idiot Kim Chiến Lê Ature has been so focused on pushing the euro in that he didn't take notice of the message on the screen. The bottle of blue liquid drops down. Kim sighs thankfully and Felix puts his card back into his wallet. Seeing his euro still there, he thanks his ancestors this time.

Felix stares at the boy blankly.

"Maybe you won't get bullied in high school. I haven't yet, at least." Kim takes a sip and speaks again: "People actually like me in high school now, but maybe it's only because I changed my appearance and started working out. Apparently, lots of people are voting me on the popularity poll. It's like a dream come true."

"... the what poll?"

"It's a poll to see your popularity." Kim takes out his phone from his red jacket pocket, opens up his screen and shows Felix the website.

Although the website has already been created, and the list of names of all the tenth graders are displayed, they are still unable to vote. At the top of the list states the date of the last Monday of the month. 

"The eleventh graders did it last year and we're doing it again this year as well. It starts at the end of the first month of the year. It'll happen again for every term. Just for fun." Kim puts his phone away. "We can't vote until the last Monday, in case people change their minds. Then the results get uploaded the next day. And you can only vote one person so the vote really matters. A lot happens in a month, you know?"

Felix doesn't exactly have an opinion on a popularity poll. He doesn't really care for it.

"Hey, I'll vote for you!"

"I'm alright, thank you."

Walking by, Felix can see from his peripheral vision the little boy from earlier. He stands between two older women. One of which, from the greying dirty blond hair and faint wrinkles, he can assume is the boy's mother. The other, much shorter, has grey hair with aged wrinkles.

Taking a second glance, Felix nearly spits out his water.

It's the same old lady from last Tuesday! 

The one who kept on talking about how last time she was in Goult, the old windmill was at the top of the town.

"Mum, are you feeling okay?" Felix knows enough English to know what the mother is speaking. That explains why the boy pronounces his name differently.

The old lady responds in French, seemingly forgotten her native language, "Come again, ma chérie?"

At this, Coach Abioye walks up to the two boys. 

Felix nearly jumps out of his skin, he swears the curse of bad luck is making him more skittish than before.

"Inspiring, isn't it?" asks the coach. "I mean, we've had seniors before, just never one with dementia. Apparently Jacques' grandmother used to do kickboxing in her younger years. She moved from an unknown place to Paris for school, and was inspired to do boxing. She was so great at it, she went to London for a competition. Having fallen in love with a Londoner, she stayed there, visiting France every few years. Her husband died first, and after that she was diagnosed with dementia. In an attempt to help her, her daughter and grandson decided to move back to France altogether since she's forgotten how to speak english. They enrolled into boxing together because that's one of the few things she remembers."

Must Coach Abioye tell him a stranger's entire life story? Nevermind, Felix internally shakes his head. Why did the daughter even bother speaking in English if she knew her mother has forgotten the language? He shakes his head again. None of this matters to him.

"Yeah, that is pretty cool," says Kim. "My grandad actually has dementia too. But he's in Vietnam so I don't have the time to visit him all that often."

"I'm sorry to hear that, Kim," says Coach Abioye. He then turns to Felix. "You know, if you really want to get good at this, you should eat some more protein. At first I thought you were just skinny but seeing your hair a mess like this, you're more… like… scrawny."

"You need a shower," remarks Kim.

Felix feels the tickle in his pockets from Plagg's giggle.

♡

Madelaine is awaiting her papa again. He had been absent the previous evening, and now, on this Saturday night, he is gone again. She knows he'd be gone, and had expected it, but still wished for him to be here.

She hates feeling alone. Sure, she's not exactly alone. She has her phone and she can message Rose and Colette anytime, who have a habit of responding within minutes. But, the conversations lack a certain intimacy. There's a difference . Although, Madelaine also doesn't think that if her conversations with Rose and Colette were occurring in person that they would necessarily be better, and mean more. 

There's a kind of false reality within reality, she thinks.

Madelaine enjoys being with her papa, finding comfort in his presence. But she also knows that despite their close relationship, there are things she can't tell him. And she suspects it's the same for him. There's a mutual trust between them, yet an unspoken agreement that some topics are off-limits, slowly building an invisible wall.

She understands, or at least tries to, that her papa is distancing himself for what he believes is the greater good. He's trying to accomplish something important, something that requires his absence. But this distance... it feels so isolating. Who else's parents would just leave them home alone most nights?

Each night, Papa tells her to go to bed, and she refuses. At least he came in uninjured yesterday. She sits in her room this time, staring at the time displayed on her phone. Her homework opened on her desk, untouched.

She prays again, for his safety.

♡

On the following Monday, commencing the third week, Felix still feels a slight ache in his body from just the warm-ups.

Nathalie states that if Felix keeps at it, he would be able to have his own punching bags in his room. In the meantime, he needs to get his own pair of gloves, title guard, basic protectors and a few hand wraps.

Not that it would have impacted him as Cat Noir has better endurance, but he's thankful that neither Monsieur Pigeon or the Mime has shown up. It does make him wonder what they are planning, though. 

He arrives early into the school courtyard to get some extra reading done, sitting at one of the benches. By now, he is used to the sounds of the outdoors. Not exactly the chirping of the birds or the breezes of the winds, but the people who can make noises unexpectedly at any time. The thick book at over two hundred thousand words is held tightly in his hands, it's quite old as well since Felix retrieved it from his father's library. 'Crime and Punishment'. This time it's a longer a read, a change from the novella, with far more complicated themes.

Ten pages in and students start arriving into school.

The sound of their chitter chatter is a distant murmur, not enough to pull Felix from the depths of Dostoevsky's world. That is, until a boy a head taller than him steps in front of him. His shadow casts over the book.

"Hey, kid."

Felix keeps reading.

The boy, infuriated, whacks the book with the back of his hand. The pages flip and the book drops to the ground, closing with a soft thud. Felix tries to remember the last word he read.

Nonchalantly, he bends down to pick up the book. He dusts the dirt off the cover and calmly returns to his page

"You think that just because your father's a famous fashion designer that you can ignore the rest of us peasants?" the boy sneers.

Felix doesn't look up. "Who told you that?"

"Oh!" A smirk creeps up to his face. "Are you worried your secret's out?"

"No, I have no secrets. Everyone knows the Agreste name. I'm talking about who told you that I think you're a peasant. It doesn't impact me at all if they find out I'm related to my father, but I certainly don't have an opinion on any of you people." 

"Everyone knows you're a snobby rich brat." The boy refuses to back down.

"I don't know what makes you think that considering I barely talk to you."

The boy's face flushes with anger as he tries to snatch the book from Felix's hand. Felix tightens his grip, refusing to let go. "Shut your mouth, you think you're so smart just cause you read?" he spits.

"Well," Felix tilts his head, "Didn't you get a forty in Chemistry?"

"Who told you that?!"

His chemistry teacher does not spare any of his other students either. He really goes out of his way to shame just about anyone.

"Hey, leave Felix alone! He never did anything wrong to you!" The boy turns to the direction of the voice. It's Aurore Beauréal, with Lilou behind her.

Kim arrives just in time as well. "Yeah, man, why don't you go pick on someone your own size?"

The boy glares at the new arrivals, but he seems to recognize that he's outnumbered. With a muttered curse, he releases Felix's book and promptly walks off, his shoulders tense with frustration.

What was that about?

"Hey, Felix, you coming again this Saturday?" Kim plops down on the empty space beside Felix, who turns to Kim and nods. "Awesome, man. Hey, if you ever want to, we could go out shopping for some new gears and I can help you pick the best ones!"

"What is it?" asks Lilou.

"Felix and I are in the same boxing school."

"Oh, wow! That's so cool!" says Aurore.

Felix closes his book, not because he was finished, but because he knew he wouldn't be reading for a while.

Through the window of the 2B Homeroom, a boy with dark brown hair, glasses and a pair of headphones over his head can be seen watching the four in the courtyard.

♡

"Sounds like you're popular with the ladies," smirks Plagg.

Felix turns on the tap to wash his hands. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Hey, what about that Bridgette girl? She's cute, isn't she?"

"I have no interest in anyone for that matter, much less Bridgette Dupain-Cheng."

"Oo~Ooh, you even remember her full name!" At this, Felix flicks his wet hands at the kwami.

♡

In Chemistry, sitting in the row behind, Bridgette overhears a conversation between her female classmates as they were assigned practice questions. 

They took the chance to talk about Felix, for he is in a different Chemistry class. Unfortunately for Bridgette, so is Allegra.

It was Lilou's words that makes Bridgette's ahoge stand up. "Felix is actually really cute."

"I know, but he's so introverted," says Gabrielle.

"I like him more that way, it makes him really mysterious."

At this, Aurore who is sitting beside them interjects politely. "You two know that if he was any other guy, he'd be a loser, right?"

"Yeah, but he's not," Lilou says, dismissing Aurore's point with a wave of her hand.

Bridgette tries to focus on her work, but the conversation continues to drift into her ears. The girls shift their topic to the upcoming popularity poll.

"I think you'll get first place, Aurore," Lilou says confidently. "You're, like, the prettiest and most fashionable girl in tenth grade. If you vote for me, I'll vote for you!"

"Same here," Gabrielle adds, nodding in agreement.

Aurore smiles graciously at their words. "Thanks," she says warmly. "I appreciate your support."

"But," Gabrielle suddenly remembers, "I said I would vote Mireille."

Lilou shoots an annoyed glance. "Yeah, but she says she's not participating in it. So it's not like she's gonna vote you back. I wouldn't bother voting her if she isn't voting you."

"But she's really nice… she's popular as well."

"Yeah, just with the guys." Lilou folds her arms, as if making a point, "I bet only the guys will be voting for her, but beauty to men and beauty to women are two completely different things!"

"I don't mind who you guys vote for," Aurore says diplomatically, knowing full well she'll likely come out on top either way.

This is the most boring gossip Bridgette has ever heard. She tunes out their conversation, finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on her Chemistry questions. 

This is the most boring subject as well , she thinks, somehow finding herself wishing either Monsieur Pigeon or the Mime would show up.

♡

Just before Jean's party at the end of the month, Aurore decides to hold one as well on Friday night.

She kindly invites Madelaine, who only shows up knowing that Rose and Colette would be there. 

When she arrives, she walks around the first floor for nearly half an hour, with an empty plastic cup held tightly in her hands, her fingers nervously tapping against its rim. Her eyes scan the floor, darting from one unfamiliar face to another until she finally spots Rose and Colette in Aurore's large living room. 

She attempts to greet them with a smile. However, her smile falters as she sees them laughing and chatting animatedly with Gabrielle and Lilou, completely absorbed in their conversation. How come she can't make conversations with people that easily?

Briefly, she wonders if there is any point in joining them considering how content they already look without her. If they really cared, shouldn't they come looking for her as well? She stands there for a moment, hoping to catch their attention, even though she knows nothing will happen unless she makes the first move.

One of Lilou's weird cousins suddenly steps into her line of sight, with a smile that indicates he's trying to strike up a conversation. 

“Hi,” he says. His voice comes overly eager, and he is leaning in way too close.  

Madelaine's face tightens with irritation, and she doesn't try to hide her disinterest. She knows all too well about Lilou's cousin's suspicious antics, and she has no patience for them tonight.

She tilts her head to see her friends better, her eyes narrowing in concentration. Colette notices her glance but doesn't say anything, quickly returning to the bubbly conversation. The sting of isolation is sharp in her chest. Madelaine looks around the room, darting from unfamiliar faces to the next again, there's really no one she can imagine herself drinking with.

Feeling more and more out of place, Madelaine decides to turn around to leave the party early. She doesn't wonder if Colette is still glancing at her. 

Just as she reaches the door, Aurore approaches her, a friendly smile on her face. "You having fun, Madelaine?" she asks, her tone friendly like usual.

"Yeah," Madelaine lies, forcing a smile that can't seem to reach her eyes. "But I feel a bit sick. I think I'm just gonna go home."

"You sure?" Aurore asks, her brow furrowing in slight concern.

Before Madelaine could answer, Rose calls out from across the room: "Aurore, come on!"

Madelaine gives Aurore a quick, strained smile before hurrying. "Bye!"

An hour later she gets home, having taken the last bus. She sets the cash for the taxi her papa originally gave her down on the kitchen counter, the euro banknotes creasing softly under her touch. If she had truly been sick, someone should have called a taxi for her, but Aurore didn't think to do that. 

Ah , Madelaine thinks, whatever . She knows Aurore's kindness is, to some extent, faked.

Though, for a moment, it felt nice to be concerned over.

She lets out a weary sigh and heads to the bathroom for a quick shower. After blow-drying her hair, she wanders back to her room, feeling the chill of the air against her damp skin. It's only September, with the warmth from summer still remaining, so the cold is appreciated. However, Madelaine can't help but dread the extreme cold she and her papa will soon have to endure. They do this every year since maman left, and yet, she still can't get used to it.

Sitting down on the edge of her bed, she checks her Instagram. On Rose's story is a video of her and Colette dancing without a care in the world. Madelaine's chest tightens. Perhaps it is just Madelaine who is unhappy, even though she doesn't have a reason to be so.

Her papa's not home yet either.

Papa is becoming just as distant as maman.

She honestly thinks that if she were not here, he would not be struggling. Sure, he'd still go through the divorce but then he would have one less person to worry about. He wouldn't overwork himself with a crappy cleaning job, nor would he be forced to go out so late at night, probably gambling or even working a second job. Or doing whatever it is that's leading him to being beaten. Her eyes wells with unshed tears, but she blinks them back.

She glances out the dirty window tainted with bird poop. There's nothing she can do about it from the inside... the landlord has yet to call for window cleaners.

But, on the windowpane is a white butterfly similar to the one she saw in the school canteen. Madelaine draws the curtains to the window, blocking out the world outside. 

Superheroes saving paris? What nonsense.

If only they could fix her life. Then, her and papa wouldn't have to live in a shitty apartment just to afford living in Paris. Maybe her papa could pursue his stupid dream and she could finally fit in at school, never having to lie about home life, and worrying about not having good clothes to wear or good food to eat.

Perhaps, she's a burden on her papa. She's tried to get a job but she is just one year away. Maybe her papa would be better off without her. 

After all, even her maman didn't want her.

♡

The first time she sees her maman with another man was after school on one ordinary day. Seeing her maman leave work early to pick her up was exciting, as her maman was always busy.

Eight year old Madelaine rushes out for a hug, her heart leaping with joy. Her maman, who was standing outside, stops Madelaine with her hand on the head. Her attention focused on an unfamiliar man standing next to her.

Her smile falters. "Maman!" Madelaine exclaims, trying to get her attention.

Her maman glances down at her briefly and then returns to her conversation with the man. "Just a moment, Madelaine," she says, her tone dismissive.

She stands there, clutching her school bag. She watches them exchange a few more words before they kiss each other goodbye on the cheeks. It's a simple, familiar gesture, but to Madelaine, it feels strangely intimate.

How close they seem , she thinks, a knot of unease forming in her stomach. Her maman finally turns to her, a smile on her face, but it doesn't reach her eyes. 

"Ready to go home?" her maman asks, reaching out to take her hand.

Madelaine nods silently, taking her maman's cold hand. 

Chapter Text

It is the last Tuesday morning of the month, just before school.

Aurore holds her phone tightly in her two hands, her palms sweaty. Her grip is so firm that her knuckles turn white, and she anxiously taps her foot, albeit lightly, on the wooden floor. She awaits the results, her patience quickly diminishing second by second. The popularity poll results are supposed to be released at 7:30am.

She has been up since dawn.

It's 7:25am now.

She keeps refreshing the page, hoping that the votes will show up early.

Aurore has always been beautiful and popular, and she knows this. It should not matter to her, but ever since hearing about the popularity poll, she has desperately wanted to secure first place. Of course, she has presented herself this whole month to feel indifferent about it in front of everyone else. As if it was just trivial matter, even though deep down the thought of winning consumes her.

As a child, she had never been competitive in sports or excelled in any subject, often feeling insecure about herself. It was tough being overlooked all the time, and though she is a single child, her grandparents tend to favour her cousins due to their achievements in school. What finally made her feel confident was her appearance, which changed noticeably during middle school when she went through puberty. Her name, as beautiful as it was, has never garnered much attention until her second year of middle school.

She finally felt noticed, admired, and even envied. She needs to continue this reputation in high school, otherwise, she would have nothing else going for her.

She glances at the clock again—7:29am. Her breath quickens, and she feels a knot tightening in her stomach. She refreshes the page again at exactly 7:30am, her heart pounding in her chest.

The results appear, and she leans in closer, her eyes scanning the list frantically.

The top three:

1. Mireille Caquet
2. Aurore Beauréal
3. Allegra Baudelaire

It shouldn't matter.

It shouldn't matter, really

But it does.

She's in second place. That is still good, isn't it?

Her heart tells her no.

Aurore stands there, staring at her phone, her brow furrows deep in thought. Her lips presses in a tight line. Does this mean Mireille is the most popular girl in the school? Yes, of course, it does. Does it mean Aurore is not good enough? She's tried her best in the last week to be as kind to everyone, just like Mireille. She's offered help, invited everyone to her party, and tried to be a trendsetter. She even stood up for that stupid Felix Agreste!

It shouldn't matter , she repeats to herself again, tightening her fingers around the phone. Only the guys vote for Mireille anyway, because Mireille is just attractive. There's nothing else to the girl that is significant in any other way, Aurore insists, though the bitterness seeps through her thoughts.

Mireille Caquet is not as influential as Aurore Beauréal. She shouldn't even be allowed the privilege to compete in the first place.

She drops her phone to the ground as she loses herself in thought, the clatter echoing in the silence of her room. Her heart races, a mixture of frustration and disbelief welling up inside her. She tries to push away the feeling of being not good enough, the inferiority to Mireille Caquet. To everyone.

She takes a deep breath, her hands shaking slightly as she bends down to pick up her phone. The screen glows back at her, the results still the same. She refreshes the screen again, her thumb trembling.

The results do not change.

Notification pops up through her private messages, congratulating her. Aurore stares at it, her jaw clenching. She forces a smile, but she can just barely see her reflection glaring.

Lilou: Sorry you didn't get first. I voted for you.

Stop trying to rub Mireille's position in my face , she grinds her teeth.

Lilou: Gabs still voted for Mireille. 

Lilou: Oh well! You'll get it next term.

Lilou: Thanks for voting me. I made it to top thirty.

Of course she would be happy to be in top thirty. She's nobody compared to the Aurore Beauréal. All of them.

Aurore hurls her phone at the wall with a guttural cry of frustration. The device shatters on impact, its shards scattering across the floor.

They're all nothing .

"Beauty begins the moment you decide to be yourself," comes a voice in her head.

"Shut up," she spits. "Shut up."

"And you… are beautifully villainous."

Aurore stomps her foot. The thud against the wooden floor emits loudly. "What do you want?!"

"I seek you, for you are an exceptional young lady," the voice answers smoothly. "You have the power within you to accomplish what nobody else can ever do."

Aurore's breath comes in sharp, angry bursts. She looks around the room, searching for the source of the voice but finds nothing. "Who are you?" she demands, her voice trembling slightly.

"I, Papillon, am on your side," the voice responds. "I can help you achieve your true potential, to surpass all those who have ever doubted you, to become more than just a pretty face."

She clenches her fists, torn between the anger she feels and the strange, compelling pull of the voice. "What do I have to do?" she asks—pleads—her voice barely more than a whisper.

"Embrace your true self," the voice replies. "Let go of the constraints that hold you back. You have the power to rise above them all, to be more than you ever dreamed."

Aurore closes her eyes, her mind racing. The allure of power, of finally being enough, wraps around her whole body comfortingly.

"Fine," she says, her voice steady now. "Show me what I need to do, le Papillon."

"Very well, Dawnbreaker ."

Aurore feels a strange sense of anticipation as her anger transforms her, lifting her into the air. A swirling cloud of green, blue, and purple envelopes her, altering her appearance dramatically. Her blonde hair morphs into a shiny silver-white, interwoven with black, and her pigtails twist into shapes resembling drill bits, ending in sharp points. She dons a puffy black dress that contrasts starkly with her hair, yet complemented by black tights and white, sharply-pointed boots. A small pair of angel wings emerges on her back, flapping gracefully.

As the transformation completes, Aurore's feet touch the ground softly. In her hand is a purple umbrella, the end emits a purple glow. She looks at her reflection in the mirror, her face displaying a cold, determined focus, complimented by a black mask painted on her face. She sees herself but also something more—she is not just a beautiful girl, but someone with the potential for true power. 

She turns away from the mirror, ready to embrace her new self. 

The voice in her head speaks again with reverence. "Welcome to your true self, Dawnbreaker. With this power, you can reshape the world as you see fit."

"I should never be less than beautiful," she declares, her voice resolute.

♡

Dawnbreaker twirls her umbrella, and the sky obeys her command. Rain begins to pour rapidly, with thunder rumbling in quick succession. Clouds gather, casting a despairing sheet of grey over the city of Paris.

She chooses to leap from roof to roof instead of flying, humming a children's rhyme, all the while dancing until she reaches the school. Her pointed boots click-clacks against the roof. 

Narrowing her eyes at the sight, Dawnbreaker points her umbrella at the school. A bolt of thunder is directed toward the roofs of Lycée Françoise Dupont. A deafening crack follows, splitting the roof apart and sending the tiles shattering to the ground. She sends a few more and watches the school slowly start to crumble with a gleeful smile. The clouds rain on Lycee Françoise Dupont pitifully as it disintegrates.

The destruction doesn't stop there. Dawnbreaker methodically targets the roofs of every house and building she sees, starting with the addresses she knows of her classmates. It didn't matter whether they voted her or not. All she needs is for them to fear her. 

Mireille is first. Lilou next.

The rain drowns out their fearful screams.

As she hovers in the stormy sky, the city below is at her mercy.

Stopping her song and dance is a tall man dressed in a pigeon costume. His pigeons raise him high above her, their wings flapping in a synchronised effort to keep him aloft.

"You're ruining the weather, madame. My beloved pigeons are soaked."

"I know your face," Dawnbreaker grins.

Monsieur Pigeon, his expression initially sour at the relentless rain, perks up with sudden interest. "You know of my status?"

"I've seen you on T.V."

Monsieur Pigeon quickly discards his unamused expression, dramatically hugging himself as if struck by a sudden wave of vanity. "Looks like I'm a superstar!"

"Actually," Dawnbreaker firmly positions her umbrella on the roof, placing the weight of her body on it as her face relaxes. "Everyone thinks you're ridiculous."

He humphs. "They don't understand the beauty of pigeons!"

"Truthfully, neither do I."

"You should be careful of what you say. You know I am not your enemy, Paris is."

The rain fills the silence.

"Ladybug and Cat Noir's miraculous," they say in unison.

Dawnbreaker tilts her head. "Will you be fighting Ladybug and Cat Noir again today?"

"With you, yes," he answers. "As Papillon instructed me to."

She glares at him. "Don't get in my way."

"You speak so boldly," Monsieur Pigeon mirrors the glare. "Papillon says that if we're recruiting new members to the team then I have to see whether you're capable or not. So, take today as your training day."

Suddenly, Cat Noir jumps in with a burst of energy. 

Extending his hand, his summoned black storm strikes Monsieur Pigeon. The force of the attack throws him off his cloud of pigeons, sending him tumbling to the ground. Some pigeons follow behind, having been hit as well. The rest disperse, fluttering away in panic.

"Those broken bones should keep him at bay for a while," Cat Noir remarks. He turns his head to the girl ten feet away.

"Cat Noir."

Cat Noir takes in her transformed appearance. " Grrr~ Aren't you scary, little girl?" Cat Noir teases, a smirk playing on his lips

Dawnbreaker slams the end of her umbrella against the roof. She glares at him, her eyes sparkling with electricity. "It's Dawnbreaker."

"Alright, little girl!" Cat Noir assumes a defensive stance. As his head moves, wet strands of blond clings to his face. "Let's wrap this up and take you back to school."

Infuriated, Dawnbreaker raises her umbrella. The air crackles with energy as the lightning bolt streaks down at Cat Noir. With quick reflexes, Cat Noir raises his hand, summoning his black storm once more. The dark energy meets the lightning bolt head-on, creating a spectacular explosion of light and shadow that shoots up into the air, momentarily lighting up the grey sky.

The force of the clash sends ripples of energy across the rooftop, its sound blinding the rain. Smoke comes out of his claws. Cat Noir's smirk doesn't waver, even though he feels the strain from holding off Dawnbreaker's attack.

"Get down from the roof," he warns her with a cold stare, cracking his knuckles.

"Funny you say that," she says as she stands strongly in her position. "You're the cat. I think I should call the fire department on you."

With a swift movement, he leaps toward Dawnbreaker, aiming to disarm her with his tough claw strikes. She parries with her umbrella, the two engaging in a fast-paced fight of strikes and counters. 

The intensity grows with each passing moment. 

Neither backing down.

♡

Last Saturday:  

Coach Abioye stood firmly in front of the punching bag. "Watch closely, Felix," he instructed.

Coach Abioye began with a basic stance, feet shoulder-width apart, knees slightly bent, and fists up. He threw a series of punches, starting with a swift jab, his leading hand snapping forward. The bag swung back and forth.

After a few more punches, Coach Abioye stepped aside, gesturing to Felix to take his place. "Try a few punches yourself, son."

Taking a deep inhale, Felix brought his fists up, feeling the weight of the gloves and the slight discomfort of the wraps against his skin. He imitated the coach's stance, though his movements were noticeably less fluid.

He watched Felix with a calculating eye, noting his form and the tension in his movements. 

"Try to exhale when you're punching," he advised, stepping up to demonstrate once more. Each time his fist came in contact with the bag, he exhaled with a sharp 'agh' sound. He stepped aside once more. "Go ahead, give it a try."

Felix took a deeper breath this time, preparing to release it. He felt a flicker of embarrassment at the thought of making noise while punching, but he pushes it aside. He wore a cat costume with thigh-high boots when the world needed him to, there was nothing to be embarrassed about now.

"Feel that power?"

Felix nodded. 

"Okay," said the coach. "Show me your punches again." 

Felix threw a few more punches at the bag. He felt more confident but he knew that there was something that was missing.

Coach Abioye stepped closer, using his left hand to tilt Felix's head down slightly. "Head and eyes facing forward at all times. You're moving your head to the sides each time, it's gonna make you vulnerable. Try and keep your chin just below your shoulder." He brought Felix's arm forward in a controlled, circular motion. "Swing your arm forward and punch, that is a hook." 

Felix mimicked the motion, feeling the shift in his body as he swung his arm. With the hook, he attacked the bag.

"That's it. The more you repeat it, the more natural it will feel."

After a while, he coached Felix on defence.

Coach Abioye put on his boxing gloves. "Let's practise. We'll focus on these today."

He threw a few more punches, to which Felix dodged with the slips.

"When you're avoiding attacks, don't slip too far." The Coach took off his gloves and placed his hands on both sides of Felix. He moved Felix back to his original stance then shifted him to the side, his head lowered. "This is too far and too low, you will struggle to counter," he says. Going back to the original stance, he moved Felix again but at less of a distance. "About six to eight inches."

The coach put his gloves on again. He stepped forward and started throwing a few light punches towards Felix. As Felix dodged, he repeated words of encouragement. "Again, Felix. Good, good." 

And though his face is stern, the corner of lips curved seeing the determination in the blond boy's eyes. 

"That's perfect, son."

♡

He takes his opportunity to summon his black abyss amongst the attacks.

The void expands, ready to engulf everything in its path. Unfortunately, Dawnbreaker is quick to react. With a swift, almost dismissive flick of her wrist, she points the end of her umbrella directly at the Black Abyss. A torrent gushes forth.

The black abyss takes it all in. Some splashes paint Cat Noir's face which he barely feels amidst the rain.

He attempts to use black storm to damage her umbrella, black electricity surging forward. Just as before, Dawnbreaker reacts perfectly and combats it with another shot of thunder from the end of her umbrella. The two forces collide. Cat Noir watches, frustration evident on his face, as his attack is neutralised. Looks like long distance attacks don't work as well.

"You'll have to do better than that," she taunts.

Springing forward, Cat Noir hurls straight punches at her, his fist hitting the end of her umbrella each time. She is a good fighter. With every other strike, the metallic clang of his silver ring meets the umbrella. His feet pounces forward to close the distance between them, then with a hook performed by the swing of his arm, and a strong exhale, he aims a blow at her in the jaw.

Her head swings to the side.

She screeches at the pain. "FUCK!" 

Meanwhile, Monsieur Pigeon watches the battle clash intently from below. 

With a focused intensity, he communicates with Dawnbreaker through telepathy, his thoughts transmitting directly to her mind. "Seize his miraculous," he commands.

At this, Dawnbreaker summons a whirl of wind that throws Cat Noir violently against the roof. If it were not for his suit, his spine could have cracked. He grits his teeth as Dawnbreaker walks up to him. Her presence looming over him, her right foot moves to his abdomen. His eyes narrow when she stomps her left foot on his right hand and he bites back a grunt. 

His leather suit is too strong, she notes.

She releases her foot, and in place of it, brings her umbrella down and jabs the end at his palm. At the contact, lightning courses through his ring. The electric tingling above the leather just enough to hurt. The silver ring glistens. 

Cat Noir twitches his fingers as she struggles against the pain in his right hand, moving to his wrist and arm.

This time he screeches just a little, but enough to make her satisfied. "You… Bitch!"

When his fingers fall flat, Dawnbreaker leans down. Her left hand takes the umbrella from her right, and with her gloved right hand, she attempts to pull off the ring. The ring remains firmly in place, she notices. Dawnbreaker tries again, tugging harder, only to hear Cat Noir scream at the movement.

"What the…?!"

Biting his lip from the pain, Cat Noir still manages to take the chance to force his upper body up. 

She notices this and prepares to stand. Just as she is about to, Cat Noir takes his left fist and punches her hard in the abdomen. Dawnbreaker doubles over at the agony. A sharp gasp escapes her lips as she instinctively clutches at her stomach, her right hand pressing down.

She doesn't see the next punch coming to her head. 

The black abyss swallows the purple umbrella.

Conveniently, Monsieur Pigeon finally recovers enough strength to hover above the rooftop. On his pigeons, he is slightly crouching from the earlier pain, but not enough to struggle. 

But, with a determined glint in his eyes, he commands, "Attack!"

His loyal pigeons descend upon Cat Noir, their wings flapping furiously.

Cat Noir lashes out his left hand, releasing his black abyss. The same torrential flood surges towards the pigeons. They fall and scatter as their wings could not flap in the pressure of the water.

At this, Ladybug finally arrives at the scene, her yo-yo in her hand.

"Where were you?" He turns to the superheroine. His voice is frustrated.

"My parents wouldn't let me leave me alone," she answers. "Still, you did well."

Despite the exhaustion evident on his face, Cat Noir manages a faint smile at her words, reassured by her presence.

Ladybug walks towards Dawnbreaker and leans down to examine. Softly, she tries to speak to Aurore Beauréal. "Popularity doesn't and should never define who you are. Whatever is making you feel this vexation, you need to let go of it. You are important—"

Before she can finish her words of encouragement, Dawnbreaker, who had just accepted defeat, suddenly seizes Ladybug by the ears with surprising strength. Her hands moves down and pulls on Ladybug's earrings harshly, dragging her earlobes.

"AAGH!" Ladybug shrieks. Instinctively, she pushes Dawnbreaker back. "Aurore, listen to me!"

Dawnbreaker regains her footing. "I'll stop fighting if you give me your pretty earrings."

"Oh, so we're having a catfight now?!" 

She aims a punch at Ladybug, who reacts swiftly by summoning her shield to block the blow. Deflecting the attack, Ladybug quickly dispels it. Returning the same aggression, she grabs one of Dawnbreaker's thick pigtails. Yanking it down hard, she forces her back down on her knees. 

In a retaliatory move, Dawnbreaker grabs Ladybug by the ankle, attempting to bring her down to her level. Despite the protective barrier of her superhero suit, Ladybug can still feel the raw intensity of Aurore's anger radiating through the numbed pain.

"Cat Noir!"

"Sorry, I can't fight anymore! My right arm isn't working and I need my cat nap." With a feigned yawn, Cat Noir sorrowfully rubs his right arm.

Ladybug turns back to Dawnbreaker. "Enough, this isn't you!" she pleads.

Seeing how Aurore is not giving up yet, she summons her yo-yo, wrapping it around Aurore's form. It encircles Dawnbreaker's arms, restricting her movements.

"Dawnbreaker, stop this at once! You're just a school girl, you don't know what you're doing!" Ladybug gestures to the city beneath them. "Look at what has happened! You can fix this, Aurore!"

Dawnbreaker grits her teeth. "You don't know anything about me."

"I understand how you feel," says Ladybug. "But who cares if you're not everyone's first choice?! You're still Aurore Beauréal. You're kind and helpful, and everyone in school likes you for who you are!"

Dawnbreaker's struggling against the yo-yo string wanes. "I tried my best to please everyone… and yet it wasn't enough. Nothing is ever enough…" Her voice softens. "I just don't feel good enough."

Ladybug wraps her arms around Aurore. "You can't keep going on like this forever. Listen to me, breathe in and out. Slowly. Today is just another normal Monday. Without any kind of popularity poll, you would still be Aurore Beauréal. And nothing would ever change that you are you."

She no longer has any energy to fight on.

"It's okay, Aurore. You're safe now," Ladybug murmurs softly into her ear.

She strokes the strands Aurore's pigtail gently, feeling the silky strands slip through her fingers, slowly untying from the tightly twined hairstyle. The world around them seems to fade away as Ladybug focuses solely on comforting the poor girl. The harsh sounds of rain and booming thunder, the distant cries of sirens and 'help's. She can feel Aurore's grip on her suit, the girl's fingers clutching desperately as if holding on for dear life.

It will all be okay. Ladybug knows this because she will fix it.

Aurore lowers her head. "You're right," she whispers. “I never wanted to be a villain. I just wanted to be important… Farewell, Papillon." 

As Aurore's transformation gradually fades away, a soft white light surrounds her, enveloping her form in a gentle radiance. The colours of black and white that once adorned her costume leaves, returning her to her human appearance, in her blond pigtails and her own clothes. A delicate white butterfly with a soft blue glow emerges from Aurore's being, fluttering gently into the air. 

Ladybug and Cat Noir watches it all unfold intently.

"That's what's changing them?" Ladybug asks. She retracts her yo-yo. 

Aurore falls and faints. Cat Noir quickly moves to take her in his arms.

"Papillon?" Ladybug repeats. Then, she asks quietly, as if she is asking herself as Aurore is now asleep, "Who is Papillon, Aurore?"

♡

"It's nearly noon," says Ladybug after she restored Paris. 

She turns to Cat Noir, who is lying on his back, basking in the now sunny weather. His eyes are closed, and his face appears completely at ease. A faint smile playing on his lips as he sleeps with content.

"Did you hear what she said earlier?"

He feigns a snore.

Ladybug walks up to him and places her foot on his right hand. As soon as they make contact, Cat Noir's reflexes kick in. He grabs her by her ankles and brings her down, all the while his eyes remain closed. His face remains calm, but both of their respective fights with Dawnbreaker, reappears in their minds. Cat Noir lets go and Ladybug shuffles away.

"I did."

"Answer me then." She sits up to regain her composure. 

"Lie down," he says softly. "It's the perfect spot for a nap."

"How long are you gonna sleep till, you silly cat?" she retorts.

"Just until noon," he replies, unbothered.

"You've really embodied the spirit of the cat, haven't you?" She raises an eyebrow at him, but does what he suggests. Closing her eyes, everything suddenly feels better. "We're gonna have to figure out who Papillon is," she eventually tells him in a murmur.

Cat Noir doesn't answer, but she knows he's listening.

♡

"Papillon, huh…" Bridgette mutters to herself.

She paces around her bedroom in circles. Tikki, sitting on her desk, bites down on a macaron. 

Bridgette's eyes darts from one familiar object to another—her desk covered with piles of textbooks, sticky notes, work sheets, and supplies, her bed that was not made this morning, with her pyjamas tossed over the end, and the soft glow of her bedside lamp—all the while her mind races with thoughts.

"Papillon," she repeats. "Who is Papillon?"

Tikki finishes the last bite and looks at Bridgette worryingly. "It seems that Papillon is the one who is behind the powers of Monsieur Pigeon, the Mime and Dawnbreaker. He is a formidable man," she says, her voice serious.

Bridgette slowly turns her head to the kwami, noting the concerned look. Tikki speaks as though she knows a lot more than she lets on. 

"Tikki, do you have something you want to tell me?"

Tikki flies down and sits on Bridgette's bed. Her small form looking unusually heavy with the burden of her thoughts. She lowers her head, a rare sight that made Bridgette's heart tighten with worry. "Actually, yes, Bridgette," Tikki admits, her voice barely above a whisper.

She promptly sits down beside Tikki, her hand reaching out to softly rub the kwami's head in a gesture of comfort. She trusts Tikki implicitly, confident that whatever secrets were being kept were not out of ill intention.

“When I explained to you that in this world exists miraculouses and kwamis, and had explained to you the basis of the cat kwami simply because his holder is also here, I had not told you about the existence of another miraculous.” Tikki finally looks up. "I'm sorry for not telling you any sooner, although I did not expect it to be this way. The butterfly you see that flew out of Aurore's body comes from the power of the butterfly miraculous. The Miraculous of Transmission. It is used to communicate with other people. However, because the kwami is so powerful, the holder can bestow powers upon its victims."

"Such a miraculous exists?" Bridgette breathes.

"It isn't always like this."

"Did you know the kwami?"

"I do. He is an old friend, or… he was a friend," Tikki responds, her big eyes reflecting a deep, personal sorrow. "He wasn't always an enemy either, but I see that he is out to commit a tragedy. Actually, I have told you on our first meeting that evil was arising. I awake only when these times come, as I have fought my friend so many times that I can sense when he is ready to attack yet.”

Bridgette's face softens. “Oh, Tikki.”

Tikki shakes her head, returning with a serious expression. “I believe Papillon is out to steal yours and Cat Noir's miraculouses, so that they can achieve ultimate power."

"Why would they do such a thing?"

"With the most powerful magic, one can seize control of anything."

Bridgette tries to smile. "I'm sure we'll find out who Papillon is. And we'll save Paris from this Papillon guy. Superheroes have existed before, and they've done it before. It can be done again." 

As soon as she finishes her words, she realises she is repeating what Cat Noir has said to her. Now Bridgette really smiles.

♡

Wednesday morning begins with a whole school assembly. 

Monsieur Legrand takes the attendance before letting 2C3 walk down to the assembly. He ticks Madelaine absent with a sigh.

Principal Damoclés stands at the podium, his stern expression conveying his deep displeasure. The students shuffle into the hall, whispering anxiously amongst themselves. As they settle into their seats, they can see with just his face that he is unhappy.

Principal Damoclés begins with the clearing of his throat. Even that can be heard throughout the whole hall as he positions himself before the microphone. "Students of Lycée Françoise Dupont, it has come to my attention that a serious issue has been occurring right under our noses. I am absolutely enraged and deeply disappointed in myself for not discovering this sooner."

The students fall silent.

"From this day forward, any activities or behaviours similar to this will be strictly prohibited. I shouldn't have to tell you this, as I had thought you were all smart, young individuals, but such actions can lead to severe insecurities and emotional distress. It is obvious how it can damage an individual's self-esteem."

No matter who it is, as proven by Aurore Beauréal. Said girl has also taken the week off to reflect on herself. Although the rest of her classmates suspects that she has been suspended.

"I hope that you all use this time to reflect as well. We must ensure that our school is a place where everyone feels safe and valued, regardless of who they are."

♡

Funnily enough, Kim later told Felix he was in thirteenth place.

"Maybe they all voted you as a joke," suggests Plagg, later.

Felix is unimpressed.

♡

At lunch, Allegra rants off to Bridgette.

"They're so stupid. A popularity poll? It's like none of them have the slightest clue how that can affect someone!" She angrily jabs her fork into her salad.

"Yeah…" agrees Bridgette. Then, she adds: "I still feel bad for Aurore, though, even if she is second in place."

Allegra almost couldn't believe it. Her eyebrows shoot up, and she pauses mid-jab. "Second place and she's upset?"

"Well, even if a person looks perfect, they might not feel that way," Bridgette responds thoughtfully, taking a bite from her chicken Caesar salad. She chews slowly, considering her words. "I can't believe she didn't target you or your house, since you got third place and all."

"I did?"

Bridgette nods.

"Oh yeah, I keep forgetting about that. To be honest, I didn't care enough about it to check," Allegra sighs, her fork halting in the air as she talks. "I've been busy focusing on my dance competition instead, which, in my opinion, is probably worth more of my time than a popularity competition.”

"That's why you haven't been texting me,” hums Bridgette in realisation. “I thought you were trying to make me understand how it feels to be you."

"No, no! it's nothing like that." Allegra quickly reassures her, shaking her head vehemently as she sets down her fork and rubs her temples. "I've a performance coming up in Vienna in November, and I'm so stressed about it. I can't believe it's in two months. I know I just said being second isn't that bad but if I got second, I would hate myself too!" 

Bridgette pats her friend on the shoulder lightly. "You'll do amazing! I know it. Allegra, you'll always be number one in my heart!"

Allegra gives a small smile. 

"Aww, Bri, you're just so cute!" she coos, grabbing Bridgette's cheeks and rubbing it with her thumbs. "How can anyone be as cute as you?! You literally melt my icing heart!"

"Agh, Allegra!"

♡

Tuesday night , Madelaine shut off her phone.

It was late and her papa had sent her a message stating that he wouldn't be coming home for dinner. He would be late, yet again.

Madelaine tried not to think too much of her papa, but she couldn't help it. Alongside that, she contemplated on the popularity poll.

She knew that she had never been the prettiest or the most confident girl in the world, and she had tried to hide all her feelings and emotions from her papa and everyone else. To not worry him, or anyone else for that matter, she always wore a smile.

The burden of keeping up the pretence was exhausting, and she could not keep pretending that everything was okay.

Madelaine was not even upset at Aurore for lying and not voting for her in return. She wasn't upset at Rose or Colette for forgetting about her, or at her classmates who knew of her existence, and yet she still remained at the very bottom of the list with zero votes.

Sitting alone in the dimly lit kitchen, she can hear the ticking of the clock echoing in the silence. Her heart ached with a loneliness that felt endless. Each tick reminded her of the time passing, the time she spent waiting, always waiting. For papa. 

As soon as he got home, everything will be okay.

And she waited… a long, long time.

Until she stopped waiting.

.

.

.

Fred was satisfied with another evening of training as the Mime. 

He has seen what Monsieur Pigeon is doing with the potentially new recruit, and can only sigh at their stupidity. 

Refusing to become like them, he spent his time after work exercising his abilities in an underground lair provided by Papillon. Transforming all sorts of weaponry, he had experimented with the different ways he could use them against Ladybug and Cat Noir.

He unlocked the door to his apartment. His heart prayed that Madelaine was asleep in her room. Fred's shoulders relaxed when he sees that Madelaine is not at the entrance. 

In the dark, however, his eyes caught sight of a pale white butterfly on Madelaine's door. Glancing around the apartment, he saw that the window and curtains were closed. Perhaps Madelaine had it opened earlier for some fresh air, way after the rain ceased and the sunny weather returned.

Something told him he should go in to check on Madelaine, just to feel an extra layer of reassurance.

Fred gently turned the handle on Madelaine's door and pushed it slowly. As soon as it opened, the white butterfly flew through the gap. 

Looking in, Fred released a gut-wrenching scream.

Chapter Text

Featuring:
a watercoloured confession,
innocent love, broken leads, exploding faces—
—crows in dimmed moonlights

♡

'An incident of another transformed assailant occurred on an ordinary Tuesday morning before the start of school. The person being a tenth grade Lycée Françoise Dupont female student who, according to locals and social media users, has been incited after the release of a popularity poll organised by school students, the day before.'

Published September, Wednesday.

In the early days of this month, the city of Paris has witnessed an unprecedented phenomenon. 

Three new figures,  Ladybug, Cat Noir, and Monsieur Pigeon, were initially thought to be performers dressed for an elaborate entertainment performance. These characters, in the same order—a young woman, a young man, and an older man respectively—quickly dispel this assumption as Paris witnessed a series of inexplicable events.

Damage across various parts of the city has shown that these are not mere performers but people possessing magical abilities and superpowers. Paris, a city renowned for its rich history and culture, is now victim to assailant taunting. As Parisians still struggle to accept the new reality, the two established superheroes, Ladybug and Cat Noir, continue to battle current and forthcoming villains. Yet, the origins of their powers and the nature of their conflict with Monsieur Pigeon remains a mystery.

This week a third assailant has emerged. Her citizen name is Aurore Beauréal, a tenth grade student attending Lycée Françoise Dupont with a well-known reputation within just the first month.

The catalyst for Miss Beauréal's transformation appears to be the much-anticipated 'popularity poll'—a tradition amongst Lycée Françoise Dupont students that occurs every year. Students vote, and the results are announced at the end of the first month of every term. This event took a dark turn on Tuesday morning when the results were disclosed early before school. Upon seeing the results, it has allegedly caused her to fall victim to becoming an assailant. Her new title being 'Dawnbreaker'.

Her powers, whilst different from the eccentric Monsieur Pigeon's control of Paris pigeons and the frightening Mime's unpredictable arsenal of weapons, equally presents itself as a formidable threat. She has unleashed torrential rains upon Paris, and more alarmingly, she has commanded thunderous storms to cause extensive structural damage throughout the city and school area. The impact has been devastating to say the least.

Reports from across Paris recount harrowing experiences of residents witnessing the destruction of their homes. These traumatic events have forced many to relive the moments when their loved ones were trapped beneath the rubble of collapsing buildings. Some family members were perilously close to death, and tragically, others succumbed until Ladybug restored the city and its people.

However, what truly separates Dawnbreaker from the previous assailants is the return of Aurore Beauréal. Alongside Ladybug and Cat Noir, distant cameras capture the moment Miss Beauréal returns to her civilian identity. A white butterfly exits her body, and Miss Beauréal is recorded to be saying goodbye to 'Papillon'. 

Ladybug and Cat Noir are currently unable to provide an answer as to what 'Papillon' means. Online theorists suggest 'Papillon' is a figure operating behind the scenes and orchestrating the actions of the assailants. The theory suggests 'Papillon' harnesses the power of heavy emotions, which finds corroboration in the case of Monsieur Pigeon.

Regardless, it seems that the two superheroes have yet to properly address this situation nor confirm their identities. 

Paris has yet to know the true purpose behind Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime's attacks and the origins of Ladybug and Cat Noir.

—"Tales of Ladybug and Cat Noir; A Reality For Paris", 

Le Univers.

♡

Beyond the tall windows of his room is the patter of the unreasonable rain.

Gabriel Agreste sets down the newspaper. 

He remembers loving a woman on a day like this.

Gabriel's eyes drifts to the coffee now growing cold upon the polished, wooden coffee table before him. His left hand rests languidly on the plush cushion of the Chesterfield sofa, while his right hand absentmindedly scratches his thigh, a gesture that has become almost instinctual in its contemplation.

At first he has thought nothing of it; the conversation between him and his new employees are between him and them alone, perfectly preserved this way by striking upon victims who have isolated themselves in despair. It worked the first two times and he had thought his simple thesis would continue to be proven right. 

What he did not expect is for his most recent—and now ex—employee to resist her inner desperation so intensely that she would bid her goodbyes to him in the public eye. Now Paris has gained a new meaning to a simple word: Papillon; unknown, assailant, villain.

Recalling the moment he witnessed the scene through his vision, and finding himself momentarily at loss, he wonders what this could mean for the future of his plans. He recognizes that, for now, it is premature to fret. They know only a fraction of his true nature, and as long as the remaining confidants maintains their silence, he remains secure. If need be, he will cease those powers and the poor old man will get arrested.

A face of betrayal from the old man flashes in Gabriel's head. He shakes this image away.

In the meantime, Paris, Ladybug and Cat Noir are still miles away from uncovering his identity.

Behind the sitting area stands tall windows, guarded by a large Victorian vase, and beyond, the trees in his garden rustles in the direction of the wind. The light of dawn has died away as soon as the rain arrived, and Gabriel has not bothered to draw the ashened curtains despite it being morning. He sees no reason to switch on the lights either; he leaves the light no chance to enter.

Ahead, Gabriel hears the murmurs of Nathalie's footsteps which quickly gains power. 

She sure is determined , he thinks, as she always is. 

The door opens, revealing Nathalie in her conventional black suit with a blue binder clutched in her arm. Her hand reaches for the light switch as she maintains eye contact with him. The overhead lights flicker to life. He stops scratching his thigh. 

"Could you leave it off, please?" 

Nathalie hesitates for a fraction of a second. "It's dark," she remarks. 

Nonetheless, she complies, turning off the lights as requested. To his dismay, she then makes her way around Gabriel's sitting room and he hears the drawing of each curtain.

"Could you leave those closed as well?"

She stops to study him. "You are in one of your moods again." She walks back and sees that his eyelids are heavy with thoughts.

The stern lines engraved in his face have sunk deeper. The overwhelming power has only started to affect him a few months ago though, at first, it was only subtle and within. On the surface, Gabriel appears normal—his appearance just the same as always. His hair kept clean and combed everyday, the barrier in his eyes the same shade of grey and he stands just as tall as before.

But, with Nathalie's keen eye, she can tell that constant physical pain and the relentless ache for more power, has slowly manifested into his appearance. The man has lost weight in his cheeks, and she assumes so for the rest of his body which is covered up by his thick suit. 

Holding in a sigh, Nathalie returns to the windows and closes the curtains. The room falls back into its familiar dimness. Gabriel Agreste was a weak man to begin with; he is only going to get weaker.

"That thing…" Nathalie speaks up. "... Is weakening you. He…"

"He isn't here," he reassures her. "Go on."

She pauses. 

"Nevermind." Nathalie closes the final curtain, then sets the binder on the coffee table in front of Gabriel, covering the newspaper. She then sits down at the armchair. "The doctor says… you should drink less coffee and more water. You're consuming the right and healthy foods he suggests and yet he notes that in the last session it isn't making you feel any better. And because he doesn't know why, he wants to come over again today to discuss your conditions. It doesn't help that he's your private doctor."

Gabriel's eyes narrow slightly, his right hand rises to scratch his face now. He doesn't exactly feel any need to review his last few medical sessions. "You shouldn't have called him in the first place, then," he says.

Nathalie returns his stare. "I didn't know what was going to happen to you. Neither did you."

"I knew that I would not die."

"You were on the floor, begging."

Silence settles throughout the room as heavy as the rain. Nathalie shifts slightly in her seat, her eyes flicker around the room, avoiding Gabriel's gaze.

"You know I'm in no position to stop you."

"I will go as far as I can," he provides in response. "So long as I am alive, I will continue to seize hold of their miraculous. The doctor only knows the physical conditions, not the cause. As soon as this is over, my health will return to normal."

"I hope you're right."

"If there is no one to challenge me then I will be right."

Nathalie finally releases her sigh, "I don't know how you've endured it this long."

At this, as if Nathalie has summoned his agony just by the mention of it, Gabriel's fingers soon shifts from his cheek to his temple. Discomfort deepens further into his features. The ache in his head forces his brows to furrow. His left hand lifts from the sofa to rub firmly on the pain on the other side. 

Nathalie rushes to stand up, making her way over to him. She kneels beside him, her hand reaching out to gently grasp his arm. "I will bring you water," she says, as she does so each time. 

However, just as she straightens, Gabriel takes hold of her arm with a weak grip. A faint tremor passes through his frame as he struggles to regain control.  "No, I am alright now ," he insists. 

Reluctantly, Nathalie listens. She sits down beside him and watches as Gabriel exhales sharply, finally releasing the tension in his muscles as he rests his hands back onto the sofa.

"It hurts," he mutters with a breathy voice. "But so long as Felix does not see me like this, I will be fine."

"I'm glad he's making an effort to be fit and healthy. you should take notes from ur own son." Nathalie takes hold of his hand, feeling the hot sweat. "He even insisted on walking to school on his own, even though I offered a chauffeur. And that isn't just for good days."

Gabriel ignores this.

She stays with him until he regains his breath. Her eyes make frequent glances at the corner of the newspaper where it displays the image of the white butterfly. "Will you be taking her on?" she asks when his chest begins to still.

"It will be hard. She has purified the akuma within her. I doubt she will be able to use such powers a second time. And besides, my energy can only control so many people at once. Two is enough right now, although I would like to have more overtime. Variety in powers is what I need."

"If you ask me, I'd say the Mime's powers are superior," Nathalie suggests. "You should have more like him."

"I will keep the first two, and as two isolated men they do not play with other emotions very much. I'm sure that they will stay for long. But, perhaps," Gabriel continues, his hand reaching for the cold coffee, "I will seek out someone else. The more that Parisians fall victim to my possession, the more that Ladybug and Cat Noir will appear. I will force them to give up their miraculouses." He sets the cup down. "But, I digress. I have a show to attend to at the end of this month, don't I?"

Nathalie adjusts her posture. "Yes. In Vienna to showcase your new designs. You've to meet the marketing team before the show to discuss the showcase of your designs. They will also discuss the changes to your branding, as you have requested. Madame Christine D'Or's assistant has also emailed me saying she will be in Vienna to see your show, she would like to go for a coffee sometime before to catch up."

Gabriel nods.

"Felix is not coming, right?" she asks to make sure.

"Correct."

"Should I inform Felix of this?"

"I doubt he will notice that I am away."

♡

She hears another knock on the door and finally loses it.

"I said go away , maman!"

"It's me." Hearing the familiar voice on the other side, her heart almost drops. "Mireille."

Aurore shuts her mouth as she hugs her knees tighter. 

"I was here yesterday as well but I suppose you ignored me," she says in a tender tone, trying her best not to upset Aurore in any way more than necessary. "I understand if you're sick of people bothering you. Your parents did say they tried, many times."

Just as she anticipates it, the girl locked in her bedroom returns with a snap, "What do you want?!"

Mireille composes herself. "I brought you flowers." Hearing some subtle rattle amongst the rain, her heart nearly leaps in hoping that the girl would come and open the door. However, the noise soon falls silent again. "They're kiku—I mean kikus, no, I mean chrysanthemums. I actually wasn't actually sure if you liked them or not, but I see you have a few around your house. These are pink, though. So they don't match the whites you already have."

A quiet mutter speaks, "Why are you doing this?"

Holding the bouquet in her hands, she answers to herself silently, I don't know . "I've heard all the things they say about you at school. You're probably gonna say 'you shouldn't' but I feel bad, it wasn't your fault. I don't think that was the real you. You're always kind and helpful. I just feel bad because it was unfair on you."

"You should feel bad for Madelaine Haprèle."

She practically breathes her words in guilt, " Yes ." Her fingers stroke the plastic wrapping of the bouquet absently, "I feel as though I have some sort of responsibility in it. I feel just as guilty as you are, and that's why I'm here."

The door suddenly opens with no creak. Mireille's eyes nearly widen as she takes in the sight of Aurore Beauréal. Her soft, pale skin is now marred by redden cheeks and puffy eyes. The usually straight and styled blond hair has been clearly neglected. Mireille isn't surprised, as she can understand that in this moment of time, Aurore is likely to think she has more important things to be worrying about than herself. 

But , Mireille thinks, she should take care of herself too.

"Don't feel guilty. You didn't take part." Her voice, now a normal volume, is rough. Her eyes briefly flicker to the flowers—to which Mireille brings her arms forward with a hopeful look—before shooting Mireille an annoyed glance. "At least people aren't sending you texts telling you to kill yourself," she continues. "I said I would vote for her. If she had at least one person to support her, she wouldn't…"

"But you didn't know that was going to happen!" She steps closer. Her right hand unclenches from the bouquet and reaches for Aurore's hand. "It was a mistake you made. And you weren't the only one who made that mistake! Everyone is just blaming you because it's easier than to admit that the whole thing was wrong to begin with! That's why I didn't vote!"

Aurore blinks, letting Mireille hold her hand. "I see why everyone voted you."

Mireille gently tugs Aurore's hand. "Don't say that!"

Aurore feels her eyes brimming with tears, and before she can let it fall, she rushes forward and wraps her arms around Mireille. The chrysanthemums rustle softly between their bodies, with just enough space for them to breathe. Mireille moves the flowers aside and pulls Aurore in a tighter embrace, feeling the tremor from her suppressed sobs.

The rain outside continues to fall.

♡

Silver rain drips off his black umbrella, the sturdy weight of the handle in his hand. Plagg, who has been craving freedom, flies along with Felix in the dome of the umbrella.

Felix can't remember the last time he held an umbrella, or if he could recall ever holding one to begin with. It was always something he would see at the entrance but never put much thought into it. So, when Nathalie stops him before he leaves the house, handing him a black umbrella, he isn't exactly sure what to do with it.

"Take this," she had said.

"Thank you," he mumbled, unsure how to proceed. 

Felix looked down at the object in his hand and stepped outside. He paused on the doorstep, glancing back at Nathalie with an expectant look on her face. He hesitated, trying to recall if he had ever seen anyone open an umbrella up close. It seemed like such a simple task, yet his fingers fumbled.

With a firm push forward, his slender hand gripping the runner, the umbrella finally sprang open. He turned back to Nathalie, who stood watching him with an expression that was half-amused.

Though it seems like Dawnbreaker has continued her rain, they are now transitioning into October. He is sure this isn't his last time seeing the warm sun. It is still humid, he finds, feeling uncomfortably sweaty in his smart coat, but the city he is walking through is now dull in colour, damp with moisture, reflecting the overcast sky. Felix's footsteps echo softly on the wet pavement, his black lace-up shoes sturdy enough to not be affected by the raindrops.

Suicide, huh, Felix thinks. Public school is so peculiar.

A loud, obnoxious inhale intrudes on Felix's thought, followed by, "Man, I just love the smell of rain!"

"Just because you are allowed out doesn't mean you should talk," Felix warns him quietly, avoiding any contact with passing strangers. "People will think I'm talking to myself."

"Why don't you pretend that you do talk to yourself?" Plagg suggests cheerfully. "That's a great idea, isn't it? Then you wouldn't have to explain to them what you're on about!"

"I'd rather not have people think I'm insane."

Plagg, undeterred by Felix's words, continues his relentless chatter. "You know, rain has a way of cleansing the soul. It washes away the old, making way for the new. Maybe that's what you need, Felix—a fresh start, a new perspective."

Felix rolls his eyes, the philosophical musings of his kwami companion doing little to improve his mood. "I don't need a fresh start," he replies, his tone sharp. "I need you to be quiet."

He knows he must maintain his composure, especially in public. The last thing he wants is to draw attention to himself, to appear anything other than in control. However, just as he thinks this, Felix feels his bad luck emerging as he begins to lose control of the handle. The wind runs his way, forcing the black umbrella out of his hands. Felix grips on it tightly with both his hands, yet it only flies higher. 

But the wind is too strong, and Felix inevitably lets it go.

Plagg quickly darts into Felix's bag. The kwami shakes the water from his fur, wetting Felix's books. Woops, Plagg thought.

Then, as if in cruel mockery of his struggle, a large grey truck tumbles down the street. The vehicle splashes through a sizable puddle alongside the pavement Felix is walking on, sending a wave of dirty water arching through the air. Felix, caught completely off guard, stands helpless as the cold, muddy water cascades over him, drenching his smart coat and soaking through to his skin. Water seeps through his socks.

His once meticulously maintained composure is shattered, his appearance now bedraggled and miserable.

At least his leather bag is waterproof. His books are fine.

Plagg, peeking out from the safety of the bag, surveys the situation. "Looks like your bad luck is really something today," he murmurs, his voice has returned to a low volume so that only Felix can hear. "Don't worry! Happens to everyone."

Felix takes a deep breath. He walks to school drenched.

♡

"Aurore's really taking it hard, isn't she?" says Claude with a concerned frown, noting her absence once again.

Allegra blinks at the boy who had insisted that a wave isn't enough, that he has to stand with her as she awaits Bridgette's arrival and keep her company. His excuse being that 'Felix isn't here yet', as if Agreste was his friend to begin with. Then the boy went on about how just gained another three followers on SoundCloud, and how exciting it is for him because his follower count has been stagnant since September. 

But, honestly Allegra would rather he makes three more friends so he has other people to talk to.

Thus, they have been standing in the foyer for the past five minutes, which to Allegra is excruciatingly long. Apparently putting on her earphones didn't help either, as he then asked what she was listening to.

"I was gonna say you should be more worried for Madelaine," she replies, then she folds her arms, shifting her weight from one foot to the other, "but…"

"Don't finish that sentence," he warns her now with furrowed brows.

"I'm not gonna. I was just telling you I was going to."

"You're talking about Madelaine?" Nathaniel Kurtzberg walks up. Today, he's wearing an orange shirt, a greyish-black jacket, and blue jeans paired with orange sneakers. His long ginger hair waves in front of his face as he approaches, and he blows the strands away with a quick blow of breath as he stops in front of them.

Why do I always attract the weird kids? thinks Allegra.

"It's been a week," says Allegra. "What needs to be talked about Madelaine has already been said. Trust me, I've heard all the girl gossip already. I bet after Christmas, nobody's gonna give a shit about Madelaine."

"You must be fun at parties."

Allegra ignores Claude's remark. "See, the thing is, people forget other people have feelings when they're so focused on their own. I knew someone would get a fate worse than being second, that's why I didn't care about the poll."

"Bro," says Claude with a scoff, adjusting his glasses. "You got third place. And you didn't even realise it."

"Don't call me 'bro', I'm not your bro."

Nathaniel decides to chime in. "To be honest, I didn't get any votes either," he offers, shrugging his shoulders.

Claude agrees. "Actually, same."

"You're actually so different from what I imagined you to be." Allegra gives him a look that suggests 'what do you mean?' He fumbles with a strand of his long ginger hair, awkwardly tucking it behind his ear. "I mean, I thought because you were close with Lilou and Gabrielle that you would also be into the poll. And that, if anything, you'd be ecstatic to be third. But, you actually don't care at all. I was even surprised that Bridgette said you're her best friend."

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Uh, oh—no, that's not—" he stammers, clearly flustered.

"Just kidding. I get what you mean." Allegra fakes a laugh to ease the tension. "I'm not heartless, by the way. I do feel bad for Madelaine."

"Yeah," agrees Nathaniel. "She was always nice to me, and she helped me with my English. But I didn't think she was lonely so I never really sat with her during lunch."

Claude thinks for a moment. "I should've made an effort to talk to her. I never realised she was a loner."

"No, she isn't a loner," Allegra states firmly. She turns her head to Claude and her light blond ponytail whips to the other side of her shoulder. "She has friends she hangs out with; she just felt lonely on the inside. That is the difference."

Claude's eyes widen slightly as he processes Allegra's words. "I never thought about it like that," he admits quietly. "I always saw her with people, so I assumed she was fine."

"People can be surrounded by friends and still feel completely isolated," she says. "Sorry for snapping there."

"No, I'm sorry too."

"For what?" She tilts her head.

"Your face tells me you were expecting one too."

A small smile plays on her lips. "How do you know me so well?"

Claude's attention adverts from Allegra when he sees Felix walking in within his peripheral vision. The boy, who has always presented himself as pristine, is drenched. From the looks of it, Felix Agreste has not just been in the rain but has experienced, for the first time in his life—as evident from the irate expression, and half of his body soaked in water—getting splashed by a vehicle.

His blond hair now clings to his forehead in messy, wet clumps of strands. Water drips from the ends. 

"Quite the looker," mutters Allegra with a small smirk.

Claude dismisses her sarcastic comment and makes his way to the boy. "You know, there's towels in the locker room in the gym. I don't have a change of clothes but you should get yourself dry," he suggests as he watches Felix wipe his shoes on the 'Welcome to Lycée Françoise Dupont' mat.

Felix steps off and walks forward. 

"Thanks," he says, managing a curtly tone, without looking at the boy with his signature headphones. He isn't interested in any more conversation or socialising with anyone after the bad morning he has had.

Allegra turns her head back to her phone, avoiding Felix's glare at anyone who dares to look at him.

Suddenly, she hears the entrance door swing open again and looks up. Without warning, her friend Bridgette runs into the school with her red umbrella—still open—and quite literally leaps over the welcome mat. As soon as her first foot hits the floor, the water beneath her shoes causes her to slip. She crashes headfirst into Felix's back, causing him to stumble and fall with her.

It all happened so quick that Claude couldn't help prevent it. 

Bridgette lets out a yelp as she lands awkwardly, her umbrella clattering to the ground beside her.

"Oh my gosh, Felix, I'm so sorry!" Bridgette exclaims, scrambling to get up. Her face is flushed with embarrassment as she reaches out to help Felix to his feet. 

At the same time, Claude also extends his hand as he is just standing on Felix's left. A smile stretches his lips when Felix takes his hand begrudgingly over Bridgette's.

Felix stands up and brushes himself off. "Thank you," he says. He then turns around and warns Bridgette, "Watch where you're going next time."

Claude steps forward, concerned. "Are you both okay?"

"I'm fine," Bridgette replies quickly, shooting Felix an apologetic look. "I really didn't mean to…"

"It's fine," Felix interrupts, though his tone suggests otherwise. "Just be more careful."

As Felix turns and heads towards the locker room, Allegra stifles a laugh before scolding her friend. "Bri, you should know to wipe your shoes before you come in. Come on, let's get you dried up in the bathroom. You're soaking!"

Bridgette closes her umbrella then unzips her red raincoat, to which Allegra takes it off her hands. 

"Well, that was quite an entrance," Nathaniel says to Bridgette, who sighs deeply.

"Tell me about it," Bridgette mutters, closing her umbrella and shaking off the remaining water. "That's not how I planned to start my day. And I definitely didn't mean to upset Felix."

Nathaniel's hands start to sweat hearing this.

"Honestly, he's not worth it." 

♡

"The bag is waterproof," states Felix. " Must you shake your fur?"

Plagg, although afraid of Felix's glare, stands up for himself. "The rain was on me when your umbrella flew! And besides! You should know that if you're going to own a cat, you should be prepared to have towels ready for me!"

"I wasn't even prepared to meet you," Felix says, exasperated.

♡

Art is the only class where Allegra and Bridgette share. 

They both find that they are pleasantly satisfied with this. For Bridgette, she shares her favourite subject with her best friend and, thankfully, Madame Archambeau has been kind enough to allow them to choose their own seats. For Allegra, she shares a free period with her best friend. 

To the right of the classroom are counters with a vast array of supplies from tubes of acrylic paint to endless stacks of sketch paper. There is also one dirty, coloured sink and a wooden drying rack holding the students' paintings sitting in the corner. The art room was also intentionally placed in the part of the school where the sun pours through the tall windows, allowing the best lighting. It's only unfortunate that today is raining.

"Who would like to model?" asks Madame Archambeau when the students have settled down. Looking around the room with a keen eye, pretty much every student avoids her gaze. She knows that everyone has dreaded today's class. The only one who maintains it is Felix Agreste, who is sitting at the back of the class, his expression impassive. "Okay, Felix you're up!"

Everyone turns their heads to him.

Absolutely not, thinks Felix.

Madame Archambeau pulls out an empty chair from one of the front desks, places it at the front of the room in front of the smartscreen, and gives the back of the seat a few pats as a gesture to come up. As if that should convince him. As if he is a pet.

He rises from his seat reluctantly. The sound of the chair pushed back is loud and clear. As he walks down, he maintains his eye contact with Madame Archambeau, who is smiling encouragingly, in order to avoid the gaze of all his classmates. Except, he notes, as he passes the desks behind the front, Bridgette who has already begun her sketches. 

She's making some finishing touches on figures wearing long dresses. They look just like father's.

Felix sits down, his posture rigid. He finally glances around the room with the same expression. Having undergone extensive classes on etiquette, Felix has trained himself to stand or sit still in one position for extended periods with minimal blinking. He has learned to control every aspect of his demeanour, from the precise angle of his posture to the subtlety of his breathing. Over time, this practice became second nature.

He is well aware that a heart exists inside of him, but whether he feels it beating, feels it red and warm and happy, he is unsure.

The only time he doesn't do this is when he sleeps. For some reason, his body insists on a hundred turns, which, unfortunately results in his mop-like hair every morning. It isn't as though he has nightmares frequently either.

Madame Archambeau, observing from the side, nods approvingly. She takes out her phone and begins to play piano music. "You've all got an hour!"

The class begins with some groans, nonetheless, it's soon replaced with chatter. 

As the minutes tick by, Felix's mind drifts back to his etiquette training. He recalls the hours spent balancing books on his head, perfecting his walks. This is actually the first time in so long he has sat for a drawing. The last was on his thirteenth birthday when his father requested an artist to paint the two as a gift for Felix. It went on for eighteen hours. After that, Felix never received or has seen the five feet tall painting ever again.

"You're very still," observes Madame Archambeau.

Felix doesn't give a response.

"Usually these sessions don't last more than twenty minutes, but it's been half an hour already." With not a single word from Felix, she attempts once more to encourage the boy to talk. "I don't know how you do it. You can talk, you know? So long as they get the general gist of your posture and face, it's all good."

"I'm fine, thank you." His words come out perfectly coherent, but his lips barely move.

Madame Archambeau narrows her eyes slightly, studying him for a moment, but decides not to probe further. She decides to walk around the room to check on her students' progress, offering guidance and feedback to every other student.

She stops at Allegra and Bridgette's desks, peering over their shoulders at their work. "You better be drawing just as much as you're talking, Allegra. When this is finished, you do know this will be handed in, right?"

"Yes, madame." Allegra suppresses a groan.

"Excellent shading, Bridgette," she remarks, her eyes lighting up with approval, then walks on.

Bridgette is quite satisfied with her progress so far. Despite juggling school with her part-time job as a baker's daughter and her new role as Ladybug, she hasn't had much time to draw. This is one of the reasons why she enjoys Art class over her other subjects—because at least here, she doesn't have to study the materials when she goes home. Holding a pen or pencil is natural to her. The melody in the background helps her focus, and over the years she has also become accustomed to Allegra's rants.

She's even forgotten all the dresses she has designed over the summer, and the progress she has made at home with her new sewing machine, which, unfortunately, she also hasn't the time to work with these days.

Just as she thinks everything is going great, almost finishing her drawing before the hour is up, the lead of her mechanical pencil just has to snap. A harsh, bold line scars Felix's softly shaded cheek. Bridgette's ahoge drops. Her heart sinks as she stares at the unexpected mark, her carefully crafted portrait marred by an unforgiving stroke of fate!

Taking a deep breath, Bridgette tries to compose herself. She knows she can't dwell on the mistake; there's still time left in the class, meaning she can just restart. It's no problem for her at all!

Turning her head, Bridgette checks up on Allegra's progress. She can't help but stifle a laugh. 

What's even more funny is that Allegra's concentrated face tells Bridgette that the poor girl is trying her hardest on shading Felix's eyebrow. However, the pressure in her hands is darkening the grey graphite. The more she tries to fix it, the more pressure she puts on the pencil and the more this darkens his eyebrows, which is not reflective of his light blond hairs at all. 

Rose, from behind, takes a glance after seeing Bridgette's reaction. She lets out a giggle as well. "He looks so angry."

Bridgette nearly jumps at this.

Jean, beside Rose, offers his comment which earns a few more laughs from those sitting around them. "Just like the real Felix Agreste." 

But Allegra looks undeterred. She sets down her pencil and holds it up proudly. "Finished!"

Jean starts to laugh louder.

"Uhm," Bridgette unsurely begins now that the whole class can hear them.

She glances at the front and notes Felix's dismissive face. His body has changed for the first time since they've started the lesson, and somehow Felix looks even more unfriendly than he already does. His eyes are as grey as the gloomy rain he stares into.

She certainly doesn't want to upset him any more than she has already.

♡

After he finishes lunch, Felix promptly makes his way down the library before Claude could catch him. 

As he walks through one of the halls, with windows that allows him to view into the courtyard, he notices Bridgette standing outside talking to a boy with vibrant red hair. He was also in his Art class, but sits in one of the back rows. If he remembers correctly, he was also standing with Claude this morning.

He isn't sure why but he pauses. Standing there, he watches the two momentarily.

After this morning, he is going to need to think of a new nickname for her. Miracle girl… perhaps she should now be referred to as the 'Misfortunate Girl'. Perhaps she would even be more suited to the cat miraculous.

He knows it's not her fault, but the petty side of him likes to blame her for his fall and the mockery he experienced in Art class. What's wrong with being alone and expressionless? If anything, they should be grateful he is like this because he isn't bothering anyone. They are fine not being friends with a loner like him, and he is happy not being friends with them.

Felix doubts a happy-go-lucky girl like her would even detest the idea of being cursed. He watches her smile in response to something he said.

"You know," comes a familiar voice, if you wanna tell a girl how you feel, it's better to do so sooner than later. I suggest going to her bakery every morning before school, around seven, she works morning shifts."

Felix does not turn around. "What is your motive?"

"What do you mean?" asks Claude in such an innocent tone that Felix is sure that he is feigning innocence.

"Why do you insist on befriending me? We're in school, you can choose almost anyone to talk to and yet you insist on conversing with me every chance you get."

Claude smiles, which Felix can see in the reflection of the window. "I just don't want you to be lonely, is all." 

"I'm perfectly fine the way I am," Felix replies curtly.

Claude takes a step closer, his smile never faltering. "Are you, though? You think you're protecting yourself by pushing everyone away, but all you're doing is building walls around a very small world."

Felix's eyes narrow, his reflection showing the briefest flicker of emotion before he quickly masks it. "I don't need you to tell me who I am or what I'm doing or how I feel, Claude. I know myself the best."

At this, Claude drops his smile. In the reflection, Felix notes the gradual glare growing in his eyes behind his glasses.  "Do you truly think that you are different to us?" 

Not this rumour again.

Felix finally turns around and mirrors Claude's expression. "You should know that I don't think that."

He nearly yells his words: "Then why won't you accept my friendship?"

Felix's jaw tightens.

"You and I have nothing in common."

"So," Claude lets out a breath, "We are different then."

Felix shrugs. 

"I suppose so."

And with that, Felix turns on his heel and begins to make his way to the library. 

"Bye, Claude."

Hopefully that will push Claude Savard away from him for the rest of the year, as well as the rest of highschool. Felix realises he needs to make the idiot realise that, in truth, Felix is nothing but an isolated person who truly has no interest in friends. 

Sometimes people need to face the harsh truth and accept reality for what it is.

♡

After handing in the second, better drawing of Felix, Bridgette finds herself holding onto the first one. 

Though, she isn't exactly sure what she should do with it. 

Seeing some of her other sketches already hung up on the wall, including one of Allegra in one of her ballroom dresses, she decides to stick Felix's portrait up along with the rest of them. The two drawings, side by side, are a stark contrast: Allegra in her dress dancing in the moment, with suggested vibrancy in the use of the colours, and Felix's composed, almost stoic, expression.

Taking a step back, Bridgette lets out a hum. Her left hand placed on the side of her hips and her other hand at her chin. "It's not weird… is it?"

"What is?" comes Tikki flying out.

"Having a picture of your crush on your wall."

"Assuming it's not excessive to the point of being obsessive, I am sure it isn't. And besides, it is a very nice drawing of the Felix Agreste. Aside… from the mark."

Bridgette lets out a hopeless sigh. "I'll ruin it if I erase it."

"So, you won't go out with Nathaniel Kurtzberg, then?" Tikki asks, recalling their conversation in the school courtyard from earlier. 

"I said I would give him a chance, so I guess I have to. At least it's not gonna be super romantic, especially since I don't feel ready yet. We're just gonna walk around the museum and draw." Bridgette sighs again, this time more thoughtfully. 

Tikki flutters closer, her tiny face filled with curiosity. "Do you like him, though?"

Bridgette shrugs, her fingers absently tracing the edge of Felix's sketch. "I don't dislike him. He's nice, and we have some things in common. I just feel that it's more right if I give him a chance, and even though I think I like Felix, I don't have much reasons to like him aside from the fact that he can be nice when he needs to be. But, Nathaniel is just as nice…"

Tikki nods sagely. "Feelings can be complicated. Maybe spending time with Nathaniel will help you figure things out. And who knows? You might end up really enjoying his company." The kwami gives her a reassuring pat on the cheek. "Take your time, Bridgette. Feelings don't have to be rushed. And remember, it's okay to have a crush and still be figuring things out."

"Thanks, Tikki," says Bridgette. "I think you're the best thing that's happened to me since September."

"That's the spirit. And you know I'll be there for you!"

The kwami's antennae bounce as she zips around in a joyful circle, her antenna spreads in the air with a bounce as she moves, a red glow emanating along the direction she flies. Tikki brings her arms up, and Bridgette gently cups her in her hands, bringing the kwami close to her cheek. She rubs their heads together affectionately, their eyes twinkling together.

"Bridgette! Bridgette! " comes Sabine Cheng's voice.

Tikki quickly darts underneath Bridgette's pillow, disappearing from sight.

"Can I come in, Bridgette?" her mother calls again.

"Uh, yeah, sure, mama!" Bridgette responds, hurriedly running over down the stairs to open the door. Her mother, still wearing her flour-dusted apron, stands in the doorway, her face telling Bridgette she is evidently concerned. "What is it, mama?"

"Can I come in? We need to sit and talk."

A thousand thoughts rushes through Bridgette's head. There is no way her mama would know she is Ladybug! Panic takes hold of her momentarily, but she tries to keep her expression neutral.

"Of course, mama," she says, stepping aside to let her mother enter. Sabine walks in, taking a quick glance around the room before settling on the edge of Bridgette's bed.

Bridgette closes the door behind them, the click of the latch echoing softly in the room. She turns to face her mother, her heart pounding in her chest. "Uhm, what is it, mama?" she asks, trying to keep her voice steady despite the nervous flutter in her stomach.

"Sit down."

Bridgette obediently takes a seat on her desk chair.

Her mama pats on the space beside her on the bed. Bridgette promptly moves.

As soon as Bridgette sits down beside her mama, she sighs heavily. Bridgette tenses at this. "I… I am worried about your school, Bridgette," Sabine begins gently, "I've read the email from your principal and I have seen what was on the news. To think that a girl, just fifteen, can be extremely affected by a popularity poll scares me. Bridgette, be honest…"

"Yes, mama?"

"Did you take part in it?" Sabine asks, her eyes searching Bridgette's face for any sign of deception.

"No, not at all, mama!" Bridgette places her hand reassuringly on her mama's shoulder. "I was busy with schoolwork, the bakery, jiu-jitsu and sewing. And you know I had Allegra, so being more popular doesn't mean anything to me. I know that popularity doesn't automatically make you friends!"

"Yes, but I've seen the results. Allegra was placed third." 

"Doesn't affect me at all!"

"You're not jealous or anything?"

Bridgette shakes her head. "Nope!"

Her mama takes her hand and wraps it between the both of hers. "I know that going to a new school and making new friends can drift people apart. If you're having any troubles with Allegra, I don't want you to keep it to yourself. You know change is natural."

Bridgette tries to reassure her. "Mama, Allegra and I are still best friends. She doesn't care about the poll at all  because her teacher signed her up last-minute for a competition in November, so she has been extremely busy trying to become number one for an actual competition. Allegra's got better things to do than that, and you remember middle school, right?"

"I do… I just… you know you are a very beautiful girl, don't you? Regardless of what your papa and I look like."

"Mama!" Bridgette nearly scolds her. "You're beautiful too!"

"Aww, sweetie." Sabine gives her a kiss on the cheek. "And Bri, you know that no matter what your cousins have said about you before, none of that should matter to you, right?"

Bridgette smiles. "Of course, mama. I know I don't have monkey ears. And, look!" Bridgette tilts her head to the side with a sparkly, confident pose, "I grew out of them!"

"Exactly. Because you're beautiful just the way you are."

Chapter Text

Bridgette had planned to train with Cat Noir today after dinner. 

As she swings across the city, her red long ribbons trailing behind her, she can't help but feel a sense of exhilaration coursing through her veins. The cool night air brushed against her cheeks, her smile widening, and the distant hum of the city below sounds quite pleasant. 

It hasn't been long since she became Ladybug, but she certainly feels herself coming a long way, feeling more confident after each fight. Even if it results in either party always escaping towards the end.

The name of 'Papillon' still lingers on her mind at night, but she's sure it won't be long before she finds out who the person behind all this really is. 

As she nears their usual meeting spot on the Eiffel Tower, where no one comes to climb up at night, she feels her heart quicken with anticipation. It isn't a bad kind of anticipation, but rather one that is excited to fight. The feeling reminds her of her training sessions before her jiu-jitsu competitions, the thrill of preparing for a match—the desire of wanting to win.

The cool night air whips around her as she lands. The lights of Paris twinkle far below. The glow of the streetlights form a pattern through the avenues and boulevards. Closing her eyes, she allows herself to enjoy the peaceful evening before Cat Noir's arrival, without the disturbance of Monsieur Pigeon or the Mime. She hums, and stops. A small tug is pulling her heart. 

Standing here, she can imagine herself watching a Paris engulfed in flames.

Bridgette bites her lip. She is sure she won't let that happen. 

And Cat Noir will be there. He hasn't exactly promised, but it was his words that fate believes in the both of them. Besides, the previous Ladybug has managed to use 'Miraculous Ladybug' to restore everything after her win. Whilst it did lead to it being erased from history, Bridgette isn't interested in making history at all; she's focused on her duty. As long as she can restore Paris like the Ladybug in her visions, she'll remain confident.

Bridgette clenches her hands into fists. "Where is Cat Noir?"

She scans the skyline for any sign of her partner.

To her surprise, she hears the sound of a swoosh behind her. Instinctively crouching, she turns around, ready for a fight. Perhaps one of Monsieur Pigeon's birds caught sight of her at the tower. But what she sees is far more unexpected—a swirling black hole emerging, from which Cat Noir surges out, claws bared and ready to attack.

Ladybug summons her bugstick. The metal scrapes against his sharp claws, producing a harsh, screeching sound that echoes in the night air. Sparks fly from the impact, illuminating their faces for a brief moment.

"I hope I didn't keep you waiting!" Cat Noir grins before he sends a black storm her way, the energy crackling with power.

Ladybug reacts instantly and transforms her bugstick into a yo-yo. She swings herself up in the air to avoid the attack. The black storm rushes past beneath her, flying into the distance. She flips gracefully, landing on a nearby beam of the tower. 

"Close," she calls out, a playful smirk on her lips. "But you'll have to do better than that!"

Ladybug swings back down, her yoyo whizzing through the air as she aims for his legs. With reflexes as quick as his namesake, he jumps aside just in time, the yoyo barely missing him.

"Oh, come on! Can't you keep up?!" he teases. 

She retracts her yo-yo and bounces off a beam, launching herself towards Cat Noir with a flying kick. He catches her mid-air, spinning her around before forcing her to the ground. One hand takes hold of both her wrists, his claws digging in. She gasps. His other grabs onto her red ribbon and yanks her head back to look him in the eyes.

"Now, what would you do if Dawnbreaker did this to you?" he almost growls. 

Before she can respond to his question, her bug stick extends within her hand, the end kicking Cat Noir in the head with surprising force. He staggers back, releasing his hold on her as he tries to regain his balance.

"You were here before me!" she yells, finally figuring it out. "You scared me!"

He smiles at her sheepishly, his leather-belt tail wagging innocently as he kneels down with a bow to his lady. "I knew you would be here on time," he admits, "but I wasn't sure exactly when, so I gambled five minutes after." He takes her hand and gives her a kiss.

She shakes her hand away from his hold. "I didn't know you could enter your black abyss," she says, her curiosity piqued. "Does it also work as a portal?"

"Unfortunately, no," Cat Noir replies with a shake of his head. "You were right, I was here before you, and since I was bored, I spent some time within the black abyss. If objects and pigeons and other animals alike can enter, so can I."

"I'm… curious, but I don't want to go in and see for myself." Ladybug shudders at the thought, before admitting, "I feel like you would trap me."

Cat Noir laughs loudly. "As I do with all my enemies!"

"Wouldn't it be a good idea if we trapped Monsieur Pigeon, the Mime and everyone else in it? We can fight them there with no damage to the city or just leave them there."

He shrugs at this. "You could. If they would let us."

"True," she agrees. "They're getting just as good as us the longer we're fighting them."

After a few more rounds of practice, their fight leads to an exhilarating chase across the rooftops of Paris, taking turns to chase one another,  they finally decide to take a break. Sitting side by side, they catch their breath, their chests rising and falling in sync. They watch the city of light spread out before them.

"Have you heard?" Ladybug speaks up.

"About what?"

"The popularity poll," Ladybug begins. "The one that turned Madame Aurore Beauréal into Dawnbreaker. It's been reported that another student tragically took their own life as a result."

"Yes, actually—" Cat Noir suddenly pauses as a realisation hits him. "How did you know her identity anyway?"

Ladybug's pulse quickens at the question, her mind racing for a plausible response. She can't afford for Cat Noir to uncover her secret identity, not now. "I have my ways!" Ladybug almost exclaims. "I'm actually quite the detective in my civilian life."

"Lies, you said you just started highschool last time." teases Cat Noir. But , he thinks, if he finds out her real identity despite what Plagg has said, he could perhaps court her. "Do you go to the same school as her or something?"

Feeling a bead of sweat form on her face, she tells him a lie: "Even though I don't go to Lycée Françoise Dupont, she and a few others are popular enough that we know them as well. Unfortunately, I was never invited to any of their parties."

"How unfortunate," states Cat Noir, dryly.

"I'm not fussed though," says Ladybug matter-of-factly, "I have a job."

Cat Noir's eyes light up with mischief, a mischievous grin playing at the corners of his lips. "Hey, why don't we go out together sometime? You know, to celebrate the defeat of one of the bad boys?"

"No thanks," she rejects him immediately. "And please don't call them that."

"Your loss!"

♡

Coach Abioye's plans for this Saturday is for Felix to take part in a group training session, after three personal coaching sessions, to ease the boy into a group. He has noted, and has discussed with Felix, about his concerns for the boy's habit of seclusion.

Now this would have been all fine with Felix. He isn't exactly keen on the idea but he did promise his father he would be more open to socialising through this extracurricular. However, what he did not expect was for some of the advanced trainees to also partake in coaching the beginners, and this includes both Kim and Jack, whose last name he later found out was Alarie. 

He can feel Kim's gaze on him, knowing that Kim would want Felix to be part of his smaller group. 

A part of Felix does feel bad for never agreeing to give Kim his phone number, nor giving Kim a firm response to 'hanging out together' disguised as shopping for boxing equipment.

Fortunately for Felix, Coach Abioye sends him to another older man's group. Although halfway through the session, Felix catches the eye of Kim once more. The boy sends him a wink, for good luck he supposes.

Closer , he thinks as he delivers a series of punches at the punching bag. He needs to get closer to her.

The 'her' in question was Ladybug.

But there is no way of knowing what kind of guy Ladybug is into without making her uncomfortable by asking or dropping hints to probe, by knowing he is making advances. At the same time, he needs to make the appropriate kind and amount of advances in order to win her over—or persuade her. The rhythmic sound of his punches fills the air, and Felix grunts harder the more he concentrates. 

The training session is drawing to a close, and Felix's muscles burns from the effort. Sweat drips down his face, and his breaths comes heavy and fast.

Kim approaches Felix with an extra towel in hand. "Working hard, man. I can see you've made progress."

"This is the first time you've seen me train." Felix takes the towel with a muttered 'thanks'.

Kim awkwardly laughs. "Coach Abioye said you've improved quickly. In such a short amount of time, too." Jack's screams can be heard in the background, echoing through the training area. Neither of them turns around to look. "You must be practising outside."

Good save , Felix thinks. If there's one thing that Kim is good at, it isn't boxing. It's talking.

"Hey," Kim's tone softens. Felix watches him take a step forward as everyone else in the room disperses to their own discussion groups. "You… know about Claude, don't you? You must've heard?"

He has indeed.

"I've heard."

"Then you also know it's best that you don't hang out with him." Kim's eyes search Felix's face for a reaction. 

Felix is well aware of Kim's watchful eye. Since that Saturday they spoke, Kim has been glancing his way whenever Claude approached. "I don't," he says. "He does seem to have changed. Not that it is my intention to befriend him. And besides, it seems like everyone's slowly forgiving him."

"You don't know what can happen. People don't just change gradually; sometimes they change in the moment."

"I don't understand what you're talking about."

But Kim knows that Felix understands very well. "I'm just worried for you."

"I don't need your concern, thank you." Felix neatly folds the towel in his hand. His hands brush against his own soaked sweat. "Nor do I need you to look after me. I do suggest that if it is Claude that you specifically have a problem with, then perhaps you should speak to him, and not me."

"There's no stopping Claude. He's desperate to be your friend." Kim's brows furrows. 

"Wouldn't you say you are the same as Claude, then? You always make unnecessary efforts to talk to me."

Taken aback, he opens his mouth to defend himself but closes it again. Finally, he sighs, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "It's different. I'm befriending you so you don't end up becoming friends with a guy like Claude. Claude's only befriending you because you knew nothing about him at first. Meaning, in other words, you're an easy target.

Felix shrugs. "I'm not easily persuaded."

"Well, if you ever need anything, or a man to beat the shit outta him, I'm here."

"I'll keep that in mind."

♡

Saturday blesses them with good weather, the sky a clear blue and the air warm with the promise of a perfect day. The clouds form pretty shapes.

Nathaniel stands outside the Louvre Museum awkwardly, his eyes focused on the sketch he is drawing on his tablet. The crowd flows around him, tourists and locals alike, but he remains in his own world, the stylus moving swiftly over the screen.

He is wearing his nicest band t-shirt that he knows Bridgette also likes, a pair of crisp white denim jeans and his newest white sneakers that he's only worn preciously on good days.

The moment that Nathaniel sees Bridgette, his face lights up. 

She approaches with a bright smile, her presence like a ray of sunshine. She is wearing a pink long-sleeve shirt with delicate ribbons at her shoulders, a white denim skirt that complements his jeans, and comfy white sneakers that mirror his own. Over her shoulder is a small brown shoulder bag, practical yet stylish. Her hair is down, flowing freely, and Nathaniel can't help but think how adorable she looks. 

They match in a way that makes him feel like they belong together.

"Thanks for coming today," Nathaniel says, his voice a bit shy

Luck must be on his side today. He has to make today worth it—to do his best to get close to Bridgette.

"You invited. I couldn't not come," she beams back at him. "I like your shirt."

"Thanks," he replies, a blush creeping up his cheeks. "You listen to them too?"

"Yeah, I like to listen to them whenever I draw. Their songs are so catchy as well, but I'm still getting used to their newest album, it's a new style, isn't it?" she responds enthusiastically. 

"I agree. 'Solitude' was and still is my favourite album."

She takes out her small sketchbook from her bag and a mechanical pencil, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Let's go!"

They walk towards the entrance of the Louvre, the grand glass museum, and wander through the exhibits, pausing to sketch every other painting that catches their interest, sharing their thoughts. Nathaniel's tablet and Bridgette's sketchbook soon fills with quick studies and impressions of the art around them.

They talk about the band, other bands; the good weather today and the upcoming weather in October, then a mention of Christmas; their first exams in high school and how annoying of a school Lycée Françoise Dupont can be sometimes, trading stories about strict teachers.

Talking to her is so easy, thinks Nathaniel. It was luck that Madame Bustier sat him beside Bridgette Cheng in homeroom, for he hadn't expected to befriend anyone. In fact, after middle school, he convinced himself that he would be fine eating lunch alone. Of course, after Bridgette, he also befriended a few of the art kids and collectively joined the art club. 

But Bridgette stuck out to him the most. He is certain that it's because of her that he quickly grew his confidence to speak to other people. Nathaniel finds himself more captivated by Bridgette's smile. 

As they stand in front of a particularly striking painting, Nathaniel glances at Bridgette. Her hand moves swiftly across the sketchbook, her brows furrows as she concentrates on her strokes. He just can't help but admire her focus when she's deep in thought, and this is what he thinks when they're in class together. He wishes he could sit next to her in Art, but her seatmates had already been filled before he even realised her importance.

When she looks up and catches him staring, she smiles, and he feels his heart skip a beat.

As lunchtime rolls around, they visit Café des Arts for some food which is just two minutes away. After getting a bite to eat, choosing to sit at a table for two situated by the window, they sit and chat for another while, though Nathaniel can sense that Bridgette is slowly losing interest as she gazes outside. Her fingers idly tracing patterns on the table.

Attempting to reignite the conversation, he pulls out his tablet and taps a few times to bring up a recent watercolour drawing. "Hey, uhm, Bridgette," he says awkwardly. "I know Felix was our model, but I couldn't help but draw you when you were so focused."

Bridgette's eyes turns back to him with a practised smile. She leans in to look at the screen, and her eyes widen in surprise. "You're really talented, you know that? I love how you've used the colours to bring out the details. It's amazing." Her eyes are fixed on the drawing, "You know, having a drawing tablet is so cool."

"Yeah," agrees Nathaniel. "It helps a long way, and definitely saves a lot for what it's worth. You get one pen and you have hundreds of brushes and colours to choose from. But, if I wanted to, I can still use a grey pencil and a paper background. You should get one too. I think you would love it."

"I do too," says Bridgette, "but I splashed out my money on a sewing machine in summer, so I don't think I'll get it just yet."

"Oh, you like to sew?"

She tilts her head in response, "I make clothes and alter my own sometimes as a hobby." She brings her hands to her shoulders and plays with the ribbons. "I attached these to the shirt myself. I also made this skirt from one of Allegra's old pair of jeans."

"That's impressive. I always thought sewing was really hard."

"It can be," Bridgette admits, "but it's also really rewarding. I never thought that something as boring as fixing your own clothes can lead to designing your own." 

After a bit more chit-chat, and just as Nathaniel notices on the clock that it is nearly four, and that he would have to go home soon for dinner, he finally gathers his courage to confess his thoughts to her. His heart pounds a rhythm in his chest

"Bridgette," he begins, setting down his tablet and pen softly, his right thumb rubbing his left index finger nervously, "look, I know we've only known each other for a month, but I really like you. I don't want us to just be friends. I'm interested in you romantically. And I'm not sure if I want to wait any longer. Of course, I understand if you want to take it slow."

As the words leave his mouth, he can see from her face that she is caught off guard. She opens her mouth to speak but hesitates, clearly processing what he has just said. 

Of course, she didn't expect a confession on what didn't even count as a date. You stupid idiot! he mentally berates himself. Why did I have to blurt it out like that? Of course, Nathaniel is just nervous and had he not said it all in one go, he fears he would never have the chance or the courage to say it ever again.

"Nathaniel, I… I didn't see this coming," she admits, this is a lie, her voice gentle. "But, I'm really flattered."

"Bridgette—"

"I think we should take this slow," before he can utter another word—"but as friends. I can't give you an answer right now, and I can't guarantee whether my feelings will change or not, but I feel as though I need more time. I'm sorry if this isn't the answer that you were looking for."

Nathaniel's nails dig into his skin. 

"Let's… call it a day? I really enjoyed hanging out with you!" She beams again. 

Stop it. Stop being so nice to me. You don't have to smile at me just to be nice.

"Would you… like me to take you home?"

"No thank you. I can take the bus." She stands up. "Where are you headed?"

♡

"I thought you said you'd give him a chance!" asks Tikki, popping her red head out of Bridgette's brown bag. Her big black eyes waiting for answers.

Bridgette sighs, rubbing the kwami's head. "I didn't feel anything," she confesses. "I think I really do just see him as a friend. Sure, it was fun talking to him but I feel like something is missing."

"I think you broke that young man's heart."

She nearly winces at this. "When did you become so insightful on love, Tikki?" she nearly snaps at her kwami, then realises her the meaning of her words. Tikki sees the change in her expression.

Tikki gives a small, knowing smile. "I've been around for a long time, Bridgette. I don't think you were in the wrong but I had believed you wouldn't reject him on the first date."

Bridgette looks down at Tikki, her expression conflicted. "Nathaniel is such a good guy, but… I just can't see myself dating him is all."

In the moment, a thought crosses her mind. It's such a strange sight to see a girl talk to a red oversized ladybug, and she has never imagined herself in her lifetime to be doing so, but it has been so long since she talks out loud to herself. Growing up as an only child, she developed this habit to entertain herself.

She chuckles softly. 

"Let's just go home, Tikki. We have training with Cat Noir after dinner."

♡

From the east entrance, Nathaniel steps into a nearly desolate Grand Carré of the Tuileries Garden. 

Passing by the sculptures, his fingers tapping out a message to his mother. He lets her know that he'll be spending dinner with his date, even though he doesn't feel like eating at the moment, which is the far west to the truth.

The garden is just a ten minute walk away and Nathaniel doesn't feel like going home. 

He makes his way towards the large pond, usually filled with tourists, that is now empty due to the time of day. In the centre of it is a small fountain, its waters shooting tall into the air. The water is shimmering. At least the weather is still good, otherwise he'd be home or his mother would be demanding his presence home.

Nathaniel finds a quiet spot by the water's edge and sinks into a green chair, the smooth metal cool against his skin. He leans back and takes out his tablet, pulling up the drawing he did of Bridgette. 

He takes his time looking at it for a while, recalling how he drew this in the little time left he had in Art, then went home and made some retouches. How he decided to add some blues to her hair to match her eyes. And, though she wasn't smiling at the time, as her eyes focused on Felix, he was able to imagine the smile on her face from memories and put that on paper.

On the other side of the pond, in the far distance, he sees a couple who couldn't be any older than him strolling together. They laugh, and he can just about see that the girl is scrunching her nose as she laughs. Her boyfriend looking at her as if she is his world. It is not fair.

It is unfair that he can't experience first love like that.

Looking back down, he catches sight of his own reflection in the water. His lips are set in a thin line, the corners downturned in a subtle frown. He couldn't imagine adding any colour to a sketch of his own face. He sits there for a few more hours, alone.

Nathaniel Kurtzberg does not look too happy.

♡

Above, the rich purple glass dome colours his eyes with darkness as soon as he steps into the lair, to which he looks at past the butterflies. Despite the beauty of their dance, there is a heaviness in the air.

The glass brings him a vision of what he wishes to see—a boy saddened by rejection, the pen in his hand barely drawing the consequences of a failed confession. Gabriel watches intently. The scene unfolds before him like a painting coming to life; there is no suffering as universal as love.

"Artists can create anything with just their imaginations," Gabriel says, his words hanging in the air. Behind him is the shuffle of footsteps. "He will be as good as you."

The Mime, his face concealed by shadows, averts his eyes to the cold floor. He shifts uncomfortably, though his feet remains in the same spot, the weight of Gabriel's statement pressing down on him.

"If he proves himself worthy then I want you to mentor him. I doubt you need to use words as I believe art is already a form of communication." Gabriel turns around. As expected, the Mime bows his head slightly at his command. Gabriel's lips curl into a faint, satisfied smile. "Remember, the most powerful art comes from the deepest emotions. Teach him to channel his pain, to use it as fuel for his creativity."

Gabriel turns back to the boy. 

A butterfly with a soft pale blue glow materialises in his hands, and with the extension of his forearm towards the sky, it takes flight and moves through the closed window. Looking at the glass dome, Gabriel and the Mime watches as the butterfly subtly flies towards Nathaniel Kurtzberg from behind, infiltrating through his skin. Nathaniel drops his pen to the ground, leaving an unfinished sketch of Bridgette in her pink shirt attached with ribbons. His head tilts up, his eyes looking forward, vacant.

"I understand the pains of hopeless young love. To be a young boy smitten by the sun of your days only to be left in the night. Alone. Tell me, can you imagine a life without her? Would you not give up everything and yet do just as much of everything for her?"

Nathaniel twitches his left eye, a faint spark of emotion crossing his otherwise blank face.

Gabriel continues, his voice a blend of empathy and authority. "The world can be cruel. It can take away the ones we hold dear and leave us with nothing but shadows. But from those shadows, we can create something beautiful, something lasting. Her presence is like the light and I know with the right powers, you will treat her as so."

"What's the catch ?" 

"You're the first to ask me."

"I knew there was one." Nathaniel stands up, and before Gabriel could even grant the boy his powers, a purple aura envelops his whole body. "So it is true, Le Papillon ."

♡

The Mime walks through the heart of Paris, making his first stop at the Place de la Concorde where he will execute his first performance. 

His mind concocts large cannons, with long barrels exceeding ten feet, strategically placed between every ten feet in the outer perimeter of the square, the muzzles facing outwards to the rest of the city. 

Standing in front of one invisible cannon, he mimes the lighting of fuses with a slow motion. The air vibrates with tension before the explosion echoes throughout the square, followed by chorus after chorus of thunderous blasts until he sets the final cannon off.

The Mime turns in a complete circle, his eyes coldly surveying each impact.  

Trees within the vicinity of Théâtre de la Ville are obliterated, with little to no remains scattered on the ground. Once upon a time, he wished he could work there. The roots standing blackened, unproudly. The Hôtel de Crillon and the Hôtel de la Marine are reduced to rubble, their grand facades collapsing in clouds of dust. The Mime can't exactly hear the screams with the explosions setting off so close to him, but he can just about make out the people who barely survived. 

Or, at second glance, he realises they haven't. Their bodies have just fallen to the ground, is all. He turns his head.

As the invisible cannonballs fly past the Tuileries Garden, they lay waste and dust and smoke to the grass and pathways. 

The Mime already knows that the new kid has left in search of his beloved first. Though he wishes he would wait around to defeat Ladybug and Cat Noir first, the Mime can understand the value of priorities of people who matter to one.

The Mime's gaze shifts to the right, following the path of the devastation as it crosses the Seine. The Pont de la Concorde just about survives as the cannonballs fly past. Beyond, the Palais Bourbon collapses. Its stately columns and grand halls dissipates into nothing with a quick breeze. Like the melting of a snowflake.

Finally, his eyes settle on the Grand Palais. Its large ornate stone facades crumbles to the ground with ease, the iconic glass vaults follows with shatters of its glass. 

The Eiffel Tower looms in the distance, and with a sweep of his hand, he commands a barrage of invisible missiles to launch. He watches that fall, too, impassively. A burst of yellow barely tints his eyes.

He should have expected helicopters since police cars will find it difficult to travel his way. The distant hum of rotor blades grows louder as the sounds of the blast turns quiet in the distance. His eyes narrow as he tracks the approach of the helicopters, their searchlights piercing through the smoke-filled sky. One, two, three… seventeen… over twenty of them.

Not who he's looking for.

Through one of the opened helicopters is what he assumes to be a journalist and a cameraman. He's not exactly sure why they are here, risking their lives just to document his face and crimes on public television, nor the rest of the team with their shotguns out to force him to turn himself in. What is the need for shotguns when they're up against fun explosions and cannonballs? At this point, they should be well aware that none of them can match him. 

The Mime stands his ground, he conjures a large invisible barrier in the shape of a dome. He raises it in the air and watches the bullets bounce back. No, don't get him wrong, it's not that he is kind enough to not shoot them down, it's that Ladybug and Cat Noir will know where to go when they see the helicopters.

He can stand here all night. Waiting.

Come on, Ladybug and Cat Noir. Show yourselves.

♡

At the Eiffel Tower, Ladybug and Cat Noir had been in the midst of an intense training session.

Cat Noir is the first to sense something amiss. His enhanced hearing picks up the distant but rapidly approaching sound of a huge force. He stops mid-leap, his ears twitching as he tries to pinpoint the source of the disturbance.

Ladybug, noticing her partner's sudden halt, turns her head to follow his gaze. She listens intently, the growing sound of impending doom becoming unmistakable. Her eyes meets Cat Noir's, and in that silent exchange, they both understand the threat.

"The Mime."

In that moment, an invisible missile struck the Eiffel Tower with devastating force, hitting it squarely in the middle. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, and the tower crumbles under the strain.

Reacting with lightning speed, Ladybug activates her bugstick to propel herself higher against the platform before it explodes. She soars upwards, narrowly escaping the yellow bursts of smoke and debris. Her agile form twists mid-air. 

Behind her, Cat Noir springs into action, directing the destructive energy of his black storm through the remains of the platform and to the ground, until the contact forms him flying above. 

Ladybug transitions her bugstick into the yo-yo and swings herself to safety. As soon as she moves in that direction, she swings her yo-yo around Cat Noir, bringing him along with her. They land safely on top of the roofs. Ladybug scans the vicinity quickly for any endangered Parisians, but she knows there is no point. 

There is nowhere for them to escape to.

She needs them to trust that she will survive and recover Paris, and in that she needs to trust herself.

Cat Noir doesn't say anything. He knows it will upset her. He starts running, leading Ladybug the way to the direction of the sound. She follows behind, trusting him wholly. 

♡

In the distance, she can see that they are heading for the Place de la Concorde, the helicopters all circling in one area with their searchlights on. Just as they are about to cross the final stretch to the Place de la Concorde, a flash of black and white streaks across their path, forcing them to halt abruptly. The figure lands with a confident thud.

They shift their heads to the figure's face, masked with a black butterfly very similar to that of Dawnbreaker's, and a youthful face just like hers, though his skin is as pale of a purple as the Mime's. But, that's not the Mime—

Ladybug locks eyes with him. Nathaniel! 

"Good evening, lady and gentleman," the new villain speaks with a theatrical excitement. "Liking your performance so far?" The young boy performs a perfected bow, and with the movement of his arms, Ladybug notices the tablet connected to one of his arms. "I'm the new assistant, the Mime is the mastermind behind all this. Really, you should thank him."

As Nathaniel straightens his back, his newly styled, brushed-back hair flips behind him. The deep orange colour, complimented with purple at the ends of his strands, stands out strikingly against his darker purple beret. He has abandoned his white jeans, now donning a bodysuit with black and white stripes over his upper body, while his legs are clad in the same solid dark purple as his beret. On his chest, a black circle displays a triangle of primary colours.

He doesn't need a mask for Bridgette to recognise it's him.

"My name is La Misère, though you can just call me Misère." As if to impress the two, he spins the smart pen clutched and hidden in his other hand.

Being hindered by the introduction of Misère, Ladybug and Cat Noir witness the destruction of the helicopters overhead with a blast in the moment of a few seconds. Exploded, the rest of the remains plummet from the sky. 

After finishing the job, and as the smoke clears, the Mime swiftly darts and manoeuvres himself up to the rooftop with invisible aid. He lands beside Misère.

"She wasn't home." Misère mutters to the Mime without turning his head. Bridgette's heart nearly drops hearing this. "Erased every wall and roof to find her but she wasn't there."

Mama and papa! Ladybug's eyes widen. No, she needs to focus on the task at hand. She cannot just rush home to the bakery otherwise Cat Noir, the Mime, Misère and even Papillon will know. Ladybug takes a deep breath, steadying herself. She turns her head to Cat Noir, who is already prepared for action, his eyes flicking between Misère and the Mime.

"Actually," Cat Noir takes a step forward, his tail flicks mischievously. "I think we should thank Papillon for orchestrating this performance." Misère's eyes narrow at this.

That's right. One of their main goals right now is to find out who Papillon is.

"So, Misère," he says, addressing Nathaniel directly. "Tell us," Cat Noir's eyes glint beneath the moonlight, "who is this Papillon who so kindly granted you those powers?"

Misère pauses, his expression unreadable. He takes the tablet off his arm with his other hand, the screen illuminating his face with a faint, cold light. The two superheroes holds in their breath as they anticipate his next step. Misère's fingers glide over the screen. A sinister smile stretches into the corner of his lips. His head tilts to the side slightly as he eyes the two heroes' most prized possessions. 

"I'll bring you to him, if you kindly surrender and give us your miraculouses." And with that, Misère draws in the final line.

The Mime takes a step back.

A monumental bullet fires their way. 

Reacting quickly, Cat Noir dashes to the side with a good amount of distance to protect himself, his black abyss ready in hand. 

Ladybug summons her yo-yo and shoots the string forward. With a precise swing of her arm, she expertly wraps the yo-yo's string around the bullet. And to Cat Noir's surprise, she yanks the projectile swerving beyond her left, and with the bend of her knees and a forward slash of her elbow, Ladybug redirects the bullet right back towards Misère and the Mime. 

Her long pigtails swish to her right as she moves to the right in time to avoid any damage to herself.

Cat Noir's black abyss dissipates in his hand, though the cat hero is not sure whether to be disappointed or not. Sure, he could have finished the job in time but since discovering the strength of her yo-yo, he does wonder what else she can do.

However, their triumph is short-lived as Misère swiftly swipes his tablet with his pen in three swift strokes, causing the bullet to vanish into thin air before it can reach its intended target.

The Mime nods in approval.

Knowing his own advantage towards the Mime, Cat Noir dashes towards him, his black abyss reappearing in hand. The Mime instinctively conjures an array of invisible weapons to fend off the approaching hero. Swords, spears, and daggers materialise in the air, aimed directly at Cat Noir. But the cat superhero doesn't need to know what they are, not when their uses all come to a quick end.

Seizing the opportunity, Cat Noir extends his black abyss further, attempting to capture the Mime within its depths. He recalls his conversation with Ladybug earlier—to use his power to trap their enemies. But just as the black abyss threatens to envelop the Mime, he summons a few more weapons to act as a barrier between him and the black abyss. 

The Mime evades in time.

Of course , thinks Cat Noir. People can see his black abyss unlike the Mime's weapons.

Meanwhile, Ladybug attempts to force Misère into a hand-to-hand combat. Her signature kicks narrowly missing his head is the closest she gets to him before he redraws his weapons in defence of himself. She is sick of his reliance on his creative powers but at least she can see what they are and react accordingly. 

Cat Noir leaps onto another roof, closer to the Mime. "Man, you're just too predictable," he quips. 

He sucks in the final weapon before his black abyss reaches the capacity, then, with the small flick of his hand, he shoots out all the invisible weapons hurtling  back at the Mime. Again, the Mime escapes just in time. Cat Noir's hand follows the Mime in every direction he goes until an object propels him in the back, forcing him to fall.

The rest of the weapons follow by tumbling down the roof and onto the ground with a cacophony of clunks and crashes.

Languidly, Cat Noir steps off the edge of the roof and falls forward. Like a cat, he falls flat on his feet and makes his way towards the Mime with languid movements of his limbs. He yawns.

"Well, look at what the cat dragged in!" As if in no rush at all, he plays with his leather-belt tail as he approaches the fallen Mime. 

From the looks of it—the way the Mime struggles to move, especially his arms. Only his fingers can bend normally. The weapon that flew out must be of a tremendous one. Cat Noir bends down, and with his left hand he feels around the object with a cold, metallic surface. He walks around in a complete circle around the lying body of the Mime, his hand never leaving the object. A giant rocket launcher. He straightens himself.

"Forget the projectiles, you tried to hit me with the actual rocket launcher," Cat Noir remarks. "It's massive too. Quite the imagination you got there." Bringing his hand up to lightly scratch his chin with his claws, he ponders his next move. "It's not like you can run away like this, and I don't have any ropes or such like her yo-yo."

The Mime watches his smile grow. 

"Would you like to meet darkness—my old friend?"

The Mime responds with the mirror of his smile. Cat Noir tenses at this, and before he can react, a forceful bullet shoots to his right hand. It narrowly misses his ring. Leaving a dent. Still he senses the sharp pain past his fingers, he immediately falls upon impact, his left hand bringing up to clutch his ring and pinky. He watches the Mime stand up with ease. 

Cat Noir forces a smile as he grits his teeth. So long as the damage is to his suit, and not his head, he will be fine.

As he is about to pounce back to prepare for round two of tonight's fight, he hears Ladybug screaming "NO!" from high above. Instinctively, he scales up the building and darts to her location. When he catches sight of her, he notices the expression of anguish in response to her bugstick being erased mid-air.

She turns her head to him, "Cat Noir! I need you to help defeat him!"

Cat Noir thinks for a second. "Can't you use your 'Miraculous Ladybug'?"

Realisation hits her face. "Uh, oh yeah!" She returns her gaze back to her opponent before yelling "Miraculous Ladybug". 

The world around them is restored. Cat Noir watches his ring reform its shape.

Ladybug tries to resummon her yo-yo in her hand, however, nothing is appearing. Misère sends another missile her direction and Ladybug jumps out of the way just in time. 

"What the—"

Cat Noir's ears perk at the sound of shuffling behind him. He blocks the Mime's attack with his black storm. In one fluid motion, he whips around, his black storm crackling from his palm to blast whatever object is thrown in his way.

"Well!" Cat Noir's voice cuts through the chaos as he fights on. "Your 'Miraculous Ladybug' can't fix everything! It never restored the pigeons contained in my black abyss.

"So I can't restore anything that's being held in a container?!" comes Ladybug's response. She ducks as soon as she is faced with a large, looming Argentinosaurus, its long neck sways its head down in an attempt to throw Ladybug off. "You think his eraser transfers the objects within the tablet?!"

Promptly, Cat Noir thrusts the Argentinosaurus off the roof with a hit of his black storm. A screech of pain follows. He jumps down beside Ladybug. "How should I know?!"

"I've got a plan, Cat Noir!" she hisses at him. Her big blue eyes light up the night. "Cataclysm his tablet for me."

"Got ya, m'lady." He swiftly bows before dashing towards Misère.

Now switching opponents, Cat Noir positions himself between Misère and Ladybug. Ladybug leaps backwards, swinging a surging kick at the Mime's head. Misère unleashes a barrage of objects—missiles, debris, and random projectiles, and the vortex of blackness greedily sucks in every one of them. This fight is so predictable. If they keep this up, they will either be here all night or until one of the parties retreat. 

He swings his right hand in the direction of every object thrown at him, slowly walking forward. He notes the stubbornness of Misère who chooses to stand in one position. 

The difference between the art of drawing and the art of acting is that the Mime knows how to act out a fight, and Cat Noir's heart is pumping faster than ever.

Jumping back, Misère illustrates a metal barrier in a desperate attempt to protect himself. It quickly disappears into the black void, and Cat Noir bolts forward with his right hand extended, reaching for the tablet. Cat Noir's hand flickers with black matter. With the contact of just his finger, his almost missing as Misère  steps aside, the tablet disintegrates into thin air.

Suddenly, everything that has been erased by Misère's power now reappear, falling from the sky

Ladybug spots her bugstick. She vanishes it mid-air, the bugstick disappearing in a flash only to reappear as a yo-yo securely in her hand. 

"So the tablet is a container. It holds the data of everything it creates, including anything it erases." Her grip tightens on her yo-yo. "Nice work, Cat Noir," she says.

Cat Noir doesn't waste a moment, launching himself at Misère with the full force of his heel, landing a hard blow at his stomach. Misère collapses flat on the roof, his breath coming in ragged gasps. Cat Noir moves to pin the hopeless boy in place, but before he can do so, Misère desperately rolls to his right and slips off the edge of the roof.

Cat Noir takes a step forward to follow after, however the Mime appears and takes hold of Misère before he can have a chance. He watches the two run off.

His cat ears twitch sensing Ladybug behind him, staring. "He's clearly not suited to fight." He watches her pupil shift to look at him. "He's not even as good as Dawnbreaker, who actually knows how to use her powers to fight. La Misère is over-reliant on his tablet. Good thing I destroyed it."

He waits for Ladybug's response, but even with her gaze on him, she looks as though she is deep in thought.

As a superhero who hates his job, he wonders what the superhero who loves her job is thinking.

"If papillon can have two villains in a day," he speaks again, avoiding the awkward silence, "why doesn't he have more or do it more often?"

"Victims," she corrects him. "They're not villains. They're victims of Papillon. None of them would willingly choose to attack Paris if they truly had a choice. And I'm sure Papillon has a job as well. He can't be some comic supervillain with a secret layer, he's a Parisian just like the rest of us."

"So Papillon preys on people with negative emotions." With his right hand, Cat Noir takes her left hand, rubbing the back gently in an attempt to comfort her. "I'm aware."

She flicks his hand away. "We need to defeat Misère. I need to see the butterfly again."

Cat Noir tries not to be offended. "You think if we followed it, it would lead us to Papillon?"

"I hope so."

It's eerily quiet now, compared to the sounds of mass destruction earlier. 

"Let's take a break," Ladybug suggests. "He'll be back soon enough." 

And with that, Ladybug swings herself into the far distance. Cat Noir stands frozen in the spot, watching her red silhouette disappear. 

"She's too focused on the job to focus on me," sighs Cat Noir. "So much for trying."

Or maybe it's because you choose the worst time to flirt, kiddo , comes Plagg's voice. 

"How would I know what to do? This is my first time trying."

Chapter Text

She dives into a secluded alleyway.

"Tikki, spots off!"

Bridgette exhales sharply as the tight leather suit dissolves, leaving her in her civilian clothes. The relief of being free from the constricting material is immediate, but it does little to ease the tension on her shoulders.

Before Tikki can offer a word of comfort, Bridgette snaps, "Tikki!"

Her kwami immediately gives Bridgette the explanation she is looking for. "When the world is restored, and anything that is damaged, defeated or destroyed is also restored. Your weapon, however, was not any of those. It simply disappeared, most likely within a container the magic cannot reach, therefore you couldn't restore what was being protected with another magic. Similar to how 'Miraculous Ladybug' cannot restore any item or being within Cat Noir's black abyss."

Bridgette can't even find the energy to be upset at Tikki. "Why didn't you mention this before?"

Tikki looks down, her antennae  drooping slightly. The glow of it provides a small source of light in the dark. "You figured it out very quickly, so there was no need for me to intrude on your battle to let you know something you would have known anyway."

Bridgette sighs, running a hand through her hair. "We need to be prepared for everything, Tikki. I can't afford surprises like this in the middle of a fight."

Tikki nods, her big black beady eyes remorse. "I understand, Bridgette. I'll make sure to inform you of anything else that might come up."

"Alright," Bridgette takes a deep breath. "Let's figure out our next move. But before we meet up with Cat Noir again, I want to check on mama and papa."

"Baker girl?" The voice behind startles her.

Tikki sneaks into Bridgette's pocket. Instantly, Bridgette whirls her head to the direction of the voice. How did she not hear him coming this way? Of course, he's a sneaky bastard cat!

Bridgette isn't sure why, but her first thought is to turn her whole body and sprint away. The alleyway stretches out before her. Her footsteps echo. Wearing a skirt doesn't make running any easier.

"Bridgette!" Tikki hisses, "what are you doing?"

"I need to get home!"

As she is about to round a corner, Bridgette risks a glance over her shoulder. The glint of Cat Noir's green eyes practically cuts through the dark, and with the extension of his right hand, he grabs her by the ahoge. The sudden tug forces her to cease running. Bridgette immediately tenses at this, her breath catching in her throat.

"Woah, that thing's like part of your anatomy!" Cat Noir exclaims, unknowingly drawing attention to the both of them.

For a superhero, Cat Noir is so inconsiderate!

She struggles against his grip, but upon noticing her discomfort, Cat Noir lets go of her hair. Bridgette immediately fixes her ahoge back into shape, smoothing it down with trembling fingers. Bridgette takes a step back.

"Why'd you run away from me?"

"I… uhm," she stutters, searching for the right words. She supposes she just never expected to meet Cat Noir in her civilian form, so she tensed up and reacted by running away. It isn't as if she wishes to interact with the cat superhero any more than she needs to. "I didn't…"

Cat Noir raises an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue. His green eyes are so intense. She's never exactly looked straight into them because they're always moving. Fighting. Bridgette recalls Tikki's words—never let anyone know her identity. Not even Cat Noir.

"Because you're scary!" she blurts out, pointing a finger at him. Her ahoge stands up sharply, as if to back her up.

"Scary?" Cat Noir stifles a laugh. "Really?"

She aggressively nods her head.

"And being outside, late at night, when two supervillains are out destroying the city isn't?" Cat Noir folds his arms, a smug smile stretching into the corners of his lips, as he awaits her excuse. 

If Bridgette Cheng truly is a miracle girl then perhaps she's miraculous enough to survive it all. Although, Ladybug did just restore the world so whatever damage or injury Bridgette has faced is now gone, and she must have returned to her original spot before getting hurt by any projectiles.

Bridgette falters for a moment, searching for a retort. "Well… I mean, yes, but… you're different!" she exclaims with a waver in her voice. "You're a superhero. You're supposed to be all mysterious and intimidating."

"Cute." Cat Noir's smile widens. "You're like a little bug, so tiny and timid. Anyways, I'm here to do a quick patrol after that whole calamity. Why were you out here so late anyway?"

"I was heading home! I… uh…" Bridgette shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting nervously around the alley,  "had a date with a boy, and then things happened and I guess I got hurt." Then, Bridgette begins to take a step back. "Anyways, I should probably head home now since my date turned into a villain. The last thing I want is for him to find me!"

"Ah, so that's how it happened." Cat Noir's ears perk up with interest. "You must be a notorious heartbreaker if he felt such negative emotions just from a rejection."

Bridgette's ahoge stands up again as she nearly yells out a "No!" Somehow, he's never paid much attention to her ahoge, or her in general as Felix, but seeing it move as though it has a life of its own is rather entertaining.

"I was nice and polite about it! I said we could still be friends as well!" Bridgette protests, her cheeks flushing with frustration.

"But in no way would you ever talk to him again, right?"

"Yeah, exactly—wait, no! I don't mean that!" Bridgette stammers, realising her mistake. "I value our friendship very much. You wouldn't understand that."

"What, why? Because I'm a black cat? Because I'm not as nice as Ladybug?" Cat Noir's voice takes on a defensive edge. He folds his arms and shifts his hips to the right as he makes his point. "You know, superheroing is only a job. I don't do more than what I have to. That's the reality of it."

"You sound like you hate being a superhero," Bridgette points out.

She watches the smile on his face quickly disappear. His bright eyes suddenly dull. The shift sends a shiver down Bridgette's spine. She's never seen him like this before, not even as Ladybug. He's always wearing a smile or a comforting look, and though he is nonchalant at times, he's still easy-going, even when Ladybug nearly screamed at him for being so calm.

"A job is a job," says the voice behind the mask.

"Anyways," she tries to change the subject, her voice a little too bright, "how do you know I'm the baker's daughter?"

Cat Noir's usual smile returns, the mischievous glint back in his eyes. "Can a cat stroll in for some pain au chocolats sometime?"

"You've seen me in civilian form?!"

"Pfft, yeah. Ladybug has too."

Bridgette feigns a shocked face, her mouth forming a perfect 'O'. Inside, her mind is racing. Is he making this stuff up to tease her? Is he relishing in the fun of teasing her???

Her ahoge stands straight up, as if reflecting her confusion and embarrassment. "No way! You're just messing with me, right?"

"Of course not."

"Oh gosh! I need to not make a fool of myself then. I don't want Ladybug to judge me!" Hopefully that ensures Cat Noir would never suspect ordinary Bridgette Cheng would ever be Ladybug.

"Oh, she has already formed opinions on you."

"What? No way!"

Cat Noir begins to circle around her. His leather-belt tail wags slowly as he moves, barely tickling Bridgette's legs. "She thinks you're silly and clumsy, and she says she avoids you because you keep tripping people up."

Bridgette's eyes widens in disbelief. "She said that?"

"Mmhmm," Cat Noir nods, a teasing smile playing on his lips. "You should see her face when she talks about it. It's like she's recalling a slapstick comedy."

Bridgette's cheeks flush a deep red. "How does she know about that?" Okay, does Cat Noir goes to her school? Has he witnessed her tripping Felix up? Because that's the only time she has done it this year.

Cat Noir chuckles. "Oh, don't take it too hard. Ladybug's got a soft spot for everyone, even the clumsy ones."

She huffs, trying to hide her embarrassment. "I just have bad luck…  sometimes!"

To her surprise, Cat Noir ruffles his hand through her hair. "Hey, I'm just kidding around. Ladybug doesn't think poorly of anyone. She did say she loves your pigtails though." Saying this, he gently takes one of them and feels his claws through the strands. "She loves that you're such a fan of hers that you copied her hair, aren't you lucky that you share the same hair and eye colour with her? That's fate."

Yeah, isn't she lucky.

"Alright," Cat Noir says, his voice softening as he bends down. With one swift motion, he scoops her up, one arm beneath her knees and the other supporting her back. 

The suddenness of the action makes her gasp, her arms instinctively wrapping around his neck for support. Noticing her startled expression, he gives her a reassuring smile. 

"Let's get you home."

♡

The Mime and Misère descend into a dark, narrow alleyway to avoid anyone catching sight of them. Only two crows passing by warns the city of their presence.

The alleyway is close enough to the battle arena they created to return anytime. Though, the Mime isn't exactly sure what Ladybug and Cat Noir have in plan for them as they didn't choose to tail after, nor can he confirm they're on the same rooftop or in the vicinity.

A faint, musty odour hangs in the air. Not of their doing as Ladybug has used her restoration powers earlier. The Mime quickly finds out that this alleyway is used by the homeless when he sees a man in stained clothing and overgrown beard run at the sight of them. The Mime and Misère stands there, watching the man try not to scream.

Misère mumbles his words, disappointed and knowing the Mime is also disappointed in him, "I didn't know what else to do."

The Mime offers no consolation.

He averts his gaze from the silent man and looks up to the sky, pondering what his next steps should be. After all, he can't just detransform and go home now. Especially since he hasn't defeated Ladybug and Cat Noir. Especially since Papillon has granted him his powers, though he has pathetically allowed Cat Noir to destroy it.

The thought of his mother's concern doesn't cross his mind as he clenches both his fists. "It looks like the night will be endless," he thinks aloud. "What's gonna happen now? Are you gonna do it solo, or do you even still need me? It's not like Ladybug is going to restore the world again since there's no damage, so I'm not going to get that tablet back."

Shrugging is the Mime's response.

"Can't we use, like, telepathy between us? Why do you not talk?"

The Mime acts out his answers. It starts with what looks like an explosion with the widening of his arms in a circle, then, he summons an invisible pistol and shoots one of the crows before dropping the pistol to the ground. The Mime communicates an 'X' with the crossing of his arms. 

"So, if you talk then your powers stop?" The Mime nods at Misère's interpretation. "Even when you think?"

Another nod.

"So you can't even have an internal monologue when you're the Mime? You just summon whatever comes to your head in the moment? And you just make plans as you go along?" Another nod. Misère raises a suspicious brow. "That's intriguing. I don't know how you do it."

The Mime merely tilts his head. 

Misère turns back to the night sky. As if there would be any answers written up there , he hopelessly thinks to himself. But just as believes himself to be correct, he catches sight of Cat Noir carrying… Bridgette?! 

Her, in his arms, as he leaps across the roof, clearly making his way towards the bakery. No wonder why she wasn't home! 

He steps forward in their direction, "Bridgette!"

Misère feels a hand on his shoulder, squeezing with firm pressure, signalling him that it is best not to go after the two right now. Considering that they need to figure out what to do with Misère's lack of powers.

"You're right," he says to the Mime. "I have an idea."

♡

Bridgette's bedroom resides in the attic, its sloped ceilings and walls painted a lavender purple. The floor is made of wood. 

The room is illuminated by a single window beside her bed, in which the moonlight enters. 

On her bed are three, large plush pillows. One of them is a large calico cat with green eyes. Fairy lights drape along the large circle frame before the bed, painted a different shade of purple with large stylistic butterflies, and beside sits a small pink bedside table. Past her beside table is her desk for school, with a computer, and a cork board mounted on the wall above it. On it are photographs of her and her friends throughout the years, Allegra frequenting in most of them. 

Is this the room of an ordinary teenager? He thinks silently.

At the opposite end of the room stands another desk where a pristine sewing machine rests on. Beside is a mannequin wearing a red and white polka dot long skirt and a large black bead necklace. The wall behind is adorned with colourful sketches of dresses, skirts and suits. Separated from the sketches are a few completed drawings. One of them is Allegra dancing in a long dress, the one beside her is Felix sitting with a blank face. On his cheek is a harsh bold line.

He turns his gaze beneath the drawings, in the corner where shoeboxes pile into a small mountain.

"How many shoes does a girl need?"

Bridgette watches him walk around her room, nervously. "Do you… uhh… would you perhaps like a cup of tea? Or a pain au chocolat?"

Cat Noir glances at the stairs then turns around, resting himself upon the desk. His palms flat on either side. "No, thank you. I'm working right now. And besides, I need to keep you under my watch. Who knows what will happen to you when you leave this room?" He arches a brow.

She huffs silently. 

He didn't say he would stay and guard her. Now, how else is she supposed to transform into Ladybug? She should have run faster earlier. Besides, didn't he say he wouldn't do more than what he had to?! Although, one could argue this is necessary considering Bridgette Cheng could potentially become a victim to Misère. But, Ladybug will just fix it all anyway!

"Yeah, but this is my house…" she needs to make sure her mama and papa are okay. Maybe Cat Noir would at least let her check on her parents?

"Bridgette!" She turns down towards the stairs. Relief quickly floods through her knowing her parents are okay. "You wanna come downstairs for some chocolate eclairs? We made them for after dinner, but didn't get the chance to—"

"Sorry," comes a mutter. Bridgette glances back at two green eyes. "Under no circumstances can I let you leave this room without me." 

"Uh, no thanks papa!"

"Wait." Realisation hits Tom, evident in his voice. "Do you have a friend up there with you?"

"N-no!" Bridgette nearly hisses. 

She bolts down the stairs and presses her back against the door, in case her papa insists on knowing which young man is messing with his daughter. Cat Noir lets out a chuckle. She knows how overprotective her papa can be.

To her surprise, she hears him set the plate on the floor. "Oh, it's a boy!" comes a whisper. "Don't worry, Bri, I won't tell your mama!"

"Wait, papa—" and her papa is gone. She listens to him walk down the hallway.

Bridgette sighs in relief. At least her heart can rest knowing her parents are safe. She glances back up at Cat Noir. If anything happens, at least he will help protect them. Still, the thought of her papa thinking she has a secret boyfriend makes her face burn with embarrassment.

Cat Noir lets out a yawn. "If only I have a way to communicate to LB that a potential hostage of Misère is here at the bakery." 

"You can just leave me here. I'm safe with my mama and papa."

"No way, didn't you just hear what I said?" He tilts his head, his long flowing hair following in the direction, momentarily obscuring the glint of his eyes. "You're a potential hostage. What if he comes back again to find you?"

"You'd be better off finding Nathaniel," she tells him. "He's the problem and you shouldn't leave him to destroy Paris like this.

"Can't. You're just as much of a problem as he is."

Bridgette folds her arms. "Why are you so mean?"

Before Cat Noir can speak, the walls around them and the wooden floor tremors. Just as Bridgette darts around the room to find any source of this, the shaking increases violently, the mannequin falls to the floor with a thud. The two exchange armed glances before the walls collapse, a cool gust of wind blowing their way. 

Cat Noir leaps to take hold of Bridgette in his arms.

"Come out, Bridgette ," comes Misère's taunting voice as he steps off an invisible flying platform with the Mime behind him. "Wherever you are! I'm sick of playing this hide and seek game."

The wooden floor panels crash to the bottom of the bakery, sending splinters flying, and Bridgette screeches out for her mama and papa. Cat Noir strengthens his grip on her, making sure she doesn't make any reckless moves. He catapults out of the attic room, avoiding falling debris their way effortlessly, and lands on the roof of the neighbouring building.

Cat Noir glares down at the two. 

"Surprised? I know, it was my idea!" He looks at Cat Noir with an almost giddy smile. "I knew you came to the bakery for a reason." Then, his head averts to the girl in his arms. She doesn't look as afraid as he assumes she would be. He extends his arms for an open embrace. "Come on, Bridgette! Introduce me to your parents."

"Where's mama and papa?!" comes out her hoarse voice with desperation.

Misère's smile twists into something more sinister. "Why don't you come down and find out?" His black butterfly mask seems to glow a faint blue in the night. 

This isn't Nathaniel speaking.

Bridgette hears the sound of the Mime taking out an oversized firearm over his shoulders, to which his eye contact suggests his aim at them. Bridgette slams her hand on Cat Noir's chest, forcing him to the roof with her just as the Mime fires. The shot barely misses, whizzing past where they had been standing. Cat Noir lets go of her.

Misère leaps up, aiming a kick at Cat Noir's head.

Seeing her chance, Bridgette stubbornly lunges off the roof, her heart pounding. She needs to get to her parents—she needs to know they're safe!

Cat Noir yells after her, " Bridgette! "

“Go get her!”

The Mime doesn't chase after her despite what Misère commands him to. After all, Bridgette isn't who Papillon needs. 

He jumps up to Cat Noir and pushes Misère aside, then kneels down and roughly grips at his right wrist. He mimes himself bandaging Cat Noir’s left hand and fingers, and his right palm only, in case he dared to pull any tricks. The Mime grunts at Misère's direction. With a grit of his teeth, Misère holds Cat Noir captive by his legs, standing on it and pressing his heels in. 

The silver ring sits there on his finger, glistening under the moonlight. 

♡

She lands awkwardly but rolls to her feet, adrenaline pushing her forward, her breaths coming in ragged gasps.

Bridgette runs as far as she can until she knows she cannot be seen, then, when she approaches a corner, she hushes her transformation command. 

"Tikki, spots on!"

In a flash of red light, Ladybug stands where Bridgette once was. 

She leaps back towards the bakery, but remains on the ground as she makes her way to the very end where the entrance stands. She knocks down the weakened door with a hard kick.

"Mama—Madame?! Monsieur?!" She scans every inch of the bakery. Using her yo-yo, she pulls out every large piece of rubble. "Madame?! Where are you? Monsieur?! Can you hear me, can you respond?!" 

Hearing Cat Noir's struggle against the two, she knows she doesn't have enough time.

Dammit! 

Ladybug summons her bug stick and positions it vertically straight upon a flat surface amongst the rubble. She hops on top of the flat end with one foot, balancing herself easily. Concentrating her mind, she extends the bug stick, raising herself high in the air until she is on the same level as Misère, the Mime, and Cat Noir. 

She lunges off the bug stick, which vanishes behind her in a shimmer of red light before being resummoned in her hand. Her eyes locked on the Mime, gripping her bug stick tightly with both hands, she whacks his head to the left side. Then, swinging the bug stick from left to right, she nearly breaks Misère's nose. He staggers back.

"I got the girl to safety," she says quickly to Cat Noir, offering him a hand to get up.

"Thank God," he takes her hand and jumps up. Sensing Misère behind him, Cat Noir sends a black storm his way. He doesn't look back when he hears the boy screech in pain. "Where were you, again ?"

"Tikki… uhh… had… she has—she had an IBS issue!"

Cat Noir raises a suspicious brow. "Kwamis do that?" Before Ladybug can even consider a good answer, he grabs her by the waist and leaps to the side, avoiding another attack from the Mime. "Nevermind, I don't wanna know."

"Yours don't?" Ladybug tries to aim another hit at the Mime with her stick. However, he is keeping his distance, sending out grenades that force them to stay on the defensive. 

Cat Noir attempts to absorb the grenades with his black abyss before they set off. "Maybe he's immune to it after eating too much cheese," he jokes.

Lady transitions her bug stick into a yo-yo and deflects any grenades thrown their way. 

Honestly, Cat Noir is sick and tired of the two villains relying on their powers, summoning whatever weapon they can think of to tire him and Ladybug out. The Mime is too much to keep up with, Cat Noir realises. He needs to single the Mime out again and let Ladybug defeat Misère or convince the person within to reject the butterfly again. 

It's been done before; she can do it again. But how can he accomplish this without the Mime attacking Ladybug as well?

Then, an idea occurs to him. As another grenade is thrown in his direction, he lets his black abyss vanish. The strands of his blond hair just lightly singed at the tips.

Turning to Ladybug, he effortlessly catches the grenade in his right hand, a small clang emitting from the contact with his ring. "You'll fix this, right, Ladybug?" He winks, without giving her further time to react. "I trust you."

Cat Noir ignores the primed grenade that detonates at his feet, and instead uses it to launch himself towards the Mime. The Mime's eyes widen in surprise, but Cat Noir doesn't give him a chance to react. With his left hand, he takes hold of the Mime by the shirt and raises the grenade in his hand between their heads just before it sets off—

—Nearby is a crow on a distant rooftop.

Its glossy black feathers seem to glisten under the faint light of the moon. A gentle breeze ruffles its feathers briefly. 

The crow's claws grip the edge of the rooftop firmly, its eyes scanning the surroundings. It looks unbothered by the chaos that unfolds nearby. 

Every now and then, it tilts its head, listening to the distant echoes of the city as if it knows more than it lets on, but ultimately continues to mind its own business.

Then, it hunches its back and starts to caw, the sound sharp and clear against the night air. 

Ladybug's eyes widen as she watches their heads explode beneath the moonlight.

"Cat Noir!"

Their bodies plop upon the roof. Cat Noir's mask and cat ears fall behind, along with the Mime's hat, his ring now destroyed. His hand protected by the leather.

"FUCK!" screams Misère. "I needed that ring!"

Ladybug feels herself shaking.

She turns to look at Nathaniel. "You… don't… have to do this," her voice trembles. Hesitantly, she takes a step forward, her hand reaching out slightly as if to bridge the distance between them.

Nathaniel's eye twitches. He takes a step back, his shoulders tense, knowing that he's practically powerless against her. She's a trained fighter, he's just a pawn.

"Please, Nathaniel," she continues, tears begin to brim in her blue eyes. "I know you're hurting, but this isn't the way to make it better. Look at them!" she gestures to Cat Noir and the Mime. "It doesn't have to be this way! Whatever it is that you're going through, we can get through this together!"

"You don't know me!" he snaps with a growl in his tone. "You don't know what it's like to be me. Just when I gained some confidence, I lose it when she rejects me!" 

Still, he enables Ladybug to get close to him. There's still a chance , he thinks.

As Ladybug opens her arms to hug him, he makes an attempt to grab her earrings. However, Ladybug has trained herself to react in an instant after countless training with the Cat Noir with his perfect cat senses. She immediately lowers her arms and takes him by the waist, slamming him down hard against the roof tiles. 

"So what if Bridgette doesn't like you back?! Get over it! You're fifteen, you've got the rest of your life to build up that confidence." Ladybug kneels beside him, her grip firm as she helps him sit up with a forceful pull. She starts shaking his shoulders. "You need to start caring about yourself, you know?! You're an exceptional artist, so go home, do some thinking, and live for yourself!"

She watches him lower his head further. His shoulders slumping as the weight of her words sinks in. His transformation fades away and Nathaniel returns to his normal clothes with a soft white glow. The same delicate white butterfly flies out again, its wings shimmering.

Ladybug summons her shield, blocking the butterfly's path. She gently grabs hold of the butterfly with her other hand.

"Miraculous Ladybug."

♡

"Wait, Ladybug, Cat Noir!"

The two heroes turn their heads simultaneously, just as they're about to leave after dropping Nathaniel outside his house.

"Yes?" Ladybug asks. The red ribbons that tie her pigtails flows in the cool breeze. 

"Please don't tell the journalists that I was possessed by jealousy cause I liked a girl. That was…" he tilts his head down, his face flushes red with embarrassment, "stubborn of me."

"Hey, don't worry!" Ladybug places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "These things happen. Monsieur Remier got possessed because he couldn't feed pigeons. These are small things. Papillon preys on just about any negative emotion."

"Yeah," Cat Noir chimes in. "We'll just lie and say that as an art kid, you got bullied." Ladybug gently smacks Cat Noir in the arm.

Nathaniel chuckles softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "Thanks," he mutters, a small smile forming on his lips.

As they prepare to leave, Ladybug adds with a final smile, "Well, see ya around."

And with that, the two superheroes leap onto another rooftop to say their goodbyes before they return their separate ways. The cool night air rustles their hair.

♡

"My knees have gone a bit weak," Cat Noir speaks softly, placing an arm over her shoulder and playfully twirling one of her pigtails between his fingers. "Do you mind holding me?"

Ladybug can feel the breath of his words brush her cheeks. He's so close to her. So close. To her own surprise, she finds herself pulling Cat Noir even closer for a tight embrace. 

Cat Noir nearly gasps. She's so small , he thinks.

A small smile stretches across his lips. He decides to wrap his arms around her waist and lifts her effortlessly, her feet leaving the ground. Ladybug's head shifts above his shoulder, her body pressed close against his. She's warm. His hair tickles her ear and she stifles a laugh. 

"What were you thinking?"

He whispers his words, "I'd lose all my nine lives for you."

"I thought you said your knees were weak." She kicks him lightly in one knee, and he hugs her tighter.

The small smile on his face stretches larger. This is the beginning of it. He's confident that after tonight, it will be so much easier to make her fall for him. All he needs to do is play with her emotions, to slowly weave his way into her heart. After this, it will be so much easier to make her fall for him. 

Just remember, Felix, he thinks to himself.

All I need to do is play with her emotions.

♡

"So, that's what dying feels like," Felix remarks to himself. He sits himself on the sofa, slumping, drained.

Plagg circles around Felix's head, the dark aura emanating from his body as he moves. "This is the third time I've seen the miraculous getting destroyed. It's not a common occurrence you know. You really are something, kid, something extraordinary."

Tilting his head back, Felix's eyes wanders up to the ceiling as he processes the weight of Plagg's words. "I had thought that the miraculouses were indestructible."

Plagg lands softly on the armrest beside Felix. "Oh, well. At the end of the day, they're just jewellery. Powerful, albeit, the real power isn't within them but me. Unfortunately I was inside the miraculous when you destroyed it, and since my being was also fused with yours, I also died."

"Plagg," comes a stern voice.

"Yeah, kid?"

"If I blow up my hand, will I be released from the curse?"

"Well, uh, I guess so," says Plagg nervously. "Nobody's ever been that desperate to try exploding it. You could just cut it."

Suddenly, Felix sits up straight as he recalls a conversation from earlier. "Plagg, I need to do something."

Plagg notes the sudden change in Felix's demeanour. The boy's expression darkens. "Uh, hey, uhm," the kwami stammers as he watches Felix curl his hand into a fist, his tiny form hovers back into the air to make eye contact with Felix. "What are you thinking about doing? You know, you shouldn't—"

"Plagg, claws out!"

"You selfish brat!" Plagg cries out in anguish as his body is hurled into Felix's ring. "You're gonna kill me aAS WELLL!"

"Sorry, Plagg. I still have something I must do before I go to bed."

Plagg, trapped within the confines of Felix's ring, can only watch helplessly as the boy exits through his window.

I demand you to stop this at once, Felix Agreste! comes Plagg's voice as Felix leaps across the rooftops. You're not going out seeking the Mime, are you?!

"Shut up, shut up." Cat Noir grits through his teeth, trying to ignore the ache in his head. 

Just as Cat Noir reaches his destination, he decides that he needs something else as well. 

Before Cat Noir decides to make his stop, unbeknownst to Plagg, he dashes further into the night until he reaches the familiar sight of Luc Deschamps' flower shop. He stabilises his feet across the edge of the roof and throws his body upside down. With a quick glance, he spots the most vibrant rose hanging from the walls, illuminated by his enhanced night vision. 

Without hesitation, he plucks the rose from its stem. The sharp thorns only tickling his fingers with his gloves on.

Turning swiftly on his heel, Cat Noir retraces his steps. Just after a few minutes, in the distance, he catches sight of his destination. 

Why are you going back to Bridgette Cheng's house?!

"Fuck. Shut up, won't you?!" Cat Noir growls through clenched teeth. The pain in his skull intensifies momentarily. 

Cat Noir uses his claws and scratches his head roughly to combat the pain. It only makes it worse as he winces from the pain of his own sharp claws but he endures it. It's still less painful than Plagg's obnoxious voice.

As he leaps gracefully onto the roof where the window to Bridgette's bedroom resides, Cat Noir forces himself to focus. Inhaling deeply, he wills himself to ignore the throbbing pain in his head. He knocks on the glass softly, hoping that she is still awake.

Bridgette's big blue eyes lights up through the window. 

Cat Noir forces himself to smile despite the pain.

She opens the window quietly. Behind her, he can see that her parents are sitting on the floor playing cards. Joyous music plays softly in the background.

Cat Noir hands her the rose. "Here."

"Oh, a rose?" Her face brightens in surprise. "For me?" She glances down the back up at him.

"Mhmm," he hums.

"Uh, uhm, thank you…"

Seeing her confusion, he explains to her, "I wanted to let you know that you have nothing to be scared of. When you're with me, Paris's beloved superhero, you should feel safe. So, take this rose as an apology for the way I made you feel."

"Wow," she breathes. "Thank you. I didn't actually expect this. I didn't—"

"Thank you for saving my baby girl," comes her father's voice, approaching behind.

Bridgette's cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I didn't think you were that scary!" she exclaims, her words tumbling out in a rush as she clutches onto the rose, holding it close to her heart. "I'm quite brave too, you know!"

Cat Noir chuckles. "Yes," he says, patting her head. "You are brave, indeed." 

He watches Bridgette's mother wrap her arm around her father, receiving a gentle kiss on the cheek.

"Well, see you later!" Cat Noir bids them farewell with a nod, his smile lingering before he turns to leave.

His black figure lands into an alleyway, the night swallowing him up as he disappears into the shadows. 

"Claws in." 

The sleek black suit fades away like wisps of smoke. He runs a hand through his tousled hair and turns his gaze to the black cat kwami. 

"You don't ever shut up, do you? "

"I thought you were gonna commit suicide!" Plagg scolds him sharply. 

"My hand as Cat Noir is covered in leather, you should know."

"If you wanted to give her a rose, you should've at least explained to me!" Plagg continues, his frustration evident in his voice and in the hand gestures he is making. "Do you know how worried I was about you? You're Felix Agreste. You've got the best education, and the money! You can do anything you want in this life, and you've just started boxing! You're in school, socialising with people, slowly making friends! I wasn't going to let you throw all that away!"

Felix finds himself taken aback by Plagg's outburst.

"Were you… worried about me?"

"Of course, I was!" says Plagg, as though it is obvious.

"I…"

"I can't believe it," he folds his tiny arms across his chest and humphs. "I've never met a more reckless cat holder before."

Felix sighs. "It would never be my intention to obliterate you, even if I wanted to kill myself." 

Plagg floats closer, his green eyes narrowing with intensity. "This isn't about me, kid , this is about you ." Plagg tells him.  "Truthfully, I could die tomorrow and I wouldn't care if Paris is destroyed. I've lived thousands of years, I've lived life and I know all of its secrets. I don't need another cat holder but I do need you to live for yourself, not for the miraculous, not to save Paris, but to experience the life that you only get to do so once ."

Felix blinks, then says softly, "I'm sorry, Plagg."

"Just… don't do that again!"

"I promise."

"Do you?" Plagg presses, his eyes searching Felix's face.

"Sincerely."

Plagg can't help but burst into tears as he flew into Felix's hair, his tiny hands clutching onto the strands as if holding onto Felix for dear life.

"You should get back into my pocket," he urges gently, "we need to go home now."

"Yes, let's go home!" Plagg chokes out his words through tears, then flies in Felix's pocket. "Let's go back to bed, together! I'm never letting you go, ever, Felix!"

Felix can't help but chuckle. "What are you on about, Plagg?"

♡

Fred wakes up slowly, blinking against the soft morning light filtering through the curtains of the bedroom. As his senses comes back, he takes in the unfamiliar surroundings.

The room is adorned with classic old wooden furniture. A sturdy oak dresser stands against one wall, on its surface is a small green translucent vase with fresh flowers. The walls are covered in a green wallpaper with red and yellow flowers repeated in vertical stripes. 

"Where… am I?"

"In Boulogne-Billancourt," comes a familiar voice. It's Monsieur Remier.

"Where?" Fred's voice is hoarse.

"West outskirts of paris. This is where I live now. but this apartment isn't mine. It belongs to Papillon, who has kindly allowed me to stay."

"How come I'm here?" Fred begins to sit up. His muscles ache from the exertion of last night.

"You threw up again when you de-transformed. Then you fainted. Papillon called me to pick you up." Fred turns to his right and sees Monsieur Remier sitting on an armchair. On his lap is a closed newspaper. "You can stay here, too," the old man suggests. "If you want to, only. Although, you do have a daughter."

"No," Fred whispers. 

Monsieur Remier waits for Fred to explain.

"My Madelaine is gone."

"Gone?" he repeats. "As in missing?"

Fred shakes his head. "She took her own life." He looks down at his weathered, wrinkled hands. "I died… for a moment. I woke up and I couldn't remember anything, and now I wonder, was I anywhere closer to my beloved Madelaine? If that was even death. And if it is, is Madelaine just doomed to an eternity of nothing?"

Fred places his head in his hands, his tears slips through his fingers.

"I'm a failure of a father."

Monsieur Remier, an elderly man who had witnessed his share of death and grief, listens solemnly. After a moment of thoughtful silence, he speaks but not with an intention to console him, "Sadly, the price of love is grief. You cannot experience the joy without enduring its hardships.

♡

'The New Superhero-Superstar'

In the hearts of Parisian girls, Cat Noir is regarded as the sexiest man in Paris! Collectively agreed by over a hundred teenage girls, with other cities in France and nearby countries coming up with their own version of Cat Noir, he has become a new cultural phenomenon!

In fact, despite the mayor's attempts in shutting its gates to visitors, workers and migrants, the numbers of people coming to visit Paris in just the last week has increased! Thanks to the new superhero, or model, that everyone wants to see!

Girls wished they could kiss his arm better after seeing Dawnbreaker hurting him. Online forums showed the discussions of Cat Noir fans worrying for him, praying for his safety. Some say the only good thing about Ladybug is that she can save Cat Noir. Of course, whether you're a LadyNoir shipper or not, we know that they're just friends.

In a popularity poll between him and LB, he wins 70% votes from teenage girls. In a popularity poll between him and the currently most famous teen model, Lionel Beaufort, he wins 73% votes.

—L'étoile de la Ville

♡

Bridgette grits her teeth as her fingers grip harder onto the glossing pages of the magazine, causing it to wrinkle. 

If Claude cared any more about a euro, he would've snatched it out of Bridgette's hands. However, Claude is only a boy who purchased the magazine for his own amusement.

Of course, Paris loves Cat Noir more than Ladybug , she thinks bitterly. He is a boy for starter, and she supposes he is handsome with his perfect hair and perfect teeth, and pretty eyes. He's confident, powerful and he knows how to talk. 

Bridgette knows that Ladybug is just as infamous as Cat Noir as a superhero. However, in the eyes of lovelorn girls, she means nothing to them. Those girls know nothing about Cat Noir , she huffs silently.

"You look upset," remarks Claude, who is standing beside her desk. "What is it?"

"No, that's my concentrating face!"

"What?" Claude is momentarily taken aback, but then a smirk stretches into his lips. "You concentrated on Cat Noir's abs or something?"

Bri's cheeks flush red. "No, that's not—"

At this, Darcy who sits two desks behind interjects with an excited voice, "You also like Cat Noir?" 

She and her friend get up and walk towards Bridgette. "You should join our Cat Noir fanclub! It's just a groupchat," says her friend, Anna.

"Uh, no, I'm not a fan," Bridgette tries to defend her stance. She turns to Claude, "I meant I was concentrating on reading!"

Claude folds his arms and tsks. "All girls like Cat Noir."

"Of course you wouldn't like him," Anna tells Claude.

"Yeah," agrees Darcy. "You wouldn't understand. You're just a boy." 

Darcy glances around the room, her eyes seeking anyone else with an opinion, however, they're all busy in their own circles. Her eyes lead to one loner boy, who although is reading a book, she can tell his ears have perked up in interest at the conversation. 

"What do you think of Cat Noir, Felix?"

Felix doesn't turn his head but he still gives his answer. "I don't have an opinion on him."

Darcy smirks to herself knowing she was right.

Claude, feeling bad about the interaction he had with Felix earlier, tries to make conversation at this opportunity. "You don't think he's great for saving Paris?"

"Maybe you boys like Ladybug," says Anna. "I guess she is pretty."

Pretty? Bridgette hides her blush. Nobody has ever called her pretty besides her parents and Allegra. And a girl at that who called her pretty!

Then, to all their shocks, Felix says the most amount of words any of them have ever heard him say in one go: "I think if you should admire a hero for protecting the city, you should admire their strengths and not their appearance. Not that it matters to me, think what you want, like what you like. I doubt that Cat Noir would care for any of you."

"It's nice to daydream, pessimist," jokes Anna lightly. "I bet Cat Noir is the type who would carry you bridal style when he's saving you."

He indeed is , thinks Bridgette. She is surprised the news didn't get onto him carrying her home.

With a satisfied smile, Claude sits back down in his seat beside Felix.

Felix has overheard people's conversations on Claude Savard. The gossip did quickly spread around the school, and people out of fear begin to avoid Claude. They also didn't invite him to any parties, despite his claim on being an experienced DJ at the age of fifteen.

However, Felix can conclude that Claude is obviously a changed man. He makes the effort in school, and is naturally smart in certain subjects. And, though Felix prefers classical music, he does give the boy credit for being able to make his own music. A part of him does feel bad for the boy, as he now understands why Claude is making the effort to befriend Felix specifically.

But, it seems that a month into school, people have slowly started to forget the incident and forgive Claude. People are slowly talking to Claude, including those two girls who also went to Claude's middle school. 

So why does Claude still insist on befriending felix?

Felix notices Calude's sheepish grin. "What?"

"This is the most you've ever talked with anyone besides me."

"I believe I can say the same here," he says dryly. "I hope you'll seek out their companion over mine." 

"I'll get that inner Felix out of the 'Felix Agreste', just you watch," he winks.

Felix returns to his book.

♡

"Sorry, Bridgette," says Nathaniel. "I still really like you. But I see now, you like Felix, don't you?"

"What?!" Bridgette's ahoge stands up in an instant. "How did you know?!"

"Uh," Nathaniel shuffles in his spot and awkwardly runs his hand through his hair. "Cause you keep looking at him? Don't worry, I won't tell anyone. And no one will find out anyway, there's a lot of people in this school, some that are more popular than Felix, so nobody really cares even if they know."

The two stands awkwardly in a secluded area in the hallway. Everyone else is lining up in the cafeteria for food. It's raining again today, just as heavily as last week.

Nathaiel speaks up again, "I know you're not gonna give up on him, so I think I'm going to take some time to focus on myself."

Bridgette smiles and pulls Nathaniel into a friendly embrace. "Sounds like a good idea."

♡

He decides to stay in the library to wait for the heavy rain to slow down, but it only seems to worsen as the clock ticks by. It is just the beginning of October, yet the downpour is relentless.

With a sigh, Felix packs up his bag, ensuring everything is tightly secured before pulling out his umbrella. He steps out into the rain.

After a bit of walking, Felix suddenly hears Plagg yell out: "Your book is flying!"

Felix stops in his tracks. He shrugs off his bag and sees that despite his attempts at securely closing the bag, it somehow manages to open on its own. There, in the midst of the rain, he sees his copy of 'Crime and Punishment' flying away, which is utterly unbelievable considering the size and weight of it. 

Heart pounding, Felix takes off after the book. Harsh winds blows rain into his face, plastering his hair to his forehead. His grip on the umbrella falters as he focuses on the escaping book. The curse seems determined to toy with him.

There is nothing he can really do to protect himself against the curse.

Turning a corner, his eyes widen slightly as he sees Bridgette in the distance, leaning down with her bright red umbrella over a small cardboard box, oblivious to the book flying her way. 

Felix pushes through the wind and rain, his chest tightening as he runs harder. He really needs to exercise more as a civilian. He watches the book hit the side of her umbrella, the heavy weight forcing the umbrella to the left. Bridgette manages to stay still, gripping the umbrella tightly to hold it in place, she turns her head to the side and instinctively reaches out for the book before it falls.

Not to make assumptions, but Felix in that moment assumed she would fall over. She must be really strong, considering how heavy that book is.

"Uhm, is this your book?" She doesn't stand up, instead holding it beneath her umbrella to avoid wetting it.

"Yes," Felix sighs. "It flew away."

He leans down and takes it from her. She extends her arm as he does so.

"It looks heavy," she says, stating the obvious, although she did hold onto it for a bit. She notes the awkwardness on his face and smiles sheepishly. "Guess I should've been there to see it then."

How misfortunate of him.

"That's bad luck, don't you know?" asks Felix as he glances at the black cat, its head popping out of the cardboard demanding Bridgette's attention.

Come to think of it, Felix never ended up researching it but he is well aware that ladybugs don't bite. They shouldn't unless they feel threatened, which he clearly remembers that the ladybug choose to bite her. A thought crosses his mind—it was the day he became Cat Noir. Perhaps he was the bad luck that hurt Bridgette. 

He supposes Bridgette tripping over him is what he deserves for hurting her.

"Doesn't scare me."

"You're brave."

Perhaps it's not even her fault that she tripped over him. After all, he had the power of the curse. If anything, he brought it on himself.

Her eyes widens, her ahoge slowly rises up. "You think so?"

Felix finds himself struggling to say 'yes'. Why did those words even slip out of his mouth in the first place? He suddenly feels worried that if he says any more than necessary, she might take it as him being friendly and want to be his friend. Like Claude. 

He swears Bridgette is pouting at his lack of answer. Her blue eyes feign a sad look. Now that he takes a good look at her, they look to be bug-like, big and bright.

"Yes," Felix reluctantly answers. Of course, he doesn't show his reluctance, letting her on to believe that he believes in her. In whatever she chooses to do, though he wonders what. "Anyone can be brave."

Now that he really thinks about her, overall, how come she does not have a French first name? Well, names these days tend to be more diverse, it seems. Even so, how come her name is not in the French spelling, ‘Brigitte’? 

As far as he's aware, she is half French. He knows her full name from the register is Bridgette Dupain-Cheng, though she shortens it to just Bridgette Cheng. It doesn't exactly make sense.

He watches her pet the cat on the head. It mews lovingly in response, nuzzling its head against her hand.

Ah, whatever. 

He doesn't care. Felix doesn't care about any of them.

All he cares about, right now, is his goal of getting rid of the cat miraculous. And he is satisfied in knowing he is one step closer.

That rose he gave her that night? It is only so—

Ah , Felix watches her smile at the cat. Why did I give it to her?

Chapter Text

Featuring:
black clouds in disguise, a masked lie
pure sorrow is the deepest pains, sullen eyes—
—and the highest wings; life goes on

♡

Felix is pretty sure that right now, at this moment in time, he is in bed as Felix Agreste and not Cat Noir. 

So why does he feel a mild headache, similar to an impactful attack on his body when he is wearing his leather suit?

His head is just fine, but he does feel  dehydrated. Though he finds that the longer he listens to the cat he never wanted snore, the more his head starts to hurt.

He glances at his alarm clock, it is only seven in the morning and his boxing lesson does not start until eleven. 

Normally, Felix would already be out of bed and dressed. He would show his face, walking out of his room and read in the breakfast room until his breakfast comes out. They only start making his breakfast when they see him, a rule they agreed upon after they prepared his breakfast one morning, until Felix never showed up. The poor boy was sick , repeated Sylvia, if I had known I would've waited till he was awake, he can't eat a cold breakfast.

Why not? He recalls hearing Nathalie asking Sylvia, outside his bedroom, standing in his living room. Nathalie then proceeded to ask him if he plans to catch up on his homework. 

The pain in his head hurts but not exactly enough to make him skip breakfast. It's just uncomfortable, like an icicle waiting to grow inside. Alas, Felix flips his covers over and flings the black cat kwami into the air. 

Plagg, who should have gotten angry, is now used to this, its body plopping back onto the bed and continuing to feign sleep. Plagg knows Felix hates the kwami's entire existence.

"Plagg, get off the bed," he mutters, sitting up slowly. The pain in his chest seems to dull as he moves, but it's still there. Felix sighs, rubbing his temples.

Yawning and stretching mid-air, he lazily floats up into the air. He smacks his lips a few times, to which Felix turns his head away at the kwami’s bad breath exhaling through, and rubs his green eyes. "Relax, kid," he says hoarsely. "You've got plenty of time."

Felix shakes his head, heading towards the bathroom.

The clouds have been dark lately, hanging in the air ready to attack at any moment, and will be again today as reported by the weather forecast, who have said that at least this weekend would only have a twenty percent chance of precipitation. Felix can only imagine the amount of bad luck that he will experience in this weather. 

"I wish you can treat me as well as she did with that stray cat," mumbles Plagg, following him. 

Felix hands him his toothbrush for his teeth, cut so only an inch of the stem is left to fit his smaller arms. The head of the toothbrush on the other hand is adequate, for Plagg's mouth can stretch wide enough to swallow a whole piece of camembert in one go.

This, Felix has started to make him do to limit the amount of bad breaths he has to inhale when Plagg likes to get up close and personal. This also helps limit the smell associated with Felix, even if he has been converted into a deodorant freak after becoming Cat Noir, the fact that Plagg is still hiding within his clothes doesn't change much. And since the cat doesn't just find satisfaction in eating camembert, he has to embrace the cheese and rub oversized head against the crust exterior before devouring it, there has been days where Felix locks Plagg and himself in the bathroom, and has chased the cat with a water spray combined with warm water and cat soap. 

"Well," Felix begins after he spits out water into the sink, "that cat is homeless so why don't you sleep outside in the rain tonight?"

"You know that's not what I mean!" Plagg humphs, throwing his toothbrush onto the surface in a fit. Getting the kwami to clean his teeth is the best Felix can do, but it's a constant battle.

Nonchalance continues to remain on his face. "Your camembert rights are taken away as well."

Plagg's eyes widens in horror. "You wouldn't!"

"I would," Felix responds coolly, wiping his mouth with a towel. "You need to learn some discipline."

Plagg groans, floating down to sulk on the edge of the sink. His antenna follows. "You're no fun."

♡

Fred hears impatient footsteps, click-clacks of his brogues, walk into the room. 

The curtains swish open in a quick motion despite the man's weakening body, flooding the room with a dimmed yet still harsh daylight. And, just as Fred tries to convince himself everything is okay, the blanket that he so tightly clutches over his head is yanked away and thrown on the floor.

"What the hell, old man?!" His voice cracks as he still hasn't cleared his throat yet.

"Get up," instructs Monsieur Remier, standing over the bed making him appear taller. "You have slept for fourteen hours now. Yesterday sixteen." The lines on his face seems to sink deeper each passing day.

Fred plops his head back onto the pillow, face down. "Leave me alone," his voice muffled. 

Monsieur Remier lets out a hopeless sigh.

"You cannot live everyday like this."

Fred's response is despondent. "I have nothing else to live for; no job, no money, no nothing." The weight of his despair presses down on him, making even the smallest movement feel like an insurmountable effort.

"If you think that, you will believe it." 

He watches the younger man remain in the same position.

"Ten minutes. I will make breakfast so be down in time." And with that, Monsieur Remier turns around and walks out. He closes the door, giving him his privacy.

♡

"This is a drag," he says as he watches his plate of food set down before him. He's hungry, for sure, but somehow is uninterested in eating.

It makes him feel guilty to eat this good when he could never afford it for his family.

Monsieur Remier sits down opposite him. "You are to go outside, spend some time, and come home with a better look on your face than the one you're wearing right now."

♡

The old man suggests he goes out for a walk to get himself used to this new place. After all, Boulogne-Billancourt is their home now, at least for the foreseeable future. The clouds look heavy overhead even though it's only eight (the old man lied to him about the time, what is it with old people waking up so early in the morning?!) but at least it isn't raining.

Fred reluctantly agrees, knowing deep down that staying cooped up inside won't help his situation. 

Donning a new, clean and ironed white shirt, grey plaid trousers and leather brown brogues, Fred ventures through the suburb. "Oh, and a hat," he recalls Monsieur Remier saying, "for extra safety measures." As if he needed to hide his identity when he's already under a new alias—father and son Philippe and Pierre Beaufoy moved here to get some peace away from the main parts of the city, where it's in shambles nearly twice a week. Luckily for them, though, him and the old man have decided to take a break.

Pierre. 

Fred's known a couple of Pierres but never imagined himself like them. Whilst he has his own opinions of them, they certainly made better choices than he.

He quickly finds out that Boulogne is a very wealthy area (It makes him question who Papillon truly is, and how he has the money and power to do all this. Maybe Papillon is secretly the mayor of Paris, and he's just doing this for the fun of it? No. That's a silly thought.). The apartment he shares with Monsieur Remier is a classic and simple brick building, and so are the other apartments near theirs. However, after walking an hour around the suburb, he sees that many of the apartments are very new and modern, made of white concrete and glass. Still, Paris is Paris. Fred knows that just about a thousand more people who are living in this nice area are also struggling to afford it. 

As the wind tips his hat slightly, Fred adjusts it, trying to maintain his disguise. The wind dares a second time and Fred chooses to give up. A second chance wouldn't change anything for the better.

Although Boulogne is only forty-five minutes from the heart of Paris,  he supposes it's just far enough for the people here to not recognise Monsieur Remier. Despite the fact that it hadn't been long until Boulogne heard about Monsieur Pigeon, and have seen a picture of the old man, they don't exactly get attacked here. The chaos instigated by them only really unfolds in the main city, as that's where they lived, including Papillon and the two heroes. Though he can imagine if one of them moved elsewhere, Papillon would track them down and resituate him and Monsieur Remier. For the Miraculouses.

Fred doubts that akumatised villains in Boulogne ever cross their minds, if anything, they've forgotten the face of Monsieur Remier.

The old man has explained as much as he can: If they are to plan to attack Paris again, he and Monsieur Pigeon would hide above a flock of pigeons. If the Mime is out on his own to Paris, he is either to take public transport or summon an invisible vehicle. Fred thinks it's ludicrous how the old man or Papillon thought the latter was a viable idea in the first place. He sighs. This honestly just makes attacking Paris a lot harder if they can't outright attack Boulogne. It's not like Paris knew of his face either way. Fred kicks a pebble his way. If it weren't for the fact that he quit his job, he would've stayed in Paris to continue his biddings. Then again, he didn't have the money for his apartment either. 

It's a weekday, and Fred sits himself on a public bench contemplating his life. 

Normally he would've been at work right now. Scrubbing away. Sure, he'd still be thinking about his life and how crappy it is, but he'd be scrubbing while he's thinking.

For nearly two weeks, Fred has spent all his days sleeping. After that last fight, as well as he thought he did or as close as he thought he was to getting at least one of their miraculouses, it still exhausted him. He knows Papillon is not as powerful as the man makes himself out to be, and he's sure that part of his weakness has transferred onto the human bodies of Monsieur Remier and himself. 

Just one look, he can see Monsieur Remier is looking slightly worse than before. And compared to the first day the two saw one another, a lot worse. But for that freeing feeling when he is Monsieur Pigeon, the old man is willing to give up the last inch of his life for it. Fred can't say he has too much of an opinion on it, for he is perhaps just the same. 

When he is the Mime, he doesn't have to think about his crappy job, his hopeless dreams, his… much of anything at all. The act of destroying everything he sees in sight gives him a kind of satisfaction that cannot be replicated in any other form. 

When there's nothing else that he can control in his life, there is always the choice to be motivated by anger.

Power surges through him as his worries gets washed away. The thrill of watching structures crumble and chaos unfold under his command was unlike anything he had ever experienced. It was a release, a way to feel alive when everything else seemed dead.

As the Mime, he doesn't have to dream—he acts.

No. 

Fred abruptly positions himself to lie down on the bench, his head hitting the cold metal with a harsh thud. He blinks at the sky before resting his eyes, returning to the dark state he once was in just earlier. The image of a happy Madelaine reappears in the darkness.

"Just for a little while," he lies to himself.

♡

After Fred shortly leaves, Monsieur Remier makes his way outside for a bit of fresh air as well. 

Over the past few weeks he has been living here, he has befriended new pigeon faces—equally smart and endearing as the ones in the main area of the city. 

Just outside the apartment, there's a small sitting area with a solitary bench that overlooks a modest public space where teenagers often gather with their skateboards, and beyond he can see  the road with vehicles passing by. The distance of it is just long enough that the sounds of the vehicle is not too jarring. 

He knows that whilst his pigeons are strong, and are used to loud noises of a city, he finds that said loud noises often disrupt their time together, causing the birds to scatter. Monsieur Remier isn't exactly fond of the teenagers either, but sure, he remembers his own teenage mischiefs. 

Around the area is a small bakery conveniently placed for all the workers, living in the apartment blocks, to pass by in the morning. Monsieur Remier exits with one large baguette and makes his way back to the sitting area. By now they are familiar with the routine that the kind olf man has introduced into their mundane lives. A few pigeons fly down as soon as they see Monsieur Remier in his suit. He begins to break off pieces of bread, dropping it onto the ground for the pigeons to peck at.

"Hungry, are you all?" beams Monsieur Remier. "I've always believed that pigeons are the most intelligent creatures on this planet."

Yes, Monsieur Remier remembers how as a teenager, he used to sneak out with his girlfriend at the time—now deceased wife—to places they shouldn't have been in. It gradually stopped overtime when Monsieur Remier was admitted into Oxford by the end of his high school years. Realising the need to get his act together if he wanted to make his dreams come true, he poured himself into his studies. Amazingly, even after those four years, she still waited for him in Paris. After that, he came back an aspiring geneticist. Another four years passed and he proposed.

Monsieur Remier smiles wistfully, watching the pigeons eagerly peck at the bread. He would do anything it takes for him to protect them, for they are so precious to him, even at his old and frail age. Even if everyone else sees him as incapable. 

More pigeons arrive and goodness—how lovely it is to not be reprimanded for simply feeding the innocent! Unfortunately, he only has a small bit of bread left and Monsieur Remier soon utters his apologies when he hands out the last piece of bread to the pigeon who has the least. He would spend more money on another, however, he fears Papillon would not be too impressed with his spending after everything he has invested in him and his new partner, Fred.

They look at him adoringly with their tiny, beady black eyes. "Oh, I am so sorry but I do not seem to have any more! You must come another day!" And though it pains him, "shoo, shoo! Before anyone suspects me!" 

Because, even though he is not berated by any police officers, he's weary that any other person, such as the eyes of his neighbours through their apartment windows, may come to suspect him. Monsieur Remier tries to be a very careful man since he went into hiding.

He sighs as he watches them slowly disperse. From his blazer pocket, he takes out a small, old commonplace book, flipping through the thoughts he has jotted down over the past two weeks. In his lower pocket, by the waist, he finds a ballpoint pen and writes down another line: 'P4 test 4 and 5'.

Monsieur Remier closes the book and puts it back in his pocket. Perhaps he can make modifications by other means. How would they take to eating foods combined with his solutions? Though, that would mean he would have to make the baguette himself. Sure, that wouldn't be too hard, he thinks, he just needs to sift through his belongings and find Marie's recipe book.

The old man sits for a long period of time on that bench, and even though he has returned his commonplace book back to his pocket, he still ponders what else he could do. What more he could do. Because whatever he can do, now is the time to do so.

Eventually, he stands up. He makes his way to a hidden alleyway within Boulogne-Billancourt. With a cautious glance over his shoulder, he takes out a small black communicator from his pocket, his hand briefly makes contact with the ballpoint pen as he pulls it out of his pocket. Raising it close to his lips, he presses the green button and mutters the words: "transform me." In a flash, as if Papillon is always ready, he transforms into Monsieur Pigeon.

"Come, come, my friends!" His voice imbues with excitement. 

Instantly, dozens of pigeons descend into the alleyway, their wings flapping in unison.

The pigeons form a platform for Monsieur Pigeon, to which he steps onto. As they lift him into the air, the flock spreads out, creating a wider formation as they head toward the main area of Paris. Monsieur Pigeon lies down flat on his back to avoid being spotted from below. His pigeon suit, designed with the same hues and patterns as his feathered companions, allows him to blend seamlessly with the flock. Therefore, there is less concern in being identified.

♡

Monsieur Pigeon arrives at the scene, his steps echoing behind as the only clue. The secret entrance lies beneath the abandoned building where he first met Papillon.

Once he makes his way to the basement, here, amidst the rubble and shadows, sits a lone safe on top of an old, broken washing machine. Papillon has entrusted him with a unique key, where the end is shaped like a butterfly with hollow wings. 

The average person would not be able to open the safe to begin with, and if they dared to move it then it would require at least two strong men and a trolley to move it elsewhere. 

When he turns the key, instead of opening the door to the safe, a section of the concrete wall begins to shift revealing a secret entryway. Beyond is another stairway leading deeper down into a corridor with a few paths. If he continues straight to the end, it leads to the laboratory. Thankfully, he is transformed now; his old form would never have coped well with so much movement up and down. As he steps through, the entrance slides back into place with a heavy thud.

Before Monsieur Pigeon even enters the underground facility, he can already hear the echoed caws, accompanied with the flappings of wings, that muffle the sounds of his own footsteps. 

High ceilings stretch above him, supported by robust steel beams despite its age. They glint under the cold artificial lights that turns on only after he presses the light switch. It is a large room, one side the length of about fifty feet and the shorter side the length of thirty five feet. 

He strides forward with confidence. "Did you miss me?" he says theatrically, opening his arms wide as pigeons land on top of each arm. 

In one corner is a large oak desk cluttered with papers, sketches of his experimentation plans and opened books. A vintage lamp looks over the workspace, its light contrasts with the cold light of the lab when turned on. On his desk is also a framed photo of him and his wife.

One side of the lab sits large, reinforced glass enclosures, opened for the pigeons to enter at any time of the day. Monsieur Pigeon has spent a portion of his time decorating the enclosures to support the needs of his beloved pigeons, with fake trees, branches, grass and daisies, and atop the larger branches he installed are fitted with nests and hanging birdhouses. In each enclosure is also a small feeding station with seeds, nuts, leaves, diced-up bread and water. 

There is the gentle hum of the air conditioner playing in the background.

Adjacent to the enclosures is an observation area, enclosed with a large glass window. Outside it is a desk with a camera and a monitor. As of currently, the pigeons are only floating about. Here, Monsieur Pigeon meticulously records the behaviours and abilities of his pigeons, for him to experiment with or after any experiments to note any changes and improvements.

Although Papillon can bestow almost any power or magic upon them, it was Monsieur Pigeon's idea to modify the pigeons using science. He realises that by enhancing the pigeons through natural means, they could be used as spies, observing and reporting on the activities of Parisians. He is also trying to enhance their cognitive functions in order to improve their ability to recall and recognise. This will allow them to identify and track down any specific individual, especially if the pigeons catch on to the secret identity of Ladybug and Cat Noir.

Hopefully, Monsieur Pigeon can also one day attain full control of the pigeons. 

He can imagine himself simply pressing a button and all pigeons of Paris will instantly launch into attack. This can all be done without the need for any akumatisation, for the old man knows it uses up a lot of energy on Papillon.

The only thing he cannot aim to achieve right now is video recordings from the pigeons' perspective. That would mean he would have to either replace their eyes with cameras, which is not something he exactly wants to do in fear of hurting them, or build a robot pigeon, which is not exactly his department of work.

Monsieur Pigeon walks over to the enclosure, his eyes scanning the fluttering inhabitant until his eyes stop at one particular pigeon with a distinctive red collar. "There you are, Pigeon Four," he says. 

Pigeon Four stares at Monsieur Pigeon blankly in response.

This is the pigeon who by far exhibits the most intelligence amongst its peers. Monsieur Pigeon had previously conducted three experiments on ten randomly selected pigeons, though all of good weight and height, to identify the most capable candidates for his enhancements. Out of all ten, Pigeon four is the one that passed every test, demonstrating an almost uncanny ability to understand and solve the puzzles. 

And whilst Monsieur Pigeon's secondary research tells him that pigeons do less well in regards to categories defined by abstract logical relationships, such as 'symmetrical' or 'same', Pigeon Four is capable of identifying the difference between similar looking humans. This will do well for identifying specific individuals.

If Pigeon Four is capable of such understanding then Monsieur Pigeon is certain that all of his pigeons possess equal potential. They just need time… and a little push which he is working on to give to them.

He brings Pigeon Four out, gently placing it into the observation area before closing the door. His eyes gleam with obsession.

♡

At the early hour of nine, Tom and Sabine decide to allow Bridgette the rest of the day to herself. Normally on a Saturday, Bridgette continues to help her parents for a morning shift from six to twelve out of her own desire to help. 

However, sensing Bridgette acting more frantic than usual with the customers, despite the fact that they don't show up as early on a Saturday nor is there much of them in the early morning, Sabine tells Tom it is best to let Bridgette rest. She's dropping utensils, mixing up orders, and her usual cheerful demeanour is replaced with a strained smile. To her surprise, her daughter doesn't persist in helping and reluctantly goes back upstairs. 

Bridgette takes a pair of tongs and a white cardboard box, grabbing a croissant, a pain au chocolat, a pain aux raisins and a brioche and placing it into the box before dashing through the 'staff only' door, and up the stairs, up three floors, and finally jumping onto her bed where her face sinks flat against the duvet. 

Tikki, who has been doing her own thing at Bridgette's study desk flies over, smelling the treats.

However, seeing her holder almost defeated on the bed stops her in the moment. "Bridgette?" Seeing that her ahoge doesn't raise in response, Tikki flies closer until she lands beside Bridgette's head. "Bridgette, are you okay?"

A muffled "yeah" responds.

Life has been so hectic lately; she hasn't the time to think about the second she's currently living in. 

As they have reached October, with promises of mock tests from teachers coming up in November, and their actual tests in January, Bridgette—like every other student—has been increasing her study time. Moreover, she has been putting in the mental effort in maintaining her friendship with Nathaniel by talking, hanging out and drawing together more often. She still hangs out with Allegra, though she does feel bad for only having one sleepover so far, is still attempting to make small gestures to befriend Felix, and is happily conversing with her peers. 

Alongside that, whilst her parents are understanding and allow her the time to study more when needed, she is still expected to wake up at five six days a week. On Wednesdays, she still makes time for jiu-jitsu, and with fortune by her side, she hasn't had those lessons disrupted by an attack yet. However, she does find she has been lacking in improvement despite her increasing her time of physical activity as Ladybug.

Recently, she has also signed up for a competition for young, aspiring designers in France. The deadline is at the end of November, giving her just a few weeks to perfect her submission. If she wins, or if her work even gets showcased online for honourable mentions, leading her to get noticed, this could back up her portfolio for a potential future in a design school. 

It's obvious that she has been so busy that she is truthfully unsure how she manages to balance her new job. She supposes she is just lucky that she did.

Actually, she's been so lucky that neither Monsieur Pigeon or the Mime have unleashed an attack in so long. 

She turns her head to the side, a soft smile gracing her lips. Turning her whole body as well, she extends her arms and Tikki gracefully flies into her open palms. Bringing her kwami up to her face, Bridgette rubs their cheeks together.

She should get some homework done, she thinks to herself and sits up.

"I still can't believe you said I had IBS," Tikki says with a light giggle, brightening the mood. "You know kwamis don't have a digestive system."

Perplexed, Bridgette watches Tikki take a huge bite out of the croissant. "So, how do you eat then?"

Tikki swallows the last of it. "I think it just disappears in my stomach."

Bridgette decides not to ask any more questions on kwami biology. Instead, she stands up fully and walks over to her study desk which Tikki was at earlier, her eyes focused on the white butterfly with a pale blue glow trapped in a spare mason jar she found in the kitchen. This—this is the butterfly that transforms all of Papillon's victims.

Bridgette gently runs her fingers over the smooth surface of the jar as she sits down at her chair. "I wonder what Cat Noir is doing," she thinks out loud, thinking back to the last time they saw each other, which was also the last attack they had.

"Probably just as much as you."

Pulling her chair forward, she lays her arms on the flat desk, folded. Then, she lays her chin over her arms as she stares blankly at the butterfly. So far, she has only experimented with it by letting it out of her room when her door and window is shut tight. However, the butterfly is only focused on escaping. It sits at the window. Waiting. Waiting for her to open it.

"You think he ever thinks about me?"

Tikki shrugs, plopping beside the jar. 

"We never agreed on our next training time," says Bridgette with a sigh. "But, I guess everyone's studying for their winter exams. And, Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime haven't really been out for the past thirteen days. Nor anyone else for that matter." Then, a thought occurs in her head. "Say, do you think that without the butterfly, Papillon can't possess anyone?"

"I don't ever believe it is so, as we have seen him use two people at once. And besides," says Tikki in a matter-of-factly tone, "the butterfly miraculous is very powerful. If anything, more powerful than yours or Cat Noir's alone." Seeing Bridgette's face sulk, the kwami adds, "But it may do you good to know that only you possess the powers of creation and fortune. And that Cat Noir is the only one capable of whatever silly thing he does. Papillon lacks in what you both have."

From her relaxed position, she is able to glance at the calendar sitting at the back of her desk. 

She has started to mark the days that disasters show up with a blue sharpie in an 'x'. The last one being 5th October. 

Her handwriting hasn't always been the prettiest, and in elementary she struggled to write out her letters neatly and efficiently. Overtime, of course, with the help of her papa and Allegra's amateur handwriting lessons, she has gotten better over time. Though, she still has a habit of writing her 'x's the same. They are too wide. Something about drawing the first line, she just has to extend it wider. 

If she squints really hard, the thickness of the sharpie makes it look like a blue butterfly.

A well-lit night and falling debris briefly colour her vision. Her ears almost tingle at the recollection of Misère's taunts. Leather gloves gripping her thighs and arm, and she knows he had retracted his claws so he wouldn't hurt her. Yet, the heaviest burden on her mind is the loss of her parents. The fact that she couldn't hear them scream, see them fall, or find them among the rubble terrifies her the most.

Her heart had dropped. 

At that moment she didn't even want to fight Misère or the Mime, help Cat Noir or help protect Paris. But… if she wants to protect her parents, she needs to better protect the city. She needs to do better and continue her role as Ladybug, even during periods where neither Monsieur Pigeon or the Mime show up, even if it is exhausting. For the people. For her parents.

She needs to find out who Papillon is.

Bridgette's ahoge perks up, her upper body follows after. This nearly makes a relaxed Tikki, with her cheeks rubbed against the cold glass jar, jump.

"I know!" exclaims Bridgette, "Tonight, I'll do a patrol!"

"A patrol?" repeats Tikki.

"Yeah. I'll look around Paris for an hour or so tonight to see if anything bad is happening."

Tikki blinks. "But… how will you even know if a villain is out there?"

"I won't," states Bridgette. "But even if it's just any bad guy, like a bank robbery or a kidnapping, I'll be there to help them.

Tikki's expression looks unsure. "But, won't you get tired? You only really need to go out if Papillon sends someone out. And the news has produced an app to signify you anytime there's danger. It's not like it is centuries ago."

Bridgette tickles Tikki on the head gently. "Oh, come on! It's nothing I can't handle." 

"I'm just saying because you have school, Bri." Tikki pulls Bridgette's fingers down flat on its head, and Bridgette switches to caressing. 

"Yeah, but it's a Saturday," says Bridgette. "Maybe I should wear a helmet."

"Just… don't overdo it, okay?"

Bridgette doesn't give the kwami a response.

♡

He throws down the barbell onto the matted floor, the weight of the plates stops it from rolling far. Claude reaches out a strained hand and holds it in place before dropping himself onto the floor with a thud. His chest heaves as he gasps for breaths.

Despite the fatigue, a satisfied smile tugs at the corners of his lips. New PR , he notes, sweat beads rolling down his temples, eighty-five kilos . His grey tank top is drenched and clinging to his body uncomfortably.

At least tomorrow is a Sunday. Still, he's gonna be so sore.

His father, who was spotting him, brings him his water bottle with the cap twisted off. Claude mutters a gasped "thanks" and takes a long gulp, the water trickling down his chin down to his chest. The coolness of it makes him long for a cold shower. Though the month has so far been cold, the workout and the gym overall is hot, especially with the combined heat of thirty other people.

"A good finish to the session," states his father who is recording their weights on his phone, "we both got new PRs."

Claude manages a nod. He decides to get up and walk over to the closest bench where he left his phone to check his socials. Sitting down, he unlocks his phone and scrolls through his notifications. 

To his surprise, he receives a few texts from an old classmate, Jean, who is currently attending the same high school as him. The last text stating 'I added you to the boys' gc for Lycée Françoise Dupont, it's just 2B and a few from 2C3 and 2C5'. Claude checks out his contacts and sees that he has also been added to another group chat named 'good parties'. The sweat of his palms grows so quick that his phone nearly slips.

He goes into the 'good parties' group chat.

Jean: Who's doing a Halloween party? I'm gonna do one for the 31st so everyone pick another date.

Darcy: I'll do one on that Saturday, cos Halloween is on Thurs.

Jean: Cool, cool.

Jean: So two parties so far?

Gabriel: Two's enough for one week I think.

Jean: Only for you.

Gabriel: Yo @Claude, you wanna dj the party? I know you make music but idk if you actually dj.

Colette: Oh yeah, that'll be cool!

There is just, simply, no way. Claude finds himself staring at his phone in disbelief. He had been sure Jean hated him. The outspoken boy had never been shy about expressing his opinions, especially when it came to Claude. 

Claude knows that people in his school have slowly started to accept him, even the ones from his middle school. But, why would Jean, of all people, include him in a group chat with their classmates? Perhaps, everyone just wants to forget about the past and move on. After all, what has happened has happened. 

Surely, they can see that Claude is trying to change. 

"What's gotten you looking like that, son?" Claude looks up to his father. He stiffens. 

"Nothing," he smiles sheepishly.

He can tell that his father doesn't look so sure. Claude sends a thumbs up into the group chat.

♡

Felix avoids a swift punch, his hair sweeping to the side in a fluid motion. It's getting longer, and he knows he needs to cut it soon, but that's not the reason for his subpar performance today. 

His mind is elsewhere.

Muscles weakening. Eyes unable to focus on the target in front of him. None of his moves feel right. He resets his stance, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, and narrows his eyes, locking onto Coach Abioye's movements. The coach moves in again, launching a series of rapid jabs. Felix manages to block the first few but takes a glancing blow on his shoulder. Blond strands fall in front of his eyes but it isn't enough to block his vision. 

Coach Aboye can tell something is wrong, but by now he understands that the boy will not speak up unless confronted, nor would he ever build up the courage to confide in someone. Much less an instructor who he refuses to make small talk with. 

Felix sees the hook coming a split second before it reaches him. Too slow. Shifting his weight to his back foot, bending his knees slightly and leaning back, his torso twists just enough to let the punch sail past his face. Almost hesitating, Felix throws back another punch. The faint, bothersome ache persistent in his head. 

If he tries his best, he can almost ignore it.

"You know what the problem is?" coach Abioye speaks sharply between attacks. "You only decide to defend when I throw a punch. You should always be prepared to defend yourself, like an instinct."

Each inhale becomes tough.

Felix begins to suck in his breath as the constant pain steadily grows, spreading through his head with every beat of his heart, and—

He completely avoids the next jab, throwing himself to the side as he clutches his head hard with his fingers. Nails deep. His back bends ninety degrees. He chokes out his exhales. 

"Felix!" Coach Abioye places his hand gently on the boy's back. 

In just a few seconds, the pain ceases and Felix slowly regains his posture. Felix draws in a slow, deep breath as he feels the ache subside, returning to its dullness which is, at the very least, a more manageable discomfort. 

The coach furrows a brow at him. "You alright, son?"

Felix simply nods before returning to position. Half an hour hasn't even passed and his shirt is already drenched in sweat.

Coach Abioye studies him for a moment, his sharp eyes scanning Felix for any signs of distress or underlying issues. He hoped the boy would be more forthcoming. "Anything wrong?" he asks, his tone gentle like a concerned parent.

"Nothing," says Felix, straightening his back. "I'm fine now." His voice is firm, almost defiant in a way as though he is a child hiding something.

"Do you have any genetic condition?" Coach Abioye probes, not ready to let it go. His responsibility as a coach goes beyond just physical training. Physical, health and diet was all part of the package when Felix signed up for it, and Coach Abioye is just doing his job. 

"No. I'm fine."

Coach Abioye's eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. "Alright. But if you feel anything like that again, you tell me immediately. Understood?" He slowly returns to his position as well, seeing Felix's determination return. 

Felix responds with a punch.

♡

In the shower rooms, Felix manages to have a conversation with Plagg as the shower water muffles out their voices.

Plagg hovers above the shower head where the water cannot reach him, his green eyes observing Felix closely. "Coach was worried," Plagg expresses with concern. 

"It's only mild pain. I will check in with the doctor later."

"At least you're making progress," Plagg notes, eyeing the biceps slowly forming in Felix's arms.

"Not just this," says Felix contently, a small smile playing on his lips. "But with her as well."

"You're using her?"

"It was your idea," Felix responds, his smile fading, replaced by a defensive frown.

Plagg narrows his green eyes at the boy. "You're the one carrying out the act. When she finds out after you get that kiss, the responsibility is on you. Not me." He pauses, letting his words sink in. "And she won't be hating Cat Noir. It'll be Felix Agreste."

"You're the one responsible for my misfortunes." Felix sighs, brushing back his wet hair with his hand.

"Nuh-uh! I didn't make you put on that ring."

Felix hisses at him. "You said it was fate that I would put it on."

♡

Monsieur Pigeon had expected Pigeon Four to fly away as soon as he opened the door, indicating that the experiments are over. He knows the pigeon must be tired after a few hours. 

Yet, Pigeon Four remains still, staring at him with vacant eyes typical of its kind. 

He wonders what his beloved Pigeon Four is thinking. He has tried not to push the poor bird too hard, understanding that its  small stature is nothing compared to the strength of humans. Though if it were not for the vitality of his transformation, Monsieur Pigeon would not be able to carry out his extensive research just as well as his youthful self. And whilst it isn't exactly work, he did put the pigeon in a confined container for it to solve problems it might have never encountered before. That being said, Pigeon Four has demonstrated excellent understanding.

He kisses Pigeon Four on the head. "Rest, now," he whispers gently.

Turning off the lights in the lab, he casts one last glance at Pigeon Four. The bird lies still.

The Mime had come in earlier briefly to check up on Monsieur Pigeon before announcing that he will be carrying out experimentations of his own in regards to his powers. It was heartening to see Fred getting back into his work, especially after spending the last two weeks cooped up in his bedroom following his last failed battle with Ladybug and Cat Noir. Dying really makes people think, huh .

He should go and check on the Mime. Monsieur Pigeon makes his way down the dark corridor, the walls coldly echoing his footsteps, taking a left turn when he sees the first left path. He takes a left turn when he reaches the first branching path. When reaching the end of this path, it opens into a large, empty space repurposed by the Mime for his own use. An experiment room, of some sort, for his weapons.

Towards the end leads to a large, empty space where the Mime has taken up to use. As he approaches closer, faint but unmistakable sounds pierce the stillness. Sharp bangs of gunfire. Deep rumble of explosions. There is no door, however, Monsieur Pigeon can see that the Mime has boarded every part of the wall, floor and ceiling with an invisible protector, as he watches the flames grow but do not go beyond the entryway.

Of course, this is what he has resorted to since neither of the two possess restoration powers like Ladybug. The old man has briefly wondered if the Mime can replicatie this power, though it seems he can only mimic existing things. This also includes natural causes, which he only finds out now as he watches through the blocked entryway a flood of blues gushing through the red flames. 

The room blackens dramatically.

The Mime rises into the air, lifted by the force of the water, his body moving with a ghostly grace.

Light reflects Monsieur Pigeon's eyes as the water vanishes. The Mime descends. His feet touches the ground with lightness that belies the intensity of his powers. Then, 

he collapses to the ground.

Finally walking through the entryway, the Mime hears him and turns his head to the left.

"Exhausted?" Monsieur Pigeon asks with understanding. He notes how sullen the younger man's eyes look. "You must have been training for a while."

A heavy sigh is the Mime's only response. He turns his head back to the ceiling, his expression blank and weary. Without a job, a man craves the desire to be busy to avoid being plagued by his own thoughts.

Monsieur Pigeon observes him, knowing the immense pressure the Mime places on himself. As the Mime, Fred must constantly devise elaborate and unexpected ways to surprise Ladybug and Cat Noir, not just premeditated plans but amidst the battle as well. It isn't just speech but also the absence of his thoughts. It's interesting that this is the Mime's downside, as the lack of thoughts is not reflective of true mimes at all. Despite this, the way Fred has harnessed his powers thus far only impresses the old man. It's a lot of quick thinking, and he supposes that it is for the better long term.

The Mime looks tired, but after a few hours in the lab, Monsieur Pigeon feels the desire to go out and cause havoc again. Tomorrow is a Sunday. He will allow himself to lie in.

Chapter Text

Amidst a bright and lively street in Paris is Monsieur Jacques, an older man who helps the city by picking up litter as his job, and well-received from the community, surrounded by a group of elementary children. A sparkle reflects in the children's eyes as he holds up a shiny coin.

"Look closely, kids," he says with a warm smile. 

With a flick of his wrist, the coin seemingly vanishes into thin air. Gasps of amazement ripple through the group as the coin disappears before their eyes, yet the sparkle remains in their gazes. Gently, Monsieur Jacques reaches out his hand for one of the boys' left ear, pulling out the same shiny coin.

"Again, Monsieur Jacques! Do another one!" a young girl with pigtails pleads with excitement, bouncing on her toes.

Monsieur Jacques chuckles, preparing to show them another trick. However, his smile soon fades as he notices something alarming behind them, high above in the sky. 

What looks to be a large dark, ominous cloud forming briefly makes him think about the lovely day they have had so far. However, his heart skips a beat when the cloud rapidly approaches the streets, and as it comes closer the more he begins to see the separate forms of each pigeon. Once they have their sight on the people, they begin to disperse from their tightly coordinated formation, attacking anyone they see.

"Run! Everyone, run!" he shouts, waving his arms frantically. He gestures them to run the other direction, which the children promptly do when they quickly tilt their heads to see the pigeons.

Standing there, he uses his stick to shoo away the pigeons but they are determined and persistent. Realising the futility of his efforts, Monsieur Jack turns and runs as well, keeping up with the fleeing children. Behind him, the pigeons dive and peck at the terrified citizens. 

Screams echo through the streets as people desperately try to find shelter.

High above, Monsieur Pigeon watches the chaos unfold with a twisted smile. He directs his flock with a subtle flick of his hand, ensuring that the pigeons focus on terrorising the citizens of Paris instead of the buildings. His plan is simple: by creating such fear, he hopes to force Ladybug and Cat Noir to surrender their Miraculouses in exchange for the safety of their beloved Parisians. He knows that Ladybug and Cat Noir are strong, but their greatest weakness is their compassion.

Shame. It's such a nice Saturday to be outside.

♡

Meanwhile, not far from the chaos, Felix and Kim walk out of the Apollo Boxing Gym after their respective boxing lessons. 

Kim insists on continuing their conversation, unsatisfied with Felix's small talk. He quickens his pace after the blond, who is determined to make it to the bus stop without any interference. 

The afternoon sun is high in the sky and Kim gets an idea.

"Hey, if you're not doing anything after, you wanna grab some lunch together?" suggests Kim, his tone casual yet his eyes hopeful. "I know a nice burger place, then we can head out to buy some new gear. We can pick out the best gloves for you." 

Felix struggles to think of an excuse. His eyes darts around the area as he thinks. 

He really doesn't want to become Kim's friend, much less have Claude on his back about it considering how the two seem to despise each other. The thought of Claude increasing his persistent attempts to befriend him, in the case of anyone seeing him and Kim together, makes his stomach twist.

"I, uh, actually have some things to take care of. Maybe another time."

Kim frowns slightly. Disappointment takes over his eyes. "Oh, okay…"

The air is thick with an unsettling stillness, broken only by the distant caws of birds.

Before Felix can give him a half-assed apology, their heads turn to a sudden whoosh of air. A flash of red and black colours their vision. Ladybug lands in front of them, her expression urgent.

"You two! Get yourselves back into that building now!" her voice cuts through the air like a knife. 

Felix eyes her up and down. It's strange seeing her in his civilian form. "For what reason must we do so?" he asks, and in accordance with his standards, politely, himself not sensing any danger yet.

Ladybug glares at him, her patience wearing thin. 

"Can you just shut up and do what I tell you to do?! Last time I checked, you're not the one fighting those bastard pigeons!" 

At this, a flock of pigeons swoop down from the sky. Before they reach her, she summons her bug shield and thrusts them in the other direction. 

"The hell are you two doing?! Get inside!" her voice almost growls as she speaks. "Dammit! Where is Cat Noir?!"

Kim, sensing the seriousness of the situation, grabs Felix's arm. "Come on, man. Let's go."

Felix nods and the two make their way back in quickly. But just before they do so, he catches a glimpse of Ladybug in action. She twirls her yo-yo, the red and black device a blur as it slices through the air, creating a barrier between her and the advancing birds. Huh , Felix thinks, for once she isn't late. His last view is of her leaping onto a nearby rooftop.

Felix and Kim stumble inside the gym, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. 

"What the hell is going on out there?" a man who is just about to leave asks, as he sees the pigeons through the glass door and immediately knowing the danger associated with the animal.

Kim shakes his head. "I don't know, but Ladybug's out there handling it. We need to stay put and stay safe."

Hearing footsteps, Kim turns his head and sees Felix walking down the hall. 

"Where you going, Felix?" he calls after.

"If you must know," answers Felix cooly, "the bathroom."

Kim raises an eyebrow. "Didn't you go before we left?"

Felix doesn't bother responding. Instead, he continues his way to the men's bathroom, trying to maintain a casual pace with absolutely no rush at all. He doesn't owe Kim anything—no explanation, no excuses to avoid hanging out.

Entering the bathroom, Felix closes the main door behind him, the heavy wood muffling the sounds from the rest of the club. He quickly checks beneath the stall doors for any legs. All clear. The bathroom is empty.

"Plagg, claws out!"

A green light radiates throughout the room.

In seconds, Cat Noir stands where Felix once did. His senses sharpen and he quickly assesses his escape options. He can't simply walk out as Cat Noir; it would raise too many questions, especially since Kim knows Felix went to the bathroom.

This room has a window, but unfortunately it is too small , he notes. 

Curling his right hand into a fist, he aims his ring at the wall. He hesitates for a moment, hoping the noise won't attract any unwanted attention. Then, in a split second, a swirling black ball of energy shoots out from the ring, blasting a hole in the wall large enough for him to slip through. Dust and debris scatters. 

Ah, whatever, he can just use the 'kidnapped by pigeons' excuse again. People are too afraid of him to question him.

Cat Noir finds Ladybug perched on a rooftop, her eyes scanning the streets below, her face wearing an expression that tells him she's thinking. Of course, there is only so much they can do alone. They've fought pigeons for so long that the same tactics are getting boring, but it seems that Monsieur Pigeon has not given up yet. 

He recalls Misère asking them to surrender their miraculouses, and Dawn Breaker's attempt on pulling off his ring and Ladybug's earrings. He iss unsure about Ladybug but they can feel free to take his if they can get it off of his finger. 

Cat Noir lands beside her with a graceful leap, a playful wink in his eyes. "You know, I'd rather be bird-watching with you under different circumstances."

Ladybug gives him a look, half exasperated. Her brows tightly furrows and Cat Noir just about sees her jaw clench. "I'd rather you use your hunting skills to prey on all of those pigeons for me." 

He bows as he watches her jump down, ignoring him once again.

"For you only, my lady."

Following after her, Cat Noir jumps down onto the chaotic part of the streets. People are trying to run away and seek shelter, however, the persistent pigeons are outright attacking them.

Too many people to protect and too many pigeons to fend off. Cat Noir's usual methods, summoning a large black storm or creating a black abyss, are out of the question. Using them recklessly would endanger the very people they're trying to protect. And though Ladybug can fix the damage with her Miraculous Ladybug, he doesn't want to risk her yelling at him.

Hmm , he ponders.

His priority is clear: either spend precious time trying to save people individually, which would be futile given the sheer number of pigeons and potential victims, or go after Monsieur Pigeon directly. The question is—

"Where the hell is Monsieur Pigeon?!" Ladybug yells with a strained voice as she swings her yo-yo, swatting pigeons away from the citizens with aggression.

With his ring, Cat Noir meticulously directs his black storm, focusing his energy to target only the pigeons while avoiding any harm to the people around him. His cat instincts to sense and seek out prey certainly helps him out. The air crackles with electricity. The swirling black ball stretches into a long ribbon, following his every movement. 

Each bird hit by his storm is momentarily paralysed, its frantic flapping ceasing as it drops onto the ground, barely lifeless.

The pigeons are rapidly thinning out. 

"Great job, Cat Noir." Ladybug then thanks him, and he can tell by the tone of her voice that she sounds much less stressed. "I can't believe he waited two weeks just to bring out a surprise attack," she remarks as she hits away at another pigeon with her bugstick.

It's best if they can urge everyone to go inside, to avoid the pigeons. Unfortunately, the pigeons seem so focused on hurting the citizens that their sharp beaks and claws are hammering against the windows of any building in which they can see people through. Raising his fist, Cat Noir shoots out black storm with a larger force at every flying pigeon he sees.

To her surprise, Cat Noir opens his mouth to shout at the top of his lungs, "Hey, bird-brain! Come out and face us, unless you're too much of a chicken!"

Ladybug spins around. "Cat Noir!"

"What?" he shrugs, a mischievous grin spreading across his face. "It's him we need to defeat, otherwise he'll never run out of energy."

Ladybug's expression tightens with concern. "He might hurt them more. Looks like he's trying to use all the citizens as hostages, to make us give up our miraculouses for their safety."

"I thought it was strange that they're not attacking us."

♡

Stepping into the Paris-Austerlitz railway station, Fred instinctively checks his pocket to ensure his return ticket for Boulogne Jean Jaurès is still there.

He notices that the station is packed with people which isn't surprising for a Saturday. However, upon closer inspection, he can see the looks of fear etched on their faces. Groups of strangers gather together to check on one another. He remembers now: Monsieur Remier wanted to orchestrate another attack. 

As the next train comes to a halt, Fred watches the station staff warn travellers to stay put until Ladybug and Cat Noir can sort out the pigeon mess. Unfazed by any of this, Fred stretches his arms and lets out a large yawn.

He can't wait to go home and sleep again, without that old man bothering him.

♡

Generating his black storm once more, Cat Noir channels this electric energy into Ladybug's red whip spotted with tiny black circles. He watches her then swing her now electrified whip, making contact with the oncoming pigeons. Those still able after being overwhelmed by the shock retreat. 

"How easy it'd be if I had powers like yours," she remarks with a light sigh after clearing the area. More pigeons arrive, as though they respawn each time they fall. "I just get a tool that transforms into weapons," she comments, scanning the surroundings to ensure no citizens are out.

His tail wags behind him as he stands closer to her. He stretches before he says anything, feeling fatigue. This fight has gone on for way too long. "I thought you were only limited to bugstick, sword, shield and… grenade, I think?"

"Actually," she transforms her whip into a net, then an axe. "It can be more than that. I just rotate between the four because they're reliable."

"I never knew because you never used much of it during our training sessions."

"I thought about it," she admits. Noticing him attempting to grab one of her red ribbons, she aims a playful swing at his torso with her red and black axe. He ducks just in time. "In the midst of a battle, I don't want to overthink. An axe, a scythe, and a bat can all be simplified to just a sword and stick if used correctly," she explains, her weapon consistently changing with each swing. "Even if I use new weapons each time, I'd have to master all the techniques, and it's just too much to remember."

She reverts to the bugstick, and Cat Noir throws a jab at it. The next moment he bends over, blowing air on his leather-covered knuckles to alleviate the pain. "I didn't realise the material is so hard," he mutters bitterly, eyes brimming with tears.

"I'm much better at hand-to-hand combat." Ladybug kneels beside him, taking his hand into hers. "Besides, apart from Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime," she says, rubbing his knuckles gently, "I've used just talking to overcome Misère and Dawnbreaker, and some other teen victims."

Just her touch seems to make him feel better.

He makes eye contact with her. "Well, that's not very creative."

Ladybug gives him a look but she shuts her lips before she speaks. Hesitating. He's not wrong. However, this entire time she's been so focused on finishing the fights so she can return to her regular life, that she doesn't really want to concern herself with choices when she knows a few methods that have been proven to work just fine.

"What's efficient is best. I still managed to beat you in a few of our training, haven't I?" she counters with a small smile.

He shrugs. "I just think that if Papillon is gonna give all these people new powers, and bring in more people with different, unique powers, you should use your powers to the full potential as well."

"But with great power comes great responsibility…" softly, she says. 

Her eyes look like a sad ocean.

He supposes she could summon projectiles and explosives like the Mime, but Ladybug isn't exactly intent on destroying the city as the hero. Even if she can fix it all in the end.

Cat Noir maintains his eye contact with her as he stands up, bringing her up with him as well. 

"He's really playing the cat and mouse game, huh?" he says, trying to change the subject. He can still recall that night where the two stood on the Eiffel Tower, and Ladybug…

He remembers how she almost tormented the Mime, hitting her bugstick against his chest as she stood over him, not with a look of anger, but with one of profound sadness. Sure, he himself has enjoyed tormenting the Mime a few times, but Felix finds himself relishing in feeling more dominant than his enemies.

He doesn't want to say that it's probably because the person behind Ladybug is a girl, but whoever she truly is, she aches too much for this already fragile, already broken world. 

At the right moment, someone interjects their growing silence.

"Ladybug! Cat Noir!"

Ladybug turns her head and Cat Noir follows. She almost yells as she asks the citizen, "What are you doing? Get inside!"

"I just wanted to tell you that Monsieur Pigeon is at the Eiffel Tower!" says the young man, about ten feet away. "Someone caught him on camera."

He watches Ladybug let out a small smile. "Thanks for letting us know, but you should get going!"

"No problem!" He says, and just before he runs away home, he shouts, "Oh, and I love you, Ladybug!"

"How old do you think he is?" Cat Noir chuckles.

She shrugs it off. "He's just a fan."

As if they have all the time in the world, with a playful grin, he leans closer to her. "You know that I'm your age, right?"

Smirking, Ladybug tilts her head. Her pigtails whip around, the long red ribbons follow. "You must be my biggest fan."

"I've an edge over them."

"Oh, really?" she asks, feigning intrigued. "And what might that be?"

He holds her gaze, and breathlessly answers: "I get to fight alongside the most amazing girl in Paris."

Ladybug's cheeks flush slightly, but she maintains her composure. "Flattery won't get you anywhere, Cat Noir. But let's focus on the mission at hand, shall we?"

♡

Gabriel Agreste sits at his desk, the surface scattered with pages of intricate sketches.

In front of him lies another page, his right hand deftly outlining the details of the dress. To his right, his tablet rests on a sleek stand, displaying a live news report of the recent attack. The muted audio allows Gabriel to concentrate on his work while keeping one eye on the unfolding events. 

He tries to be patient but he must admit: for every news report he sees he only wishes his employees are closer to gaining Ladybug and Cat Noir's miraculous.

He's waited too long for this.

♡

It was quite a travel for them to get to the Eiffel Tower from where they were.

Though, along the way, she notes how almost every street became vast and that settles her heart. Ladybug swings her yo-yo, the end hooking onto the next nearest chimney before she propels herself forward. The sense of exhilaration returns despite the urgency to reach the tower and defeat Monsieur Pigeon as soon as possible. 

Cat Noir, on the other hand, utilises his swift cat speed, darting across the rooftops. He leaps effortlessly from one building to the next on the other side of the street, his tail flicking behind him for balance. 

In the distance, they can see the Eiffel Tower grow larger as they approach closer. Its iron structure standing tall and proud, however in front of it a large cloud of grey wings obscures its beautiful view. Standing even prouder on the cloud is Monsieur Pigeon himself.

"There he is," states Ladybug.

A couple of dozen of pigeons break off from the large flock, swarming towards their way to attack.

Swinging her yo-yo, Ladybug flings the attacking pigeons to the ground, the force of her pull sending them sprawling in disarray. 

Meanwhile, Cat Noir unleashes his black storm. The crackling electricity emanating from his black energy seems to scare the pigeons more than his black abyss. The air around him hums with power. 

Cat Noir lashes out his black storm, the crackle of his black electricity seems to scare the pigeons. A lot more than his black abyss.

"We can't keep fighting like this forever, Ladybug!" Cat Noir yells. 

Just like last time, he's sick of Monsieur Pigeon using the same tactics with his pigeon army the same way the Mime and Misère uses their creation powers. He needs to do something different. Something new. Something to show Monsieur Pigeon who is boss.

"Ladybug!"

"Yeah?!"

"I need you to trust me!" he yells as he takes down another dozen pigeons.

He smirks when he hears her words: "I trust you!"

Trying to steady his heart which is beating like drums, he halts his movements after he clears away the pigeons ahead of him, positioning himself on the rooftop. He needs to do this in the short amount of time he has before the next wave of pigeons fly over. Concentrate, he tells himself. 

Raising his right fist, the ring facing the tower, Cat Noir releases a large surge of energy from his black storm. Taking a deep breath, channelling all his power, he shoots out a long line of black, swerving from the top right of the tower down diagonally. The dark streak slices through the air.

Any pigeon standing in his way falls at the contact. Monsieur Pigeon just about flies away in time when he sees the black energy coming.

The metal structure groans under the force, and for a moment, everything seems to hold its breath. Then, with a resounding creak, the top half of the tower shifts and begins to fall. The rest of the pigeons floating about begin to flee away for their own safety. 

It seems that at the end of the day, they still concern themselves even if they are under Monsieur Pigeon's control.

Cat Noir stands in the same position, feeling triumphant. "Now, how about that, Monsieur Pigeon Poop?"

"Are you crazy?!" Ladybug exclaims, her eyes widens in shock as turns her head to face him. "You're increasing the chance of endangering our own people!"

"Oh, come on! The tower's pretty far from the buildings. Besides, we need to scare Monsieur Pigeon. Let him know who's more powerful."

She shakes her head. 

"You're good at your job but I just hate the way you do things sometimes," she hopelessly sighs. 

Monsieur Pigeon, fueled by desperation, raises his arms high. A dark cloud forms above him as countless pigeons flocks back together, merging into a single, massive ball of feathers and beaks. With a command, he hurls the giant ball of pigeons straight at Cat Noir.

The pigeons beneath him spreads out in a singular line like a rope. Monsieur Pigeon heads straight for Ladybug, who is standing still anticipating his next move. 

"How unfortunate," he begins to taunt. "You are a ladybug and yet you cannot fly!"

Ladybug watches him step onto the roof. She shifts her weight from one foot to another. "You're a pigeon and yet you rely on other pigeons to fly?" she retorts back. "What? Can't you do it yourself?!"

He ignores her as he steps forward. "You know," he says, his voice taking on a more sinister tone, "it briefly crossed my mind earlier who you might be beneath that mask. Someone who knows me personally, perhaps?"

Ladybug's confidence falters for a split second, her pupils dilating in involuntary reaction to his words. Monsieur Pigeon catches the change and a wicked grin spreads across his face.

"Don't worry!" he continues, his grin widening. "I haven't figured it out yet, but I sure will once you hand over your earrings."

"Why can't you tell us anything, Monsieur Remier?"

His eyes narrow in response. "Do. Not. Call. Me. That." Then, in a split second, his grin returns. "You see… you and I are very similar."

"How so?" She gives a strong look of doubt and disgust. "You're a criminal and I'm a hero."

Monsieur Pigeon humphs. "Tch, tch. I suppose you aren't smart enough to see the resemblance. My pigeons and your citizens, they are the same. You and I only wish to protect them from all evils of the world."

"Perhaps," she tilts her head. "But unlike you, I don't use my people for ill will. They are not my weapons."

"Aww," he mockingly coos at her. "Are you angry? Maybe Papillon should akumatise you as well!"

Ladybug raises an eyebrow. "Akumatise?"

"Woops!" He jokingly covers his mouth with his two hands, then lets them go. "Me and my big mouth."

Without warning, Ladybug darts forward and throws a kick at his head. Monsieur Pigeon barely has time to react, stumbling backward as he raises an arm to block the blow.

"Come on, you bastard!" she shouts as she aims another kick to his shoulder. "Papillon didn't give you those muscles for nothing, so why don't you put it to good use?"

Monsieur Pigeon quickly stands on his feet and leaps back. His army of pigeons behind him rises up like a living backdrop, their wings flapping in unison, ready to launch an attack on Ladybug at any moment.

"Give me your miraculouses and I will end this fight at once," he demands.

Determination burns in her blue eyes. "Tell me who Papillon is and why he needs it, and then I will think about it," she counters. 

"If you hand it over, you'll find out." He sneers at her. "Why don't I cut off your ears if you're not gonna give me your miraculous?"

Ladybug grits her teeth. "You're a psycho!"

In a swift motion, she summons a boomerang. Its sleek form glinting in the sunlight. With a powerful throw, she sends it hurtling towards Monsieur Pigeon's head. He reacts quickly, controlling his pigeons to form a protective barrier in front of him. 

The birds flap frantically, colliding with the boomerang and absorbing the impact. The sheer force of the boomerang's strike knocks the pigeons out, their bodies falling limp to the ground. 

On the other side of the street, Cat Noir finally manages to defeat the giant ball of pigeons. The ground is littered with the aftermath of the fight. 

Ladybug stands her ground. "I would never use my people to protect myself. I protect my people."

"My pigeons belong to your city as well. You'll save them." 

For a moment, his eyes look as though they contain hope. 

At this, his pigeon army forms into a flatter platform. Monsieur Pigeon steps back, retreating. "Won't you?" he says.

He flies so high in the sky that Ladybug simply cannot reach him. Her yo-yo can't even wrap around parts of the Eiffel Tower as the top half has been dislodged.

Ladybug watches in frustration as Monsieur Pigeon rises higher and higher into the sky. Her heart races as she frantically tries to calculate her next move. The gap between them widens with each passing second. Dammit. She can't even aim her yo-yo at any part of the Eiffel Tower as the top half has been dislodged. 

"Miraculous Ladybug," she quickly says. 

The citizens of Paris who had sought shelter now emerge cautiously, their faces awash with relief as they witness the transformation before their eyes. But, by the time the city is restored, the white glow washes through the streets, Monsieur Pigeon is already out of her sight. His figure becoming smaller and smaller, like a speck of dust in the far distance. 

She throws her yo-yo against the roof tiles in a fit of rage. The material of it clings at the contact, the yo-yo rolls off as she holds the string in her hand. 

She is just a tool to him, to Monsieur Pigeon. He can do whatever he wants and when things don't work out, he can simply leave and let her revive his beloved pigeons. 

It's the same with the Mime. He can throw whatever projectiles or explosives his way, without a single care of the damage he leaves. Ladybug can't do that. She can't intentionally destroy Paris when she is a hero. And when the Mime doesn't have a Plan B, he can just leave as well.

Escape.

Ladybug isn't the hero people make her out to be when her enemies get to run away, and she just lets them. She did not win a single fight. They let her win.

How come I can't fly like that?

She's a ladybug, after all. Yeah , she agrees with herself, and a useless one at that.

I'll never be able to protect mama and papa.

Not anyone else. Not myself.

"He just leaves… again…" she says breathlessly to herself, "like that."

♡

Gabriel Agreste leans over his cluttered desk, his hand pressed firmly against his forehead. A sharp, persistent headache pounding away again.

Nathalie rushes to his aid as soon as she enters the room, dropping the binder in her hands, her eyes widening with concern at the sight of him in pain. "You should take a break and rest, Gabriel," she tells him.

He barely lifts his head, his voice strained as he murmurs, "I don't have the luxury of rest."

Nathalie places a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse from exhaustion. Please, Gabriel, just take a moment to breathe."

Gabriel grits his teeth, his eyes squeezing shut as another wave of pain crashes over him. He wants to argue. To insist that he's fine. Though he soon finds he doesn't have the need to say it or prove to Nathalie when a comforting purple aura flows through his body. The soothing energy dulls the edge of his headache, offering a brief respite. Gabriel feels slightly better, though the underlying fatigue remains.

" Oh ," says an amused androgynous voice from the corner of the room, "he'll get used to it."

♡

Cat Noir leaps over to the rooftop that Ladybug stands upon. Despite her slight surprise, she maintains her composure, a smile forming on her lips even though moments ago she had been plagued by self-doubt.

"Good work today, m'lady."

"M'lady?" she repeats, arching an eyebrow.

"Can I call you that?"

"Uh, well," she stammers, "sure!"

He notes the blush on her cheeks and grins. "You're so cute when you're red," he tells her casually.

Ladybug's ahoge stands up, her face turning an even deeper shade of red. She tries to play it off but can't help feeling hot.

"By the way," Cat Noir continues, changing the subject, "I loved how you shouted at that blondie."

"Oh, God." She instantly covers her face with her hands. The nervousness of her red blush quickly turns into that of an embarrassment. Out of all people, she never imagined herself to speak that way towards Felix who she has been trying to befriend.  "I can't believe I did that! What if they recorded it? What if they think I'm a bad superhero?!"

"Hey, hey," Cat Noir steps closer, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "You're just a superhero doing your job, not their mothers. You don't have to baby them."

Ladybug peeks through her fingers. "But what if—"

"M'lady, look at me," Cat Noir says firmly. He watches her lower her hands, tilting her head up to meet his gaze at his taller stature. "You did good. We'll get Papillon one day," he reassures her with a smile. 

His hand drops from her shoulder, lowering to take her hand instead. Kneeling down on one knee, he pulls her hand towards him, his eyes never leaving hers. As his lips brush against her knuckle, a shiver runs through her.

"This coming Tuesday, after dinner?"

Ladybug's breath catches, her blush deepening. She knows exactly what he means—training.

Cat Noir stands up smoothly, his hand lingering on hers for a moment longer before he lets go. "Until then, m'lady," he says with a playful wink before he takes a step back, leaping off the rooftop. 

She runs to the edge, trying to catch one last glimpse of him, but he's already vanished.

"He's gone."

♡

In the school courtyard, a lone pigeon pecks at the ground, seemingly minding its own business. It bobs its head rhythmically, searching for the crumbs of those students who eat their breakfast along the way to school or in the school courtyard before school starts. 

The sky is clouded with grey, though it hasn't started to rain yet and Allegra didn't exactly feel like entering the establishment yet.

Bridgette and Allegra are sitting on a bench a couple of feet away, killing time before homeroom. Allegra engrossed in her phone, her fingers swiping idly across the screen. Next to her is Bridgette absorbed in her sketchbook, drawing designs for the upcoming competition. The theme is 'Butterflies' and so far, despite the fact that it is a competition, her designs are rather simple. 

Leaning against their bench are their respective red and purple umbrellas.

"You know they're offering counselling to everyone who gets akumatised?" Allegra says suddenly, her tone reflecting her boredom. She doesn't look up from her phone as she speaks, "Apparently, our school is starting to offer counselling sessions because we've had two kids get akumatised. No other school has done it so far, even though Lycée Chaptal has had a few cases themselves. It's almost like there's some kind of secret agent in this school working for Papillon."

Akumatised.

Bridgette's pencil pauses mid-stroke. 

That's the word that Monsieur Pigeon used. Word got around fast and from just one video footage with their voices blurred, news reports covering it are trying to discover the meaning and origin of the word. They have drawn the basic concept in which being akumatised means being possessed by Papillon, in which the person within contains a white glowing butterfly.

"As if!" Bridgette scoffs, responding to the idea of having a secret agent their age. She shakes her head, throwing away the thoughts that plagued her as Ladybug, returning as Bridgette Cheng to her sketching.

"No, but for real," Allegra says, setting her phone on her lap and looking intently at Bridgette. "Who is more impressionable and easily manipulated, and knows enough people to get under their skin? Teenagers. And teenagers are especially moody, so literally any of us can get akumatised. Oh, gosh!" Allegra suddenly exclaims, her eyes widening with realisation. "I should get back into my self-care routine. I can't let teenage angst get the best of me; otherwise, I'll end up a criminal!"

Bridgette sets her pencil down and offers a reassuring smile. "You won't be a criminal," she says gently. "Anything you do when you're akumatised isn't your fault."

"Honestly, I'm so glad Ladybug has the power to restore the city with just the click of her fingers. Otherwise, everyone would get charged for property damage."

Bridgette giggles. "Allegra, you're so funny."

"Seriously, though. What does Cat Noir do?" Allegra continues, her tone shifting to one of genuine curiosity. "He literally destroys things, and I think he secretly enjoys it too." She pauses, recalling the incident where he sliced the Eiffel Tower in half. "He's not helping Ladybug at all."

"He does help Ladybug," Bridgette defends the cat superhero. "And, he only destroys things to protect people. He always has a plan!"

Allegra shoots her an amused glance. "What? Are you a Cat Noir fan as well?"

Bridgette blushes slightly, her eyes darting away for a moment before she responds. "N-no, but he's trying his best too. It's not easy being a superhero."

Claude interjects their conversation, pulling his headphones down to hang around his neck. "Bridgette is too kind to say anything bad about anyone, even Felix."

At this, the three glance at a distant bench where Felix Agreste is sitting, engrossed in a book. Bridgette can't help but marvel at the fact that he is already halfway through a book as thick as that.

"Felix isn't a bad person," Bridgette says quietly, her voice quiet as she fears Felix might overhear. "He just likes to keep to himself."

"He's been like that for nearly two months now," Claude adds, his brow furrowing in thought.

Allegra crosses her legs and leans back, getting comfortable. "If he gets akumatised, the counselling would actually do him some good," she remarks with a smirk.

"Allegra!"

♡

That morning, Gabriel and Nathalie talk outside in the serene butterfly sanctuary, where the morning sun has decided to hide behind dark grey clouds.

"I had thought taking a break would make me feel better," begins Gabriel, "but unfortunately it only resulted in me becoming less used to the pain."

Nathalie looks at him with concern, holding back a sigh. "Honestly, I'd rather you experience the pain less," she says softly. "Even if it means it'll take you longer to adjust."

Gabriel nods slightly but remains silent, lost in thought. As they walk, his eyes are drawn to a butterfly with an injured wing upon a thin branch, struggling to fly with its peers. Compassion flickers briefly in his eyes. He extends his hand, and the butterfly, sensing safety, alights on his palm. Gabriel studies it for a moment, then, with a sudden and ruthless motion, he crushes the fragile creature between his fingers.

Nathalie's gaze hardens, though she says nothing.

The lines on his forehead grows deeper.

"How I'd rather do this to him," Gabriel thinks to himself out loud.

♡

Monsieur Legrand's lips curve into a smile when he sees the familiar face of an absent student.

"Aurore Beauréal," he calls out, ticking her name off the register. He notes the bravery she's wearing on her face as he looks back at her. "I'm glad to see you back in school. You've a lot to catch up for the tests next month."

Aurore nods, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. 

Behind her is Mireille who accompanied her to school today. Aurore turns to Mireille, and with a mutual glance, the two walk to their seats. Whispers and curious glances follow them. Others try to be polite by offering smiles of welcome. Barely anyone tries to avoid staring.

Sitting beside Aurore is a girl named Sophie, surrounded by three other girls who are huddled around her desk. On her desk is an array of tarot cards. 

Sophie looks to Mireille eagerly as Aurore sits down, her eyes bright with curiosity. "Hey, Mireille, I'm doing tarot readings today. It's all about the tests, though. Want me to do one for you?" she offers.

Mireille, now standing at Aurore's desk, hesitates for a moment, intrigued by the offer but also a bit unsure. "Yeah, why not?"

Sophie grins widely, shuffling the cards with ease. The other girls around her lean in with interest.

Sophie's voice takes on a thoughtful tone as she interprets the cards: "With the Magician, this means you have the right skills and resources to succeed. If you take the time to focus on your studies with clear intentions of what grades you want, this can lead to the desired outcomes." Sophie turns over the next card. "You've also got the Chariot. This means that your sense of concentration is incredibly good, and that you are on the right rack so just keep on doing what you're doing."

Politely, Mireille thanks Sophie, refraining from saying how obvious it all sounded.

"Aurore," Sophie turns her head to the girl. "You want a reading too?"

"Eh, sure." Aurore shrugs. Though she doubts she'll get something as positive as what Mireille received. Not only has she skipped school for two weeks, she's also not bothered with the materials.

Sophie takes in the cards and reshuffles them. The three girls watches intently as she lays out the cards in a new sequence. 

"The Tower," she announces solemnly, her fingers tracing the edges of the card as she lays it down flat on the surface. "This might mean you'll struggle with your tests, and you might fail. This is unavoidable."

Aurore blinks boredly, her shoulders slumping. "Knew it."

"However, the Tower is always followed by renewal and creation." Undeterred, Sophie moves on to the next card, her demeanour shifting subtly as she turns over the next card. "Ah, Six of Swords. This represents progress; it can mean moving into calmer waters or even moving forward. All things considered, the tests aren't gonna be that bad for you unless you think it is. Don't worry, life after will be so much better when you move on. After all, you have plenty of chances."

At this, Mireille flashes Aurore a supportive smile. She isn't saying anything but Aurore knows that Mireille isn't thinking about her struggle over the tests.

Aurore mirrors the smile.

♡

The two girls walk side by side, their footsteps in sync as they chat away. 

Then, suddenly, Allegra slows down her movements. "Say, Bri, would you call yourself Claude's friend?"

Bridgette, feeling compelled to slow down as well to match Allegra's pace, hums in response. "Maybe a peer. I don't hang out with him." She glances at Allegra,curiously wondering what her friend is thinking this time. "Neither do you," she points out.

"Would you?"

"Hm?"

"Like," Allegra swallows before elucidating, her high ponytail swishing along as walks, "if he asked you to hang out or something, not with an interest obviously. Even as a group. Would you?"

Bridgette's ahoge tilts back and forth from right to left as she considers her answer. "As a group, yeah. Why?"

"As good people, at least I think so myself, do you think we should be this friendly and open with Claude?"

Bridgette takes a long time to think of an answer, swing her red umbrella in hand. The sky is still cloudy, and the weather has been promised to be bad, though nothing has happened yet. They keep walking for a while, muttering about other things, before she finally answers the question. "I think if we are good people, we should be able to forgive him. I mean, we don't know him. As in, who he was in middle school. He might have changed."

"But say if you didn't know me personally but we go to the same school, and I was the Queen Bee, would you be friendly towards me?" asks Allegra. "Even if everyone else hated me."

Awkwardly, Bridgette purses her lips before answering. "I suppose only if you were friendly towards me."

"What if you knew I did terrible things to other people?"

She shrugs. "I wouldn't know, Allegra."

Bridgette knows that Allegra doesn't mind Claude's existence, and she clocked in way before word got around that Claude was not who he presents himself to be. And even then, she said she still liked Claude as a person. However, it's clear that even someone as confident and insouciant as Allegra, who had vowed to do things for herself without the care of other people's opinions on her image, is struggling.

"Maybe not," she says unsurely.

"Anyways," Allegra suddenly slows down once more. This time, she stops. She grins at Bridgette. "I have to go to practice. See you tomorrow?"

"I thought you only have practice on Tuesdays and Thursdays?"

Allegra shrugs. "They asked if I can do some Mondays and Saturdays as well, just to better prepare."

"Good luck," she waves her friend goodbye.

♡

Bridgette gets home. She walks past the customers. Greets her parents and walks up the stairs, throws her bag on the floor beside her bed, and then throws herself onto the bed. 

She feels herself sinking into the mattress.

Her kwami flies out from her denim pocket just before, stretching its tiny arms and legs before circling the air for the feeling of freedom before settling down beside Bridgette. 

Since school has started, Bridgette's room has slowly accumulated clutter that she hasn't the time to put away and reorganise. Books that lie open, pages ruffled, and papers are scattered on her desk, and in random areas of her room. Her walls are filled with sketches pinned over one another. Fabrics have been taken out of the drawers, at the creative hours of early mornings, lay on top of her work desk, with the intention of being used but never done so. There are layers of clothes draped over her chair, as well, and built up at the end of her bed. 

Silence fills the room.

"You know, Tikki," Bridgette speaks up, her muffled voice breaking said silence, "I've been thinking…"

The kwami, seeing that Bridgette hasn't lifted her head up yet, snuggles closer. 

"I keep wishing to go back in time… hoping in some way Madelaine hadn't… that she was only killed or injured by the Mime or Monsieur Pigeon. That way, I can revive her. The same way I revived my parents, and just about everyone else, even Monsieur Pigeon's bird army." Having said those last words, she stops. Her voice breaking under the weight of her memories. Bridgette grips onto the blanket tightly, finding that her hands feel sweaty just at the thought of Monsieur Pigeon's twisted mind. "He knows he's abusing my power as well. It's not fair. None of this would have ever happened if Papillon never started… all this." 

"You can't change what has happened, Bri," says Tikki, as wise as she can. "It was out of your control."

"Even so, I feel as Bridgette could've done something as well. I should've done more to convince her to sit with us."

"You didn't know her very well. You couldn't do anything if you didn't know."

Bridgette turns her head to the side. "I guess you're right." Her blue eyes gaze into Tikki's large black ones, and whilst the kwami is offering a soft smile of reassurance, its eyes are as black as an emptiness. "I just wished being a superhero didn't have to be so violent."

Tikki rubs her head against Bridgette's soft cheeks.

Bridgette giggles a little, feeling the tickle of the antennae.

"It's hard. It was never easy to begin with. However, not everyone can be a superhero. You have something special about you, Bridgette, something special within you that made Fate choose you. When I woke up in tears as I sensed catastrophe, the fact that you were also there was not just a coincidence. It was destiny that decided you would be in that girls' bathroom at that moment."

Pulling herself up, Bridgette gets up from her bed, her bangs now a mess, and makes her way to her study desk where the butterfly sits. In the mason jar is a small branch where the butterfly now likes to sit in. The bottom of the jar contains tiny pieces of chopped up pears past their best. And whilst the butterfly is a small creature in itself, Bridgette is certain that this particular glowing butterfly has barely touched the food. 

Bridgette eyes the jar, watching the butterfly flap its wings languidly. 

The thought of Papillon being the only one who is able to re-energise the butterfly does make Bridgette feel bad for keeping it trapped. Her reason is to study it, and yet she hasn't come up with any conclusions yet. Tikki doesn't have a clue either. It seems that the ladybug kwami isn't as familiar with the butterfly miraculous as she made it out to be. 

She takes a small glance at Tikki, who is at her side. Like always.

It might just be best to release it.

"Bridgette?" Tikki's voice is laced with concern.

"Tikki?"

"Yes, Bridgette?"

"Can I ask you to tell me more about the butterfly miraculous?"

She watches the kwami take in a big breath before slowly exhaling it. "What do you desire to know?"

Bridgette maintains her gaze with the big beady eyes, unwilling to let go. "What is the kwami called?"

"His name is Null." 

"You were friends, right?"

"It is a long story. He has helped me, in many ways. I am eternally grateful for him, however, over the years I have known him, I watched him slowly change. That is expected, of course. Change is inevitable and you cannot stay the same forever. Especially when you are immortal."

"How powerful is he?"

"Very."

Bridgette perks up, her shoulders raising in the process as well. " How powerful?"

"He is so powerful that it has led me to believe he is hiding half of his strength."

Frowning, Bridgette finally lets go of her gaze. She looks back to the butterfly. 

It's fine if Tikki doesn't want to tell her everything. They were friends. They fell apart. Sometimes life is that simple. Bridgette understands very well. But if she's gonna be Ladybug for a long time, Bridgette will make sure that she will find out everything one day. 

She refrains herself from asking about the previous ladybug holders, in fear that it may be a sensitive topic. 

"Anyways, I guess Cat Noir does think about me sometimes… but…"  Her voice trails off, chewing her lips for a moment. "You think he's making advances at me?

At this, Tikki almost stiffens but plays it off naturally as she flies up. "It's not uncommon for cat holders and ladybug holders to have fallen in love with one another."

"I don't know how I feel about that…" she tells Tikki with honesty. "It obviously doesn't have to happen, right?"

Tikki stays quiet for a few seconds. 

"No. Certainly not. Though I have no right to tell you how to live or feel, having been the kwami of many ladybugs, I do think sometimes it is for the best if you separate your hero life and civilian life." Then, she adds, for some sort of reassurance, "Perhaps under another circumstance, may you and Cat Noir become closer companions."

Bridgette understands that Tikki is implying it is best for her and Cat Noir to know each other's identities after they defeat Papillon.

"I guess you're right," she says. "I feel bad, though, out-right rejecting him. He trusts me so much, and yet he doesn't even know me." 

"You don't know him very well either," states Tikki in a matter-of-factly tone. "Do you still trust him?"

"I don't think he would ever do anything wrong. I mean, he's pretty calm about being a superhero but he seems willing… and he thinks that we're capable, and that everyone is in Fate's hands… even though…" Bridgette pauses as she recalls the conversation she had with the cat superhero in her civilian form. "He said he wouldn't do more than necessary," she rephrases his words, "even though he thought it was a good idea to die for me." 

A singular red rose paints her blank mind. 

Despite her papa graciously thanking Cat Noir, he still insisted on putting on a show in front of her mama about how protective he is of Bridgette, and that one would never truly know what a boy is capable of. Bridgette isn't even sure why her papa is like this. He should know mama has no problem with whoever she chooses to hang out with. 

Therefore, said apology rose is sitting on the bathroom window-sill. 

"But he is kind," she states. "He didn't want civilian-me to be scared of him."

Tikki's expression looks unsure. But as soon as Bridgette looks up, Tikki instantly smiles. Her black eyes somehow as bright as they can be. 

Speaking of Cat Noir leads Bridgette to recall what he said to Ladybug earlier:

"Well, that's not very creative"

Abruptly, she gets up from her chair. She makes her way to her school bag, takes out her sketchbook and then walks over to her work desk. She pushes the clutter away and makes a small empty space in the middle where she sets down her sketchbook. Opening her sketchbook, she flips through all her designs, past the pages of models adorned in dresses, tops and skirts to the most recent pages she has sketched today—weapons, all marked with the iconic red colour and black polka dot pattern.

Two of the weapons she sketched out she had referenced from her visions of previous Ladybugs. One of them used a spear as her primary weapon, and, instead of a yo-yo, she used a rope to swing herself across the city. The weight of it didn't affect her, Bridgette knows this because the sword and stick she carries is lightweight. 

She turns a blank page. Grabbing a random pen on the desk, she sketches out a model.

"Let's get this competition done," she finally says.

"Don't you have homework, Bri?"

"Oh, I'll do that later!"

♡

"You know," Fred begins, holding his fork in the air. "My wife was raised with a religious background. She went to church every Sunday and prayed every night before bed, and when we had Madelaine, she raised her this way. I'm sure she didn't always care to be so dedicated. There were times I couldn't help but wonder if she was faking praying. And even though she committed adultery, and left Madelaine in my hands, Madelaine still prayed. All the time. I secretly hated it because it reminded me of my wife. I wished I could've influenced Madelaine better as a parent. I wished she could've stopped caring about the little things. I wished she could've lived the life she wanted."

Monsieur Remier knows better than to tell Fred to move on already.

♡

"It's only happened a few times so far. I just don't know what the cause of it is, so I believed it would be best to see you."

The doctor stays quiet for a while, though thoughtfully. "There should be no reason. I would say because it's mild, you should take some time to rest or just take things easy. The fact that it started hurting all of a sudden, I can't explain. I will say though, your father is always getting headaches for no reason."

Felix is surprised to hear this.

"There is a stomach bug going around but you don't have any of the symptoms," the doctor continues. "Your temperature is quite fine as well. You should be fine, however, if this pain does persist then you should arrange another meeting with me."

"Thank you, Monsieur."

"Although," Felix perks up, "I would say you should eat more. You've grown so much since the last few years. I know I'm just your doctor but it almost makes me sad. If you are to keep growing, I'd wish you'd eat well."

After the doctor leaves, swiftly Felix returns to his room from the main sitting room of the Agreste mansion.

The rain finally falls after so much anticipation. The weather forecast has reported a thunderstorm to arrive soon, even though there hasn't been any rain, seeming like a distant threat only. School is cancelled tomorrow.

Felix hears the first crack of thunder. 

Hearing a notification from his news source, he takes out his phone from his pocket. Looking at his cracked screen, the words on the newest article released states that apparently lightning has nearly struck the Eiffel Tower. Though, the main image used is an edited image of the tower on a bright, sunny day. What luck , Felix thinks. The live comments reveals everyone's panic. 

He reads one comment: 'Hopefully it won't strike any of our houses.'

The next one catches his attention: 'If only Ladybug and Cat Noir can fix this.'

Felix shuts his phone. 

As if they can fix everything.

Felix throws his phone onto the couch in frustration. Then, he sits down. 

He mutters to himself, "I should have asked but I didn't want to pry."

"Asked what?" asks Plagg, emerging

His nose scrunches at the sight of the cat kwami. Felix can already smell the camembert breath from ten feet away. 

"My father," Felix answers, his voice strained. He rubs his temple a few times. "The doctor says he has frequent headaches, which I only discovered now. I didn't want to ask as he might be surprised that my father has yet to tell me."

"It's probably no biggie," Plagg shrugs. "He just doesn't want you to worry." 

"Right," Felix sighs deeply. His trail of thoughts begins to stray. "Father…"

Another flash of lightning illuminates the room, followed by a deafening clap of thunder. The room suddenly feels cold.

"What else are you hiding from me?"

♡

In the abandoned building stands Gabriel, Fred and Monsieur Remier transformed in his suit.

Gabriel interjects the thunderstorm and speaks. "Whilst it looked like the idea of yours was good, the police are limiting the amount of pigeons in each area due to the children's fear of them. I have heard that instalments were made for pigeon control. Especially around school vicinity. Apparently it disrupts the students' learning."

Monsieur Pigeon shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting nervously. "Well, I hadn't imagined covering each and every area."

Fred steps forward. "But didn't you want to do that in the beginning? To quickly find out who Ladybug and Cat Noir are?"

Before Monsieur Pigeon can respond, Gabriel clears his throat, commanding their attention once more. "You all need not worry, yet. I see you've tried your best. Alas, we need to find other methods to pry out Ladybug and Cat Noir. Whatever it takes for us to take their Miraculouses, even if we have to take the longer path by finding out their identities. For now, we will maintain the pigeons as they are currently. I firmly believe that you are correct in saying that they will be useful to us, Monsieur Pigeon. I trust you will keep up the good work."

Monsieur Pigeon immediately kneels, bowing deeply. "T-thank you!"

"And Fred," Gabriel turns his head, "Although your mentorship did not go well, I admit the new partner I chose for you two is not as qualified as I had hoped him to be. He obviously couldn't keep up with you. Please, forgive me, for I have slowed down your tasks."

"No, no—"

"Please, sir," says Monsieur Pigeon. "We are eternally grateful for everything you have given us. If it were not for you, I wouldn't know where I would be. I will help you get the two miraculouses. I promise you them."

A slight smile creeps into his lips. "Thank you."

Chapter Text

Featuring:
a clouded sky, a clear vision, clarity, 
a case of misfortune, a curse to be cured—
—companionship, and a little bit of luck

♡

Bridgette believes that love is the strongest force in the world, or she once believed so, as she hears people quote it to her on various occasions. This is voiced most often by her mother and father, and has since become the basis of her childhood. But, it isn't long before Bridgette quickly learned that this is not exactly the case when you are the only one who believes so.

Do you know of those moments before bedtime, where you cannot sleep because your past persists to haunt you? In particular, one of those embarrassing memories that makes you cringe endlessly? The ones where it feels as though your nightmares begin to torment you before you fall asleep?

The thing is, because Bridgette has been so exhausted lately that she finds herself easily falling asleep the moment she closes her eyes. And, when she awakes the next morning, she doesn't have the time to ponder when she needs to get ready to start the day. Now that school is cancelled due to the thunderstorm on a Tuesday, and subsequently the bakery, Bridgette finds herself lying in her bed at eight in the morning. 

There isn't much to do right now except for homework, and she doesn't exactly feel like doing homework first thing in the morning.

So here she is. Finally having the time to recall a past which she so often tries to forget.

It starts off like this: She gets a crush on this one boy.

His name is Andrien. 

She remembers how he hated to be referred to as his last name, as in their fifth grade class there were two Andriens, because it would mean he is his father's son. Of course, Bridgette, who is cherished by her papa, didn't understand why. Still, she never questioned it.

Andrien can be described as a boy just like any other, though by description he had fluffy blond hair and green eyes. He was also taller than Bridgete but shorter than most in their class. He was thin but ate a lot to sustain his energy.

They were not close but had been friendly. Being quite athletic herself, having attended ballet lessons before switching to jiu-jitsu, Andrien never scoffed at her when she was paired with him during gym class or put in his team during ball games. She knew he never got too close to her for she was a girl, but all the while understood that he didn't hate her because she didn't drag him down. 

Therefore, she never voiced her attraction for him.

Once, they were assigned a project in which it required her to go to his house. It wouldn't be possible for them to work at her house as her parents would be taking care of the bakery. By implication this also means that Bridgette was left to herself most of the time, even if it was technically wrong of her parents to do so. Bridgette had also been fine being alone, being able to entertain herself for hours at a time, and she knew her parents loved her enough to never not give her the attention she needed.

That being said, to know she would spend a few hours at someone else's house overjoyed her.

It was an art project, but she can't remember what for—the project or the purpose. The details of the assignment had faded over time, but the memory of visiting Andrien's home remained vivid.

Even though Andrien was a loud kid, entering his house she found it eerily quiet. The only other thing that made its presence aware to everyone was his father's footsteps, and even Andrien seemed to shrink a little in his father's presence, his usual exuberance lowered. 

"Hello," ten year old Bridgette watched his father smile at her. 

Somehow, she couldn't look him in the eye. 

Andrien roughly took her by the hand and led her to his room. 

"Is it just you and your dad?" asked Bridgette, a smile on her face to let him know that she wasn't one to judge. 

"Uh-huh," was his response. His head turns away as he looks for supplies. 

Bridgette's smile faltered as she set her bag down on the floor, filled with her own markers and coloured cards. 

He muttered something before they started. She couldn't quite hear what it was. Despite them usually getting along quite well, Bridgette couldn't converse with him like she normally would in school. He was dismissive of any comments she made, in regards to any topic, event or cartoon shows she knew he also watched. He avoided her gaze and mostly looked at the poster, perhaps what was weirder was that he didn't stand up for himself. Each time she made suggestions to the poster, he obliged and wrote, coloured and drew exactly what she said. 

Bridgette knew the real Andrien was just as creative as her, had his own ideas and liked to explain why his ideas were better. And what always irked Bridgette was that he always made sense.

Her eyes awkwardly glanced around the room. He didn't have a clock on the wall but Bridgette had an idea of what the time might be since she could feel her stomach grumbling. Her parents were so busy this morning that when her mama took a break to drop her off, she forgot to grab some pastries.

Then, just to make things worse, her stomach growled out loud.

At least Andrien finally looked her in the eye. 

"Oh, uhm, it just does that sometimes. I'm not hungry, actually." Internally, she pleaded for the awkward silence to not stretch.

He laughed. She felt her cheeks redden.

Andrien got up from the floor of his room. A rather empty room, she noted. He said to her with a small smile, "Let me go find something for you. You just stay here, okay?"

Before she could say anything, he walked out and closed the door behind him. Like he's locking her in.

Silence again.

She was wrong. 

"WHAT ARE YOU DOING?" pierced through the whole house. 

Bridgette shuddered. The voice was unmistakably Andrien's father's.

She heard some more shouting. Bridgette knew her ears weren't failing her, not when she was so tense. She tried to listen in. His father was so furious that he couldn't pronounce his words correctly, continuously spewing nonsense about Andrien doing this, Andrien doing that. In fact, Bridgette is sure that his screaming can face off the storm that is currently ongoing.

The last thing she remembered hearing his father say was, "Why'd you even bring her here?!"

When Andrien presented himself once more, his left cheek was painted with a raw red mark. Lamely, his hand holding up a piece of candy. 

"Sorry," he smiled weakly. "This is all we have. Papa doesn't have the time to get groceries these days."

"Oh, no, no! It's okay! I'm not hungry anymore!" She reassured him, her hands waving frantically as she tried to reject it. However, Andrien set it to her side. She took it reluctantly knowing the effort it was worth. "I wasn't hungry to begin with. I did tell you that my stomach just does that sometimes. I—uhm…"

She halted all movements in her bones when she watched Andrien's eyes overflowing with tears.

"Andrien," she whispered, reaching out to touch his arm gently. "I'm so sorry. You didn't have to…"

He shook his head, blinking rapidly to hold back the tears. "It's not your fault, Bridge. I just… please don't tell anyone."

But she couldn't not tell anyone. First thing she did when her mama came back to pick her up was tell her about Andrien's dad. The following week, she went to school and told the teachers, despite her mama already having called them. She immediately knew she had made a mistake when she met Andrien's eyes, filled with absolute abhorrence.

He never spoke to her again, at least properly as in a conversation. Instead, each word he said to her since then was an insult. Even if what Andrien did to her was technically classified as 'bullying', Bridgette never did tell the teachers about her own woes. Part of her felt guilty, believing that she caused Andrien more suffering, because apparently from what he had told her as he tormented her with cockroaches, social services never did anything at all. He just gets twice the amount of beating.

From that day on, Bridgette learned something that confirmed her hypothesis: love is not as powerful a force as one might blindly believe. For one, Andrien suffered from the twisted version of love his father imposed on him. And two, her tiny crush on Andrien forced her to endure bullying throughout the rest of fifth grade and subsequently middle school.

Sometimes, when she has nothing else to do in the moment, she wonders what Andrien is doing. 

Here Bridgette lies in bed, peacefully, listening to the storm. 

Listening to her own breathing that is louder than the storm. 

Thankfully, due to the storm, the pigeons are not outside her window. The kwami is very quiet but Bridgette finds peace in being able to sense Tikki's presence, and knowing full well that the kwami wouldn't venture very far without her regardless.

Yes, it's unfortunate that nothing good ever came out of Bridgette's effort in helping Andrien. Even if social services didn't do anything, Bridgette always remained undeterred by Andrien's harassment. She still greeted him every morning, still smiled each time their eyes meet, to show him that she would be there if he ever needed her. 

Of course, each time she did that he told her to go piss off.

When life gets too hard, Bridgette blinks her way through the dark colours. 

If she didn't try to help him, who else would?

If she has the choice to do the right thing, why wouldn't she?

Bridgette finally throws her covers over. She gets out of bed and roughly rubs the sleep out of her eyes 

She goes down to get breakfast.

♡

Her heart warms in delight knowing her parents also get the chance to rest in.

"Morning," chirps Sabine, sitting at the table with Tom. Her voice is just as cheery as usual, but perhaps more energetic due to the extra rest. 

The radio is on in the background playing pop songs at a low volume. They have one upstairs and downstairs in the bakery.

With exhausted muscles, she lightly takes hold of a bowl from the cupboard and a spoon from the drawers. She takes out the bag of cereal from the box, sitting on the counter against the wall, and pours out a decent amount. A few cereal misses the bowl. Bridgette takes them and throws them back into the bowl. They miss again.

Her mother watches her yawn before she tries again.

"You're a lot more tired than usual, Bridgette."

"Oh, it's just school, is all," Bridgette replies, trying to sound casual.

"It must be the tests coming up," her mother says, getting up from her seat. She takes the kettle over to the sink for more water, then sets it back on its spot to boil. "You must be studying well."

Bridgette tries not to tense. 

Even though her mama is kinder than the way she has seen her aunties from Shanghai, her mama still upholds the value of good grades. In turn, if Bridgette gets good grades, she can do whatever she wants and go out whenever she feels. That's how she manages to work part-time as Ladybug on weekend afternoons. She doesn't need to lie. However, if her grades slip, her free time will be limited.

In fact, because she has led her parents to believe that she is studying during evenings, her parents have not yet bothered her on her door when she is out training with Cat noir or protecting Paris. It was only at first when a student from her high school became akumatised for the first time, which led her mama to immediately rush into her room just as Bridgette is about to transform.

Internally, she shakes her head, brushing any negative thoughts away. 

It's just studying, and saving the city on the side. No biggie.

Bridgette speaks in the brightest voice she can as she sits down, "You know it!" 

She looks down at her cereal, on her spot is already a pink-glazed mug waiting for her. In the middle of the table is the container of tea bags, but a tea bag already sits in her mug.

Sabine comes over and pours the water in her mug.

"Thanks, mama!"

"You know, your cousin Fāngfāng is studying for her Gaokao this year. She told me if she isn't getting a good score, she's just coming over as an international student." Sabine pours more hot water into her own mug before sitting back down beside Tom. "Apparently it sounds better to be going to a college in another country than an average one at home."

"Did you tell her she can stay here?" asks Tom. "I'd love having the family together."

"Of course I did," answers Sabine. " I just don't want to scare her off by making her think she'd be working for us twenty four-seven."

Bridgette finishes chewing her cereal and swallows. "Can it not be a part-time job?"

"Yeah," adds Tom. "You know I'd pay her."

Bridgette sets her spoon down. "You pay me, so she should know."

At this, Sabine suddenly sighs. "I think mama's worried that she might stay here in Paris and not go back to Shanghai."

"That'll be a trend, for sure," muses Bridgette, then she adds, "in the family."

Bringing the mug to her lips, Bridgette takes a light sip of tea before setting it down. Too hot, too hot, she thinks. "Oh, Allegra and I finally got tickets to go to that concert next weekend."

"That's great!" expresses Tom. "You were worried you couldn't get it, weren't you?"

The news on the radio interjects their conversation. Despite its low volume, the sound of the storm seems to dull at the seriousness of the announcer's words: 

"First, it was two male adults, but now teenagers have also fallen victim to this mysterious Papillon guy. Concerns over the well-being of children, especially the younger ones, are growing among parents. Schools are now offering counselling sessions to anyone who has been affected, or feel as if their emotions may lead them to be affected. Due to the increasing number of cases, these sessions will be funded by the council to ensure the welfare of Paris' residents. During this challenging time, please support one another, be it family, friends, or strangers.

"In response to the recent events, police officers will now patrol the city at different times of the day to monitor pigeon numbers for the better safety of Paris. This measure aims to prevent any potential threats. Authorities urge citizens to remain vigilant and report any unusual activity related to pigeons or other suspicious behaviour. Your cooperation is essential in maintaining the safety and well-being of our community."

Her parents exchange worried glances. 

Bridgette knows how much they worry about her, so she resolves to appear even more cheerful and energetic to reassure them that she is fine.

Drawing in a deep breath, she forces a bright smile and straightens her posture. "I've got that online competition as well, so I'm gonna study hard and take some time to make my design!"

Her mother Sabine nods in approval. "Hard to believe that this is what life has come to," she says, "and I know you were so excited for high school as well. I just  hope you and every other child is keeping safe." 

"Oh, our Bridgette is as strong as strong can be." Tom holds tightly onto his cup of tea, his fingers lightly tapping against the ceramic, but the concern is still there. "It's good to know that the police are taking action."

She then turns to Tom, concern evident in her eyes, refraining a sigh. "You know Solene's kid is in his last year of elementary, and he's walked to school alone everyday since he was seven, and now Solene won't let him walk alone anymore? She has to walk with him."

"I still see kids walking to school without their parents," says Bridgette. "But only in groups."

Tom suddenly sets his mug down. "And what the hell is a miraculous?"

Bridgette bites her lips nervously at this. 

♡

Bridgette changes into comfortable black sweats and a red knitted jumper. 

She struggles a bit to pull the red jumper over her head. Tikki comes flying in to adjust the edge of the large hole, making sure it goes through her head and not her arm. Slipping her arms through the sleeves, she stretches her arms wide, feeling the soft fabric against her skin.

"Okay!" Bridgette cheers herself on. "Let's get some work done!"

On her work desk is her sketchbook open to the design she has settled on. On the model's front side is a clear butterfly-shaped bodice, with the two upper wings covering the chest and the lower just barely covering the midriff, the detail in the sketch included beadwork and sequins. Attached to the top are layers of long flowing chiffon material for a skirt. The back depicts the model's back bare. 

On her desk is also a large transparent container of the beads, and a slightly smaller one of sequins. Bridgette had previously taken them from the art room after showing Madame Archambeau her design, finally persuading her to allow Bridgette to take a portion of them home. In return, if Bridgette wins a place then the school gets to take a picture of her next to her dress for their school website. 

"Is this the design you're choosing to make?" asks Tikki, hovering over the page.

"Yep! I spent way too long deciding," says Bridgette. "But, I think this one is perfect. The chest has the butterfly but truly, it's a simple dress, meaning all the details are in the butterfly. It'll be easier to make." 

Tikki examines the intricate design. "Still, it looks like the details require a lot of time. To me, it looks like you will have to lose some sleep if you want to work on it alongside school and being Ladybug."

Bridgette laughs, her eyes twinkling with determination. "Oh, Tikki! My innocent kwami!" she muses, raising her fist in a show of resolve. "Don't you know that most fashion designers lose sleep over their designs? It's not just about designing the dress that will help me prepare for fashion school, it's also the lack of sleep! The more I get used to it, the easier I'll be able to cope with my dream job!"

"Just take it easy…" A bead of sweat forms on the kwami's forehead. 

"I'm going to make the skirt first and then spend the rest of my time making the butterfly top. That's the most time-consuming part of this design, but I've got just about four weeks." 

Bridgette takes off the red and white polka dot skirt on the mannequin beside the desk, as well as the beaded necklace. She then lowers herself as she opens the drawers, looking for her pink chiffon. Suddenly, Bridgette pauses as her fingertips reach for the fabric when she remembers something—it's a Tuesday. 

"I promised Cat Noir I would go and train with him tonight." 

"It's raining," Tikki states the obvious, glancing towards the window even though they couldn't see outside from their perspective. 

"A thunderstorm at that…" grumbles Bridgette.

Tikki's antenna bounces as she tries to help consider whether Ladybug should go out tonight or not. "I doubt Cat Noir would come out to train in this weather."

"Still," says Bridgette, "we did agree."

Tikki tilts her head, her large black eyes full of concern. "But it's dangerous out there in a storm. Lightning, slippery rooftops… I'd say even if you were to go out, by any chance that you do see him that you tell him it's best to save it for next time."

"Don't worry, Tikki. I'll be extra cautious. Besides, I think we both could use the practice. It's been a while since we trained together, and we need to stay sharp."

♡

Felix sits in the library of the Agreste mansion, listening to the rain pummel against the window as he reads through part four of 'Crime and Punishment'. 

The room is dimly lit by an antique chandelier.

With the way he is holding the book, with his right thumb on the page and his fingers supporting the back, he can pretend the ring doesn't exist. In fact, he's so used to wearing it that he doesn't even feel it. His left hand supporting his head, with his elbow on the armrest. One leg crossed over the other for comfort.

Gabriel's library, thankfully, is not located on the right wing of the mansion but just in the middle. Therefore Felix can venture in whenever he feels.

(On another note, he hasn't seen his father for five days now.)

He finds it strangely odd to be spending so much time in his father's library again. Not that he hates it. Rather, he's more used to noises louder than the storm—his classmates. 

Of course he would hear the sound of rain during class at school, but then the next day he may hear the sound of construction work. To which he has never realises is so irritating but his classmates only react to it passively, as if they are used to it, which , they are. But the thought of them being more amused by construction as they say "oh, they're working on that new building, that's good," rather than "how long are they going to go on for?!" annoys him. Can't they care about it just as much as he does?

Plagg tells him that it's because he's been accompanied by quietude so often that he's not used to it. The same way he lives under a rock and doesn't know any famous pop singers that his classmates gush over.

And, birds outside. Laughter, chit chat and some unnecessary singing from his classmates, in class and in hallways, in the cafeteria. Just about anywhere.

Obviously, Plagg is louder than all of them combined. And fortunately, the black cat kwami is having a doze.

Felix's eyes languidly gaze over to Plagg sleeping on the side gable beside his seat, curled up holding a ball of scrunched up paper, which sometimes when he sleep talks, he calls it his 'camembert'. 

Seeing Plagg and thinking of his ring reminds Felix of his most recent attempt at taking off his ring. 

Since the Mime was able to damage the ring with a bullet, Felix concludes that if he cannot take it off himself with his limited human strength, he could test out destroying it or cutting it off his finger with a blade. Therefore, he wouldn't have to lose a finger. He will say that desperation has driven him to such lengths, mentally, that he has convinced himself he is too attached to this quietude of his that he couldn't imagine himself marrying anyone. So, if he did end up losing his ring finger, he would accept it as his reality.

He couldn't go to the jewellers. He didn't want the jewellers to question him. Instead, he opted for a bolt cutter, which he luckily managed to find in a craft store. 

Large, concentrated green eyes stared deep as Felix took hold of the bolt cutter, the green reflecting in the stainless steel blade. 

Felix positioned the cutter around the ring and pressed down. The blade sank into his skin as he applied harder pressure, hoping to sever the ring. Harder. He gritted his teeth against the pain but reached a point where he had to stop.

"But how? It can be destroyed when I'm Cat Noir. That's simply not possible," he had said to Plagg, frustration in his voice.

"Maybe it can only be destroyed by an akumatized villain," Plagg had suggested, floating lazily nearby. "You know? Magic versus magic?"

"It seems that's the best answer we've got so far," Felix had agreed reluctantly. Then, a thought struck him. "Can't I transform and cataclysm this ring?"

"You can't use the cat miraculous' power to destroy itself," said Plagg. "I've seen it done a few times."

"So I have to get the Mime to try and destroy it again."

"I mean, I doubt he would completely destroy it." Felix gave him a look and Plagg promptly elucidated, "Papillon wants it, remember?"

Felix released an irritated sigh.

"So it looks like I'm going to have to turn myself in, let the Mime cut off my ring with his imaginary cutter, and let Papillon take over the world…" 

Not that he cared. 

At least his mild headache has gone away completely, Felix thinks, attempting to look on the bright side. If his headache is still present, he would not be able to use these days off peacefully to properly read and study. 

A part of Felix had hoped that following his appointment with the doctor, his father would make the effort to check up on him. It partially explains why Felix decides to visit the library today, in case there is a chance his father would also drop by. However, the most he has received was a short greeting from Nathalie, who remarked, "You look better now."

Now, he knows better than to expect anything from his father. Especially any kind of concern. It was only because his father had shown worry in regards to his transition into public school. 

With a sigh, Felix turns a page of his book.

He himself has better things to worry about over his father's concern for him. Mainly, he had planned to train with Ladybug tonight. On one hand, the thunderstorm is incessant and is not expected to come to an end until Thursday. On the other hand, if he shows up tonight and Ladybug is there, waiting for him like they planned, it'll prove to her that he is dedicated to his job. It would show how serious he is, therefore earning him some respect from her.

♡

Lashing rain blurs his vision. The smell of rain infiltrates his nose. He finds himself unable to rely on his cat senses as well, however, by now he is so used to running around the city that he knows the exact direction to get to the tower. 

It helps that his boots have good grip with its paw-shaped design, as well his own gloved hands with its claws that can cling onto just about anything, allowing him to move confidently across the wet rooftops, though his body barely manages to resist the force of the wind threatening to knock him off balance.

He sees Ladybug standing in the outer proximity of the Eiffel Tower where it is safe enough for her to escape if the tower does get struck by lightning. He assumes she keeps up with the news as well. Cat Noir can tell she's been there for a while, her posture quite rigid and ready to move with anticipation. 

Pressure must be harder on her since she's the one with the power of restoration.

He climbs down the building instead of leaping from the rooftop, for fear that he would fly away and never to be seen again.

"Cat Noir," she says. Her voice is barely audible but Cat Noir has trained his senses to seek out her voice above anything else. "You've made it."

"Well, well, well," he muses as he walks up to her, his hair sticking to his face. "Look what we have here."

He moves closer to her, positioning himself so he can look her in the eye without much interference from the rain.  He notes how Ladybug's ahoge is flattened due to the rain. Her pigtails, and ribbons, practically flying horizontally in the air following the direction of the wind. 

Cat Noir begins to tense as he notices Ladybug eyeing him up and down.

"Is that a real bell?" she asks, her gaze now fixated on the accessory.

Cat Noir glances down at the bell hanging from his neck, then looks back up into her eyes. "Well," he places his arms on his hips as he explains, "It doesn't jingle, so no. It would be foolish if it did, since it'd alert any enemy of my presence. Majestic, maybe, but still dangerous."

Ladybug's eyes narrow with curiosity. "The bell's a zip as well, right?"

"Duh."

Her gaze now lingers at his chest. "Can you zip it up for me?"

A smirk slips into his smile. "Why don't you do it for me, m'lady?"

Ladybug steps closer, her hand reaching for the bell. The proximity makes Cat Noir wonder if her heart is racing just as fast as his. She first zips it down, quickly finding out that it won't lower to reveal what would be his bare chest beneath it. She then pulls it up, which proves to be a success when it covers his lower neck and collarbones. 

He looks a little weird, despite it being a small change to his appearance, but at least she can guarantee his neck is covered like hers. Less risk. She nods her head firmly, proud of herself. 

Ladybug then points at his thigh-highs. "Can you take your thigh-highs off?"

Cat Noir has no idea where she is going with this. "Are you asking me to detransform?"

"No," she states firmly. "I would like to see you pull off your extraordinarily long boots, please."

Cat Noir tries. "Well, there you go!" he pulls down at the edge of his thigh-high boots which refuses to move. "It doesn't work."

"And your belt!" she points at it. "If you take it off, does it allow you to take off your pants!"

"Huh?!" Cat Noir takes a step back, dumbfounded at her audacity and unusual antics. He tries to unclasp the belt from the cat head only to prove it won't budge. "Well, it can't be taken off either! Why? Why are you trying to get me to take off my suit?" he asks, exasperated. Then, a realisation dawns on him and his expression returns to a smirk. " Oh , you wanna see what's beneath. Don't you?"

Ladybug's face paints red. Her flat ahoge somehow surges up despite the heavy wind. "Absolutely not! I'm making sure there is no way that damage can be dealt to you apart from your head! And speaking of which, I think we should start including helmets into our costumes! Go and de-transform and ask Plagg to give you a helmet!"

"You're not wearing a helmet either!" he points his finger back at her. "And I don't see how construction helmets are gonna help us in any way, shape or form! Our face will still be exposed!"

"No, the ones that cover your whole head," she explains. "Like motorbike helmets! You know Power Rangers?"

Cat Noir gives her a puzzled look. "Uhm, no? What is that?"

"You've never watched the Power Rangers?!"

Cat Noir shakes his head. His wet hair barely moving.

"Ah, whatever." Ladybug rubs her temple. "I can't believe you showed up," she finally says.

He casually shrugs. "If we can fight in a thunderstorm, we can fight anywhere and anyone."

Ladybug nods. "You're right, but the Eiffel Tower isn't the safest place for this. Let's move."

Before Cat Noir can say anything, Ladybug is already gone. Completely forgetting the strange conversation they just had. 

He watches as she turns around and throws out her yo-yo, expertly wrapping it around a secure point on the Eiffel Tower, swinging herself past the Pont d'Iéna bridge. She's going in the direction the wind is, he realises, and with the wind she knows it'll be harder for him to keep up. Her strength is also impressive to say the least, to be able to maintain her control over the yo-yo despite the harsh conditions. 

This is how their training goes: if Ladybug doesn't initiate a fight, she runs away for him to catch up to her and fight her. They've only started doing this halfway the journey of their training when they realised that when their enemies get tired, they have a habit of escaping.

Cat Noir immediately follows along, his muscles contracting to generate greater force, leaping distances as far as he can with his limitations. With the wind, it does help him follow just shortly behind her. 

But it isn't enough. 

Cat Noir extends his fist, with his silver ring glistening and wet, releasing a black ball of electric storm aimed at the blur of red. He's grateful that she is mostly propelling herself up in the air to avoid any damage he throws at her to the buildings. The energy crackles through the air, cutting through the rain with a sizzling hiss. 

Ladybug senses the attack coming from behind and reacts instantly. She twists her body mid-air, using her yo-yo to swing out of the path of the black ball. Even though her superpowers doesn't enhance her hearing, it's safe to say that she's also used to him. The attack misses her by inches. It nearly strikes the edge of a roof.

That's the other part of their training: becoming more self-aware. 

It's something that Ladybug insisted on working on, especially for Cat Noir because she claims he's too wild with his powers. He can't help it nor control much of it considering he is a cat.

The colder the rain feels against his bare face, the hotter his body feels. 

She is just like a bug—irritating and difficult to take down.

At this point, Cat Noir realises that Ladybug is just running around in circles when he sees the Place du Trocadero past the rain every once and a while. There is just no way he can keep up with her in this thunderstorm, especially when he is running on the ground on all fours just to maintain a good speed when all she has to do is swing her arm. 

Just before he loses hope, he sees the blur of red jump down from the air. He follows in the direction, quickly reaching Musée de l'Homme. 

There, she stands on the open ground of Palais de Chaillot gazing at the Eiffel Tower past the river. Her back turned to him.

Cat Noir summons his black storm once more.

To his surprise, Ladybug turns around with a large chainsaw in her hand. She's been trying to tire him out this entire time! His eyes widen as he wonders what she is planning on doing to him with a chainsaw. Luckily for him, he is just about to find out.

♡

"Bridgette!"

Bridgette blinks. 

In front of her stands Madame Bustier, a textbook in the teacher's hand, who is looking at Bridgette furiously and a raised brow.

Huh?

Bridgette blinks again.

Madame Bustier begins to tap her foot impatiently. "Bridgette, I've called your name three times. Are you paying attention?"

Just a minute ago, she watched a previous Ladybug save herself, who was in the body of a young child, from a boulder. She can still recall the rush of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she anticipated the impact of the boulder on her small body. In fact, she still feels her heart loudly thumping in her chest.

Wait, there is no way , Bridgette thinks to herself in a panic, did she get a vision during class?!

She quickly scans the room, noticing the curious and amused expressions of her classmates. Her cheeks flush with embarrassment. Next to her, Nathaniel avoided her gaze. Most likely due to the cringe he got from watching Bridgette sitting, facing forward, blankly looking at Madame Bustier all the while ignoring her. 

Even Felix and Claude have turned their heads around to look at her. She meets Felix's gaze and he immediately turns back to his notes.

"I'm sorry, Madame Bustier," Bridgette stammers, trying to compose herself. "I just… I was just… distracted."

Madame Bustier gives her a long, assessing look before nodding. "Alright, but please try to stay focused. We're reviewing this chapter for your next test."

Bridgette nods vigorously. 

Though Bridgette couldn't hear or remember what her teacher had said, she assumed that she had repeated it at least five times. She takes a deep breath, trying to calm her heartbeat. You're in History, Bridgette , she tries to tell herself. History. And today is… Friday. The thunderstorm is over so you're back in school. Now you have History.

Madame Bustier walks back to the front, asking Felix the same question to which he answers perfectly. Bridgette's eyes follow the teacher before glancing up at the time. Five minutes to twelve. How long had she been experiencing the vision for?

Out of all places, she just has to have a vision during class. And it just so happens that Madame Bustier calls on her for a question! 

"Psst," whispers Nathaniel, finally looking at her. She turns to look at him. "You okay?"

She nods, a small smile forming on her lips to reassure him her wellbeing.

Taking another deep breath, Bridgette picks up her pen and begins to take notes. Her red jumper's sleeves are long, but she doesn't bother rolling them up. She tries to convince herself that it was all just a dream, that she could close her eyes and wake up, and everything would return to normal.

She will never live down this moment ever again.

The bell rings for lunch.

"Class dismissed!" announces Madame Bustier.

It takes Bridgette a moment to realise this amidst her lingering thoughts. Slowly, she gathers her books and notebooks, her movements slightly delayed compared to her classmates who eagerly begin chatting and packing up their belongings.

As she slides her textbooks into her bag, Madame Bustier calls her name again.

"Hm?" Bridgette responds.

"Are you… alright?" Bridgette can tell that Madame Bustier is trying to be polite when asking. 

"Oh, of course!" she responds quickly, forcing a cheerful tone. 

Madame Bustier is not easily fooled, it seems. "Just remember, Bridgette," Madame Bustier says gently, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "if there's ever anything on your mind, you can talk to me, alright?"

Bridgette nods and promptly leaves the classroom, catching up with the two taller boys—Felix and Claude. 

Hurrying down the hallway, she sees Claude walking behind Felix as they reach the staircase. She manages to walk far before a crowd of people exit their respective classes for lunch. Just as she reaches Claude, whom she greets with a wave, Bridgette calls out Felix's name as he begins to descend.

"Felix—"

Before she can utter another word, Bridgette trips.

Her foot catches on the edge of the first step, and she stumbles forward. Panic shoots through her as she feels herself falling. But before she could hit the ground, Claude, who is right behind her, swiftly reacts. His arms reaches out, slipping below hers and lift her smaller form up. His fingertips brushed against her shoulder as he pulled her back, steadying her just in time.

Felix stares back. His eyes widens in shock.

Everyone behind them stands, watching.

Bridgette gasps in relief. She feels Claude's grasp on her still strong and wiggles her way out of his arms.

"I'm so sorry! I nearly tripped you again, Felix!" exclaims Bridgette before turning back to Claude. "Thank you so much! I'm sorry! I'm just so clumsy, I don't know what went over me!"

If she thought Felix was shocked, Claude was aghast. His arms drops to his side, his legs begins to tremble. His skin is also pale.

Seeing that Bridgette is okay, the other students walk past the three.

Felix steps past Bridgette and pinches Claude lightly on the arm. "Yo, Claude."

Claude blinks, shaking his head slightly and returns to reality. "Ah, so sorry! I don't know what went through me there. I just, i was scared, is all!" With that, Claude runs down the stairs past Felix and Bridgette.

"You okay, Bridgette?" asks Darcy, who has been watching from the side, finally walking down.

"Y-yeah! I'm fine!" answers Bridgette, tensed now. "Claude saved me."

Darcy smiles. "Good," she says before walking down as well.

"You should be more careful." Bridgette turns to Felix, who is now speaking to her. His expression is serious. "If Claude had not been there, you really could've hurt the both of us."

Lowering her head, Bridgette mutters, "I'm sorry, truly."

"Now Claude is shaken as well," states Felix, brushing a hand through his hair in frustration. "I don't think he was just scared for you but for himself as well. With the way we were all positioned, people might think Claude was the one who pushed you done. And if rumours got out of hand, it would look bad for him, don't you think?"

"Y-you're right…" 

"He could get expelled." Felix lets out a small sigh, as if indicating 'it can't be helped, not when it comes to the Bridgette Dupain-Cheng'. "It's good that you mentioned that Claude saved you."

Ah, that explains why Darcy said 'good'.

Bridgette glances up. "At least the cameras are there. So if anyone said anything, we would know he wasn't in the wrong."

"Just be careful next time, okay? We don't need any unnecessary drama." Felix begins to turn his body, ready to leave. But just before he goes, "what was it that you need me for, anyway?"

She can't say she wanted to invite him to sit with her. "I don't… remember. Uhm," she says, trying to change the subject. "But it's fine. I'm happy you're spending a lot of time with Claude lately. Never would have thought you'd ever say 'yo'."

Felix promptly walks off in a rush.

♡

"Felix is just… morose," says Nathaniel, trying to find the perfect word to describe the boy. "Just ignore him."

Chapter Text

"Alright!" he says enthusiastically, holding up the tablet. "Once more!"

Immediately, seeing the sight of Ladybug and Cat Noir on the screen launches the pigeons into action. They take off, flapping their wings with fervour, attacking the image of the two with sharp pecks.

Monsieur Pigeon watches with a wide grin, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. He feels like a proud father. 

He drops the tablet on the table when his beloved pigeons start pushing past his head and upper body. Monsieur Pigeon steps back slightly, giving them all the room they need. 

Papillon had already told him that this tablet in particular is almost indestructible, for how expensive it is, so Monsieur Remier can use it however he sees fit. Now, as an old man, he isn't very fond of technology. However, when he conjured up an idea for an experiment, he thought that the tablet could be good of use. 

He has presented multiple selections of pigeons, separately, the faces and voices of Ladybug and Cat Noir. The pigeons learn that if they attack the screen when the image of red and black shows up, amongst the other various, random images, they will then be treated.

Monsieur Pigeon has certainly made significant progress. 

In the past week alone, he has successfully trained a considerable number of pigeons to recognise Ladybug and Cat Noir's faces and voices. Of course, they are not trained enough to be able to report to Monsieur Remier immediately if he was not transformed, but at the very least, they would know to attack the two self-proclaimed heroes if they were seen in public. 

Moreover, this would be especially useful if, say, they are already distracted by another villain, and the pigeons also come to attack. It would prove to be tougher for them to fight it out. If anything, they would be confused, they would be caught off guard,  and this would be the perfect moment for the villain to seize hold of their miraculouses.

"Yes," Monsieur Pigeon chuckles to himself. "I am indeed Papillon's greatest employee."

Perhaps one day his beloved pigeons can reach the intelligence where they can track Ladybug and Cat Noir discreetly. This would allow them to report their location, allowing him and the Mime to bring in surprise attacks, or even follow them after they have de-transformed to find out their identity.

"To think, just a few weeks of pigeon training would lead to such a pivotal role in Papillon's plans. My dear pigeons, we have only just begun," he whispers. "We'll show them—just how important you all are."

♡

After Bridgette decides she has studied enough for the day, she stands up with determination.

"Tikki," she announces, "spots on!"

"Wait!" Tikki stops her.

Bridgette looks at her kwami, her ahoge bouncing from one side to another in confusion.

"What are you doing, Bri?" asks Tikki, flying in front of her face. "There's nothing going on."

"Well, you remember that patrol I talked about?"

Tikki blinks. "I thought you dropped it when Cat Noir asked you to train again."

"Yes, but we still have duties. That's just training with Cat Noir, it has nothing to do with saving the city. Besides, if people see Ladybug patrolling, taking care of the city, then no one would bat an eye if Felix says anything about me telling him to shut up."

A bead forms on Tikki's head. "You're still not over that?"

"Anyways!" she exclaims. "Spots on!"

♡

A slight frown creases his forehead as he concentrates on his studies. 

Felix has already finished his homework, so now he is revising the material for Madame Bustier's tests, knowing that the content they covered today will be included. He sits at his desk, positioned beside the window with the curtains opened.

As concentrated as he may be, the act of studying History now just reminds him of Bridgette's daydreaming in class earlier. Her blank stare, the way Madame Bustier had to call her name multiple times, and the confusion on her face when she finally snapped back to reality—it all replays in his mind. He can't help but wonder what had distracted her so completely.

Admittedly, he does find it a little funny. But the fact that she almost tripped him a second time, which could potentially cause him to have broken bones, irks him. Really, what was she thinking at that moment? Regardless of his thoughts on Bridgette, he struggles to stop thinking about her.

He sets his pen down. He slumps his back against his chair, his eyes gazing out the window aimlessly at the night. At least it isn't storming anymore.

As he gazes out, something catches his eye. A familiar blur of red swings past his window. But because there is no thunderstorm, he can see much clearer who it is—Ladybug. 

Felix sits up straight, feeling his heart quicken. What is she doing out at night? As far as he's concerned, there isn't anyone akumatised.

Well, now he can't study when his heart feels unsettled. Not for the civilians who may be in danger, or for Ladybug who may need his help, but what if Ladybug is expecting him to be out as well? Dammit , he thinks. Can't he just have a peaceful night of studying?

"Plagg?"

Standing up, Felix glances around the room in search of the kwami.

"Plagg? "

Felix walks around, feeling impatient. "Plagg, claws out!"

In comes the black cat kwami, thrown out of the fridge as the door swings open. Plagg flies out, looking annoyed, but Felix is already too focused to notice. A green light envelops Felix, transforming him into Cat Noir. He promptly shuts the fridge door

Opening his window, Cat Noir jumps out. The cool wind blows his hair into his face, but it's tolerable. The moon casts a silver glow over Paris. Bounding from one rooftop to another, his eyes scan around for any sign of Ladybug. 

He spots Ladybug in the distance, standing. Her head tilting down to look at the city beneath her, but it doesn't seem as though she is in a rush. Then Ladybug jumps over to the next few roofs and scans around the area, this time taking her time to flex her somersaults. Just what the hell is she doing? he thinks to himself, there doesn't seem to be any attackers in sight . 

Cat Noir inhales deeply, his chest rising as he takes in the night air. He makes his way towards her direction.

"Cat Noir!" she exclaims as she turns around. Looks like sneaking up on her is getting harder since she is also used to his presence. "What are you doing here?"

He lands beside her with a feline grace, his breath steady despite the near panic attack he had because of her sudden appearance. His eyes narrow slightly as he studies her, searching for any sign of distress or trouble. "I could ask you the same thing," he responds, his tone laced with concern. "Is there something going on?"

"Oh, no," she tells him softly. "I'm just doing a patrol."

He raises an eyebrow. "For what?"

Ladybug sighs, her shoulders relaxing a bit. "I thought it would be a good idea to check on the city, make sure everything is alright. Besides, it's a good way to stay sharp."

"Just let me know next time, okay?" he smiles softly at her. "We're partners, after all."

Ladybug lowers her gaze. "Sorry, that was foolish of me."

He pats her on the shoulder, though his hand doesn't leave, lingering longer. "You worry too much."

At this, she sighs again. "I think this superhero thing has just consumed my life. Actually, this morning I had a vision during class. And that teacher called my name out of all people! I couldn't answer because I was practically stuck in another time!"

"Vision?" Cat Noir narrows his eyes.

"Yeah, you know those visions you get from the previous Miraculous holders? I actually had one on my first day of the job. That's how I found out about the 'Miraculous Ladybug' spell." Ladybug turns her head, her pigtails whipping around as she continues to scan the area for any suspicious activity. "Anyway, let's split up; we can cover more ground that way."

She stops speaking to point in the other direction. Cat Noir's hand falls off her shoulder, his arm returning to his side.

"You cover there, and I'll cover this way," she instructs him then leaps into the far distance with effortless grace.

Cat Noir stands there, still and perplexed. 

Felix doesn't recall ever getting a vision of a previous cat holder. Now that his mind races in place of his heart. What does she mean by visions from previous holders? Idiot, she meant what she meant. The question is: if Ladybug was getting visions, why isn't he? Is it something unique to her Miraculous, or is he missing out on something crucial?

Before he could question Plagg, a flock of pigeons dash towards his head. 

He blasts them off with his black storm, the burst of destructive energy forcing them to scatter and squawk from the pain. 

"Where are you, Monsieur Pigeon Poop?!" he shouts, his eyes darting around in search of the man.

He moves. Swiftly. Scouring the rooftops and peering down at the alleyways of Paris for any trace of Monsieur Pigeon. The streets are practically empty—devoid of people and pigeons alike. He doesn't bother being stealthy, allowing his footsteps to echo loudly against the rooftop tiles, hoping to attract any lingering pigeons. But after the initial flock, nothing comes at him.

A thought occurs to him: It might actually be difficult to find much pigeons considering the police monitoring. 

He does however spot a lone pigeon perched on a rooftop edge. His lips stretch into a devilish smile, his claw ready to strike. The pigeon glances at him, then casually turns its head away, its feet remaining planted. What the hell?

Cat Noir wonders if Monsieur Pigeon is hiding somewhere. He could be at the Eiffel Tower again like last time, watching the catastrophe unfold from high above. 

He scans around for a bit more until Ladybug eventually swings back to meet up with him after finishing her part of the patrol. Her yo-yo retracts with a soft whir.

"Cat Noir, Monsieur Pigeon—"

"Is around but he's playing tricks on us," Cat Noir spits out the last words in frustration.

Ladybug notes his ready-to-attack posture. "Any sight of him?" 

"No," he answers without looking at her.

"I had a few pigeons attack me but they weren't very strong." She then goes on to elucidate, "There were a few other pigeons around the vicinity but not every one of them attacked."

"He's waiting it out," he says with confidence.

Ladybug sighs. "An old man like Monsieur Pigeon certainly has all the time in the world, huh."

He ignores her, his focus still on the lone pigeon. Amidst the dark, she sees that a small ball of electric black energy forms at his ring finger, ready to strike. Ladybug's eyes widen as she realizes his intention.

"Cat Noir—"

"I got this, Ladybug."

Just as Cat Noir is about to leap off the roof, Ladybug throws herself at him from the side. They tumble off the roof, and at the last moment, he manages to grab hold of the edge, preventing their fall.

" Ladybug?!" he nearly exclaims, his voice breathy.

Her voice strains in response. "It's harmless!"

Cat Noir sighs. 

His grip tightens on Ladybug's wrist before he throws her up into the air. She lands gracefully back on the rooftop, turning to face him as he pulls himself up. 

"Sorry, I was…" he begins, meeting her expectant gaze. He does feel some amount of guilt. The pigeon had ignored him, and Ladybug had instructed him only to attack those that attacked them first. "I wanted to see if harming it could lure Monsieur Pigeon out. I wasn't actually going to hurt it."

He can see that she's redraining from a sigh. "Let's just search a little longer to see if he is here. I highly doubt Monsieur Pigeon has any plans. If he does, it would usually involve harming the people, who are peacefully sleeping as of right now."

The two heroes continue their patrol, staying vigilant. Every so often a pigeon or two, and rarely a flock, amongst the rest will attack them. The rest keep to themselves, glancing at the two before going back to their own business, seemingly finding no issue or hatred for the heroes. They stay out late into the night, but despite their efforts, they find no trace of the elusive villain. 

Finally, they decide to call it a night.

"Let's head back," Ladybug suggests, her voice weary. "We're not getting anywhere. This is pointless."

Cat Noir gets ready to leave. 

"Just try and stay alert tonight, in case they pop up again."

Cat Noir firmly nods.

♡

It's almost one in the morning when Felix finally returns home, feeling the weight of exhaustion settling into his bones.

Felix is certain he will never do another patrol.

He climbs through his bedroom window, closing it softly behind him. Glancing at his notes spread across his desk, he knows it's futile to attempt any more studying tonight. For one, he's too tired after the strenuous search for that damn pigeon freak just for him to never show up. Two, he's got too many questions clouding his mind to focus.

Felix turns to see Plagg lazily floating over to the bed, the kwami's large head plopping down onto the pillow first, with his smaller body following after in a lazy slump.

"Plagg." Felix's voice is loud, refusing to let the kwami rest.

The kwami attempts to ignore Felix by feigning snores.

"Plagg."

Plagg groans, rolling over slightly to peek at Felix with one eye half-open. "What now, Felix? Can't a kwami get some sleep?"

He strides over to the bed and picks Plagg up by the hand. "What the hell are these visions that Ladybug mentioned earlier? She spoke about them as if they were completely normal? How come she experiences them and I do not? Why is it that her miraculous offers so much more than mine, with that power of restoration and without a curse?"

"Okay! Okay! " pleads Plagg. "One at a time!"

Felix lets go of Plagg as he sits down. Plagg plops down beside him, stretching his tiny arms with exaggerated slowness, knowing full well how much it annoys Felix when he prolongs these moments on anticipation.

"Okay, so, basically—" Plagg starts.

"Get to the point," Felix interrupts, his patience wearing thin.

"You were supposed to get visions," Plagg continues nonchalantly, "but you don't get them because I destroy them before they reach the hippocampus and amygdala in your brain."

Felix's eyes widen in disbelief. "You what now?"

Plagg yawns, unfazed. "These visions are sent to those parts of the brain because the hippocampus is where episodic memories are stored. Visions go there because episodic memories are represented as images, so you can see these visions as if you're experiencing them yourself, from your own eyes. The amygdala attaches emotions to these memories, so the visions aren't just transmitted to you for the fun of it."

Felix is about to interject, but Plagg raises a tiny paw to stop him. 

"The thing is," Plagg elucidates with a sly grin, "these memories of past holders are gifted to you for a reason. It's so you can gain experience, relate to someone who has been in your position, and get advice in moments of need."

Blinking, Felix has no words. The complexity of the miraculous is not lost on him, but this revelation is staggering. He knows the miraculouses are complicated, particularly his with its curse.

"You also don't have restoration powers because restoring the world comes from the creation power that only the ladybug miraculous withholds. Long story short, it goes hand-in-hand with her fortune powers."

"You said these visions were gifts," says Felix.

The kwami nods.

"By who?"

"Oh, yeah," Plagg says, almost excitedly. "You know how I told you Papillon has the Butterfly Miraculous? Well, the kwami of that Miraculous is Null. He's the one who gifted you and Ladybug the visions. Get it? Because he's the Kwami of Transmission."

"That…" Felix says slowly, "makes sense."

Plagg is not done explaining yet. As soon as the cat kwami opens its big mouth, Felix is unsure whether he should feel glad to gain more information or upset that this is going to be a long night. "However, the extreme emotions that cat miraculous holders tend to experience are sorrow, agony and despair. Not all of them, but most of them. Having seen so many of my holders scared, traumatised because of previous memories, and experiencing breakdowns and panic attacks, I had to do something."

Felix tries not to imagine the kind of visions he could be getting.

“Wait, if you can see my dreams, can you hear my thoughts?”

“Good question, kid. No. I can see your dreams but only because it’s related to the magic of gifting.” For the first time, Plagg's green eyes soften. "I don't blame you for wanting out of this curse. It's hard, kiddo." 

"So you destroy them, huh."

"I can destroy them because… well, you remember when I first met and I told you I was the Kwami of Misfortune?" Felix nods at this. "That is still truth. But I also said 'with creation, there exists destruction'. That's because I don't only represent Misfortune. I am, all things considered, the Kwami of Protection, first, Destruction, second, and then later condemned to consume all powers of Misfortune."

Knowing a bit more information than he did previously, Felix finally lets the tension ease in his shoulders and relax. 

"And the ladybug Kwami, respectively, only representing two might I add," says Plagg proudly, "Fortune and Creation. In that order."

"Wait, why were you cursed and not the ladybug kwami? Didn't you say the curse only gained the name because the previous holders called it so?"

"I wasn't cursed. I was condemned," Plagg clarifies.

"That's the same thing."

"Nuh-uh."

"You were cursed with misfortune," states Felix, as though his words are final. "The cat miraculous didn't just gain the 'curse' because the previous holders called it so. You got cursed, and subsequently so were they, and me." 

Plagg shrugs. "Eh. I can't keep explaining the same concept over and over again without getting bored. Sometimes I forget some information and sometimes my mind starts conjuring new information that never actually happened. That's what happens when you get old."

Felix adds, "The curse doesn't just refer to the fact that we are stuck with the ring until I receive Ladybug's kiss, it also refers to the misfortune we are forced upon."

"Hey!" scolds Plagg. "Misfortune is just one part of the miraculous. You can still enjoy the powers of Protection and Destruction."

"Misfortune and Protection cancels each other out, doesn't it?" He asks, without expecting an answer, as he recalls himself ever receiving any type of protection from anything or anyone. Which, leads to no instances coming to mind. Felix falls back onto his bed, already feeling his hair a mess. "Why so many?"

"Null kept changing his mind."

"What do you mean?"

Plagg crawls over to Felix's head, snuggling into his fluffy blond hair. "As the first kwami, he transformed Tikki and I into kwamis after our deaths. Turns out the afterlife doesn't actually exist." He explains the last part so casually. "We were the Kwamis of Protection and Fortune, looking after the people who wanted to look after other people who were experiencing harm. And then Null wanted too…" 

Plagg's voice quietens as he begins to drift asleep. 

Felix doesn't mind because even he feels too exhausted to have an existential crisis. He admits that early in the morning is not the best time to have this kind of discussion, especially right after a long patrol. 

He'll just torment the kwami later.

♡

Saturday morning, Plagg forgets everything he said last night.

"Huh? I said that? When did I say that?"

"Null! What did Null wanted to do?!" Felix demands.

But Felix swears there is a slight smirk on the little bastard kwami's face. He knows just how much Plagg enjoys messing with him. Either he refuses to tell Felix because he wants to have fun seeing Felix suffer, or everything he said last night was a lie and Plagg cannot keep up with it.

Somehow, he can't help but be curious. He wonders what kind of visions he could be getting, even if it will hurt him mentally and emotionally.

Felix shakes his head.

He looks at his clock and realises that he's slept in. It's nine and he usually wakes up early at seven or eight on Saturday mornings. No matter , he thinks, he still has time to change and get dressed. It does feel as though the extra sleep was needed. He's going to have to tell Ladybug that he won't patrol as much during weekdays.

He heads first to the bathroom, deciding that he will change out of last night's clothes later. He turns on the tap and splashes cold water on his face to waken himself. 

Plagg floats lazily into the bathroom to brush his own teeth, knowing that Felix will use physical aggression against the kwami if need be. 

"Are you seriously going to pretend you don't remember?" Felix asks before brushing his teeth.

Plagg blinks at him, eyes wide with feigned innocence. "Remember what? I must've been sleep-talking or something."

Felix nearly scowls, "Yeah, right."

With a sigh, Felix heads back to his room to change into comfortable clothes. A simple white button-up shirt, no tie, plain black pants and lace up shoes. He's got a raincoat ready considering the weather.

Being the organised young man he is, he's also already packed his bag for today. Nathalie has already got him his own gear—hand wraps, basic protector and mouth guard. 

Going out with Kim is now unnecessary, though Felix is well aware that it was only Kim's excuse to befriend him.

♡

Felix wraps one hand, sitting in the changing room as he waits for Coach Abioye to enter the gym. He finishes it by strapping the end to his wrist. He repeats on his other hand. 

For extra protection, he takes out a white athletic slip and wraps it around his wrist a few times, his fingers spread wide. Then he gently pulls over where the slip comes down the webbing between his thumb and index, and over his palm a few times.

In just a few sessions, Felix finds that the extra physical activity has improved his body for the better. For starters, he no longer sweats immediately after a warm-up.

He makes his way to the gym.

There, Coach Abioye stands at a punching bag amongst the rest of the personal coaches with their students. And, unfortunately for Felix, Jack, who is located at the punching bag beside his, is always here on a Saturday. 

Coach Abioye throws a few punches at the bag himself, and Felix watches intently. Boxing is a rough sport, however, for what it is, it requires a lot of practice and building a good form. Simultaneously, the boxer has to loosen up and become more fluid. 

Felix admits that he overestimated himself. He couldn't fight as well as Coach Abioye, who does have years of experience, or even Jack who is thirteen and still has more experience than him. 

As Cat Noir, he has been trying to fight without any limits so he can get an idea of what he is capable of, although he hasn't been keeping tabs on how much control he has. It helps that he has his powers and maintains a good amount of flexibility, which according to his previous ballet instructors, is natural to him.

Seeing Felix, Coach Abioye immediately stops and smiles. He raises his hand to wave at the boy.  "Morning, son."

"Morning," says Felix.

"How are you today? Feeling good?" 

Felix senses that he's referring to last Saturday. "Yes, I feel quite good today," he reassures his coach, though his nonchalant tone doesn't match up. 

Felix feels Coach Abioye's eyes burning into him as he tries to assess Felix's overall wellbeing. "Okay, then," Coach Abioye steps aside to make room. "Ready to work on your combinations today?"

He nods.

"I want you to work on your balance as well, while you're doing the combos. And you need good form." He crosses his arms, widening his stance as his face concentrates on Felix. "Show me how you did it last week."

Felix takes a deep breath, centering himself. He plants his feet firmly on the ground. Starting with a series of jabs, he tries to focus on maintaining his balance as he increases the speed. He continues for a while.

"Okay, pause." The coach instructs. Felix abides. "So, I want you to slow down. Now I know that sounds unusual but when you try to do it too fast—which is what you were trying to do—you do lose your balance." 

Coach Abioye steps towards the punching bag, Felix stepping back as a result, and demonstrates an over exaggeration to better explain. 

He turns his head back. "I can see that when you started off, your balance was good, but quickly your focus turned to the amount of hits you can do in a shorter amount of time. You get me?"

Nodding, Felix attempts to step forward to try again but the coach stops him.

"Let me show you. One, two, hook the head, hook the body—" Coach Abioye throws the first two, most of his weight placed in his fore foot. "Look at my feet. They're in a solid position." Then, he throws a controlled hook at the head, a higher spot on the punching bag, and his stance changes. His front heel is now off the ground, with the weight mostly in his back foot. 

His moves are fast, aligned with his experience, but at the same time are just slow enough so Felix can see exactly what he's trying to communicate.

A few more repeated demonstrations and Coach Abioye steps back, letting Felix back on again. 

"You know what I mean?" Felix nods again. "Really, that's all it is. Slow down. Making sure you transfer your weight from one foot to another."

After this, he lets Felix have a few more tries before they move onto other combinations. 

"Good, good," Coach Abioye encourages from the side. 

The punches begin to flow smoothly, each one building on the last.

When the end nears, he is drenched in sweat. At least it had been a good session, and thinking of Plagg has been a good motivator to throw his jabs and hooks harder. Actually, it had been such a good session that Felix didn't even realise that Jack is long gone even though he's been yelling the whole time.

Although Felix too prefers to leave immediately, his coach somehow needs to have a chat with him at the end. For evaluations of his progress, that is fine. But, since last week, Coach Abioye is persistent in probing further information regarding the headache out of Felix. Which, even Felix cannot provide an answer if his doctor couldn't.

"You good to go then?" he asks after his evaluation. 

According to him, Felix is doing quite well for just a beginner. He just needs to work on some areas where he is lacking, which Coach Abioye reassures is normal for everyone.

"See you next week," says Felix.

"You sure you're okay?" he asks before Felix walks away.

Felix refrains from sighing. This again . "Yes, coach. I'm fine. Really."

Coach Abioye steps closer, his expression softening. "Felix, you know if you have something going on, you can tell me. I'm not just your coach; I'm here to support you."

Felix forces a smile, something he has not mastered yet. The troubled smile only concerns his coach more. 

"Want a bottle of water? Let's go out and get you one. It's on me."

♡

They walk out to the vending machines. 

Just a few feet away stands Jack Alarie leaning his back against the wall. They watch his mother mutter something to him about not walking away before leaving to the receptionist area.

"Hey, Jacques!" Coach Abioye calls out.

"It's Jack, not Jacques!" the boy retorts, his tone sharp.

Coach Abioye gets two water bottles from the vending machine, handing Felix one.

"Thanks," Felix mutters. He steps aside to get some personal space as the coach starts up a chat with Jack.

"How's your brother doing?" Coach Abioye asks, leaning casually against the vending machine.

Jack's face lights up as he thinks of his older brother. "He's good. He's in America right now, working hard."

"Just you and your maman today?" asks the Coach.

Suddenly, the boy's smile drops. "Y-yeah. Grandma, er, grandmere isn't hasn't been well lately. Because maman's working, we've got a caretaker to look after grandmere. Just earlier when maman was with her coach, she got a text saying grandmere dropped the kettle on her foot. She's been slowly forgetting how to do things as well, making the tea was one of the first but she still insists. So, maman's going to the receptionist to take grandmere's name off for the senior classes."

Felix sips his water, listening intently. He's never known his own grandparents, on both sides, but that doesn't mean to say he can't empathise with people.

"Sorry to hear that, Jack," Coach Abioye says.

Jack shrugs. "It's okay. We knew it was gonna happen, like we couldn't stop it." He grows quiet for a while, but then speaks again, "At the same time, it's just sad. She's the one who encouraged my brother to go to America. This was before I was born so she wasn't as old as she is now."

Felix does shift uncomfortably when he finishes his water, not used to these kinds of emotional yet open conversations, especially with people he barely knows.

Coach Abioye claps a hand on Jack's shoulder. "You're strong, Jack. Keep supporting your maman and grandmere. It's tough, but you're tougher."

Jack smiles weakly. "Thanks, Abioye." He returns to staring at the wall ahead of him.

The coach then turns to Felix. "I've got my next student now, take care!"

Felix stands there for a moment, considering saying something to Jack, but he's unsure of what to say. They barely know each other, and anything Felix says might come off as awkward or insincere. He wants to head back to the changing room but realises that doing so would mean walking past Jack, meaning Jack would have to look at him. And Felix definitely does not want to return eye contact.

This is really awkward , he thinks.

"Hey, Felix!" comes a familiar obnoxious voice.

He's never been so thankful for Kim before. Felix turns around, spotting Kim striding toward him with a broad grin.

"Good session?"

"Yes, I'm just heading to the changing rooms now."

"Oh!" Kim's eyes light up. "Same here!"

Felix begins to walk, and just as he expects, Kim walks along in order to spend more time with him. 

However, Felix has to endure the entire conversation. From the moment he walks to the changing rooms, to unchanging at the same time, to walking to the shower rooms and seeing Kim watching Felix intently as Felix decides which shower to use, and having Kim choose the one next to him—out of all the showers!  

Kim continues his chatter as they walk out of reception. At that moment, he almost forgot something. "Oh yeah," says Kim. "You still wanna hang out? I promise you those burgers are really good!"

Although the rain has ceased from the storm, there are still sizable puddles due to the city still having mild damp weather. As Felix walks out, a van zooms past him, tires screeching slightly on the wet pavement. Felix barely has time to react before the van hits a sizable puddle right beside the footpath. 

The water erupts in a wave, splashing up and drenching Felix from head to toe.

And I've just taken a shower , he thinks, frustrated.

Felix reluctantly turns around, facing Kim with a morose expression. "Sorry Kim. I don't feel like going out in this attire."

That was either lucky or unlucky.

Chapter Text

As they walk to school together, Allegra seems a bit more reserved than usual. Bridgette notices the change. Not just in the way she walks but how when the two meet eyes, Allegra quickly stiffens and turns her head away. However, she tries not to think much of it as she understands that her friend has been quite drained with preparing for her dance competition on top of studying for the mock tests. They walk in companionable silence, and Bridgette is fine with this because it's Allegra.

Finally, Allegra takes a deep breath and breaks the silence. "Bridgette, I need to tell you something."

Bridgette looks at her friend with a reassuring smile. "Sure, what is it?"

"Would you promise not to get mad at me?"

"Uhm, sure," she says, although now she is feeling uncertain.

For a moment, Allegra hesitates, chewing on her lip before she finally blurts out, "My dance teacher wants me to have an extra class this Saturday from seven to eight."

Bridgette stops in her tracks, causing Allegra to halt beside her. Bridgette blinks, her ahoge delaying slightly before standing upright in equal shock. "H-huh? But the tickets have already arrived!" she exclaims, referring to the concert they had eagerly anticipated.

The concert starts at six.

"I'm sorry," Allegra says softly, placing a hand on Bridgette's shoulder. "I was going to try and refund it, but since it's only fifty euros, you can try finding someone else in school who'd like to go. Maybe Nathaniel?"

There is no way Allegra can make it considering the concert starts at seven, and it takes over half an hour for Allegra to make it to the concert from her house. Even if Allegra does end up showing, she would have missed most of it, meaning the money would still be going to waste. 

It's only unfortunate because they've been talking about it the whole summer. Apparently one member of the boy band faced mental health issues during the summer, so the European tour was delayed to November time. 

As they had awaited to get on the waiting list, Bridgette was on facetime with Allegra, discussing their excitement and planning their outfits for the concert night.

"I'm really sorry. I want to go as well but my teacher wants Matteo and I to win this competition, especially since he got hospitalised for a while so we missed out on quite a few practices. He's also had to relearn a few steps."

"I understand, Allegra," Bridgette says finally. "I know how important this competition is for you and Matteo." Bridgette couldn't be upset at Allegra, even if she is feeling so. She knows how important dance is to Allegra, just as much as this concert means to them both. "It's okay, Allegra. I get it. I'll find someone else, I'm sure Nathaniel would love to go," she tells her friend, trying to convince herself in the process as well. 

Allegra lets go of Bridgette's shoulders. 

Bridgette forces a smile.

They walk the rest of the way to school, with Allegra making small talk here and there to avoid any awkward silence. 

♡

Walking to school today, Felix has seen pigeon badges adorn the uniforms of police officers stationed around the school vicinity. Their presence is unmistakable as they stand in pairs, scanning the skies and the ground with a watchful eye.

They're really taking this seriously.

Then again, he took being a cat superhero seriously.

He takes his seat beside Claude in homeroom. 

Claude greets him the moment he sees him. "Morning, dude." 

"Good morning," says Felix out of courtesy.

Claude takes off his headphones, trying to initiate another conversation. "Chemistry first thing on a Monday, huh?"

"Yes." Felix opens his bag to take out his Chemistry notes for an overview. He knows the teacher likes to ask the students questions about previous lessons throughout the class, not just to see who has been paying attention but also humiliating those who didn't. "Ah, dammit."

Claude notes the frustration on Felix's face. "What's wrong?"

"It seems I have forgotten my Chemistry notes."

"I can share mine?" offers Claude.

"We don't sit beside each other."

"Here," says a feminine voice, "have mine." Felix looks up to see Bridgette standing to the left of his desk with a notebook titled 'Chemistry'. A smile plastered on her face. "I brought Chem by accident instead of Biology."

Felix reluctantly takes it. "Thank you," he says, but as he looks up again, she is already back to her seat.

She really is a miracle girl.

He's not sure how this would work out, after all, he needs to take the notes in his own notebook. He does his have his English notebook, so he could always write in that. Though now that she's given him hers, he supposes she will get an idea of the next Chemistry lesson, and he would take a picture of his notes before handing it back to her.

He opens her plain 'Chemistry' notebook and sees doodles on the front page—he should've expected this.

♡

Their Chemistry teacher strides around the room, his gaze sweeping over the students' faces and their open notebooks as they answer questions from the board. 

As he walks by Felix's desk, the drawings on his notebook catches his attention. 

"Felix, what is this?" Without waiting for an answer, he takes Felix's notebook out of his hands. His eyebrows knit closely together as he reviews it in front of the whole class, who are now all looking at the two.

The way he holds the book, nearly breaking the spine as he flips through the pages, allows the students to clearly see the contents. He then decides to turn the whole book around, giving the students to their sides a glimpse—flowers, cats, dress designs and Bridgette in a chibi form drawn in markers and coloured with highlighters. The ones sitting behind Felix begin to giggle.

"Is this what you have been doing during class this whole time?" his voice rises in incredulity.

"I—"

"Hey!" interjects one student, "isn't that Bridgette?"

"Oh yeah," another chimes in, leaning forward for a better look. "She's like, the only girl who still wears pigtails."

The first student follows up with a loud whistle, a smug smile on his face.

♡

Bridgette walks out of Madame Archambeau's classroom, in her hand is a jar filled with more beads. 

She's been spending her free time working on the butterfly top, with the chiffon skirt already finished, making steady progress. The only thing is, she underestimated how many beads she needed. This was fine, as thankfully there are still plenty of materials available in the art room.

As she heads out, she hears the soft strains of a piano tune. It must be coming from one of the music rooms, also located in the art department. Intrigued, she follows the sound, her footsteps light so as not to disturb the player.

Peering through the small window of the music room door, her eyes widen as she sees that it is Felix seated at the piano. His fingers gliding gracefully over the keys. The melody is beautiful, she notes, and she finds herself blushing as she watches him play on. Her gaze on him and his gaze concentrated on the keys. Bridgette has already accepted her tiny crush on Felix but has decided it is only best to get to know him as a friend first.

Now knowing that he plays the piano, she wonders what else he is hiding from the world.

Suddenly, the small jar of beads slips out of her fingers. Bridgette, who previously relaxed her shoulders, now tenses at the sight. She had thought the lid was twisted tight, but it popped open, and the beads scatters all over the floor with a loud clatter.

Startled by the commotion, Felix looks up from the piano and sees what seems to be Bridgette's ahoge through the window.

He opens the door and stares down at her, picking up beads from the floor.

"Oh, hey! Felix!" Bridgette stands up, her back straightening. "What luck that we always bump into each other!"

Yeah, what luck.

"What… are you doing?" he finally asks, his curiosity piqued.

"I dropped my beads! You know how I am—clumsy!"

"Those beads are from the art room," he observes.

Bridgette's ahoge stands up. "Yeah, Madame Archambeau lets me use them for my fashion projects. I'm making a top out of beads for a competition. I already had some but I needed more, so that's what I came to get."

Felix sees the half-filled jar in her hand. He kneels down to pick the scattered beads.

Bridgette quickly follows suit, trying to gather more than him. "Wait, Felix—"

"It'll be dangerous if someone walks by." He stands up, extending his hands as she holds out the jar. He pours the rest of the beads in. "Just be careful next time."

Bridgette firmly nods.

"Don't go anywhere yet," he tells her.

Her mind begins to race. "Oh, okay." 

Felix walks back into the room, then comes back out with her Chemistry notebook. "I was going to return this to you in homeroom, after lunch, but you can have it now."

"T-thanks," she says, slightly disappointed. As it turns out, he's not going to invite her to listen to him playing. "Was it helpful?"

"I could probably do without it," he responds. His expression does not seem to change one bit. "Some people might say I have a crush on you but I highly advise you ignore those comments."

Her ahoge drops at this, realising that it's because she draws doodles of herself. She wants to ask Felix about the piano, only to be faced with the door. 

♡

On Monday afternoon, they have Gym class. 

"Faster!" yells the coach, initiating the next eight-hundred metres. Eight students set off at a brisk pace. "Pretend the Mime is behind you! What are you all gonna do when he gets to you, huh?!"

Felix gulps down water, his breath coming in ragged gasps just after finishing his run. His legs feel like jelly. Sweat drips down his forehead and he feels his hair sticking to his neck. Even imagining himself running as Cat Noir couldn't improve his speed like he thought it would.

Running as himself was a harsh reminder of his physical limits. 

It isn't long before Bridgette finishes. Despite her smaller stature, she has always been fast. Felix notes how she didn't even start off the run slow as the coach advised, instead maintaining a good speed the whole way only to increase it further towards the end. She crosses the finish line with a determined expression, her cheeks flushed apple red from the exertion.

After crossing the finish line in her lane, somehow Bridgette still has the energy to run off the tracks. Bridgette instantly smiles as he meets her eyes, raising her arm to wave. "Hi, Felix!"

But misfortune calls and she trips over thin air.

Darcy, who has already finished her run, immediately comes over to offer Bridgette a hand. "Are you okay?" she asks, concern evident in her voice.

Bridgette laughs a little out of embarrassment. "Yeah, I'm fine," she says, accepting Darcy's hand and pulling herself up, revealing her scraped knee. She brushes dirt off her clothes. 

Felix feels obligated to show concern. He is the one who keeps giving her these instances of bad luck. "Are you sure you're alright?" he asks, but his voice isn't as concerned as Darcy's. "If it's just your knee, the coach has a first-aid kit in his office with bandaids."

"I'm alright, truly," she reassures. "I'll go and get a bandaid now."

"You should sit down for a bit," he suggests, guiding her towards the benches. Darcy follows along. "I will go and get some bandaids. I will also inform the coach."

With that, he quickly disappears.

Darcy stares blankly at the blond boy. "I think the pessimist really likes you."

"Huh?"

"He doodles you on his Chemistry notes."

"Oh, no, Darcy! That was mine!" explains Bridgette. "I lent it to him."

Darcy relaxes her shoulders. "Ah."

They sit for a while, watching the last line of runners set off whilst they wait for Felix to come back. The running track is quite a walk from the school building. 

"I feel so embarrassed," Bridgette confesses, she swings her legs as she looks up to the grey sky. Her hands press deep into the eroded wood. "Every time I try to say 'Hi' to Felix, I always make a fool of myself. Even Allegra told me, 'Bri, you're clumsy but never this clumsy'. The more I trip or drop something, or inconvenience him, the less it seems he wants to talk to me."

Darcy takes a while to say something. "Why do you wanna talk to him anyway? It's clear that he doesn't want to be friends with anyone." She makes an obvious point, but then adds, "I guess he is nice to you. I don't think he would care if it was me who tripped."

"I think it's important to try…" says Bridgette. She stops kicking her legs. "I wish I tried harder with Madelaine."

Darcy hums. "I think I only shared one class with her."

"By the way, Darcy," Bridgette's ahoge flicks up at the opportunity. "You know the concert that's happening this Saturday?"

"Oh, yeah. Anna loves that band."

Bridgette's eyes light up. "I've a spare ticket. Would she be interested?" 

"She already bought hers."

"Are you going?" 

Darcy shakes her head. "Not my thing, sorry. I prefer girl groups."

Bridgette sighs. "Allegra and I were supposed to go but she cancelled this morning. So, I've been trying to find someone to go instead. She said she would refund it if I couldn't find anyone else, but she checked the website at lunch and it was too late."

Soon, Felix arrives with a large square bandaid.

"Good luck finding someone," says Darcy.

♡

"You'd think with my power of the ladybug's fortune, I wouldn't be so unlucky," Bridgette tells Tikki hours after school, sitting cross-legged on her bed.

Tikki lands gently on Bridgette's lap. "True, it is strange. Previously, any person who becomes the Ladybug holder gains luck that turns their life around," Tikki says thoughtfully, her antennae twitching. "There must be something cancelling out your luck. Aside from Felix, everything else seems fine."

She furrows her brow. "You think this is the universe's way of telling me it's best I stay away from Felix?" Bridgette looks down at the kwami.

Tikki shrugs, her small body barely moving with the gesture. "Perhaps so."

"At least I'm not Cat Noir," jokes Bridgette. She laughs a little more seeing Cat Noir's shocked face when she pulled out a chainsaw.

"I agree," Tikki giggles. "Holders of the cat miraculous tend to experience a lot of bad luck in their civilian lives."

"Anyways, I think I should do another patrol today," Bridgette says, glancing out her bedroom window. The sky has darkened to a deep indigo. 

Tikki's large black eyes blinks in concern. "Are you sure, Bridgette? You've had a long day at school, and besides, nothing happened last time."

Bridgette gives the kwami a comforting smile. "Don't worry, it won't last as long as Friday. Tikki! Spots on!"

In a flash of red light, Bridgette transforms into Ladybug.

She opens her window and climbs out, the cool night air filling her lungs. She swings her yoyo, latching onto a nearby building, and takes off into the night. The city blurs beneath her as she swings from building to building. She pauses for a moment on a higher rooftop, scanning the scene below. 

Everything seems quiet, but she knows better than to let her guard down. 

"So far, so good," she murmurs to herself.

Just as she is about to leap to the next rooftop, she hears the unmistakable sound of wings flapping. She turns to see a flock of pigeons heading straight for her.

"Again?" she says, exasperated.

The pigeons swarm around her, their wings flapping furiously. Ladybug swings her yo-yo in a circle to fend off them. They're persistent, she notes. They won't leave, remaining in place behind the swinging yo-yo shield. She then transforms her yo-yo into her bugstick, strategically swinging it to hit each one hard enough to knock them out. 

Ladybug looks around the area, scanning for any more. That seems to be the end of it , she thinks, for now.

She spots a few more pigeons scattered across the rooftops. Some of them eye her warily but are mostly indifferent to her presence. It must be because she can also fly and is ten times their height. 

From her vantage point, she notices two police officers standing on a street corner, sipping coffee and chatting. On their chest are the pigeon badges displayed. There's a few more pigeons in the area, but the policemen are not showing any concern because they're currently harmless, pecking away at the ground for food. 

One pigeon looks up and spots Ladybug, but doesn't fly after her. It's just like last time: some pigeons are aggressive, while others completely ignore her. More importantly, Monsieur Pigeon is nowhere to be found. It might not actually be his doing.

She wonders if the pigeons are only acting this way because, under Monsieur Pigeon's control, it's practically muscle memory to attack her and Cat Noir. 

Just then, a few more pigeons spot her and begin to swoop in her direction. She readies her yo-yo, preparing for another wave of attacks. Quickly and precisely, she knocks them out of the sky one by one.

That's enough for now , she tells herself.

"Miraculous Ladybug."

♡

Felix is finishing up his study for the upcoming Literature test, though his mind is only half-focused on the material in front of him. The events of the day replaying in his head. 

He can tell that she blames herself, but truthfully, it is his own fault. 

On the first day, he caused her to get bit by a ladybug of all insects. 

He can't get too angry at her no matter how he tries to. Even when her notebook embarrassed him, it was due to his own misfortune. At least he made an effort today to help pick her beads up and bring her a bandaid when she tripped. However, he can't keep going on like this. All this trouble can be entirely avoided he if he avoids her.

Felix pauses, his pen hovering over his notes. He will say that he is curious to see what her design looks like. 

"What should I do about this?" he asks himself. Returning to reality from his thoughts, he hears Plagg's snores. The cat doesn't do anything apart from eat and sleep. "If only I never met you…"

As it turns out, Plagg is just dozing. "It's the life you chose, Felix."

"You know, you could at least pretend to be supportive."

Plagg opens one eye and grins. "I am supportive. I support your decision to let me nap."

Felix rolls his eyes and leans back in his chair, staring out the window. He's about to return to his notes when a flash of red catches his eye. 

"She's out there again," Felix murmurs to himself, unable to tear his gaze away. "I don't get it. Why bother patrolling at all? Is she going out of her way to look for trouble?"

"She must not be a very busy person," suggests Plagg.

"I guess it's time," he says to himself, pushing his chair back and standing up. He clenches his fist, feeling the weight of his ring. "Plagg, claws out!"

In an instant, Felix transforms into Cat Noir. A confident smirk spreads across his face. The world always looks different from this perspective—sharper, more vivid.

He opens his bedroom window and leaps out, bounding effortlessly across rooftops until he catches sight of Ladybug again. She's perched on the edge of a building, scanning the streets below. He lands softly beside her, his presence immediately noticed.

"Hey," he grins.

"Hey."

Cat Noir glances around. 

"It's a quiet night. Are you sure Monsieur Pigeon's gonna be out tonight?"

She purses her lips. "Honestly, I'm not sure. I've had a few more instances with the pigeons but he's nowhere to be found."

Cat Noir scratches his cheek as he ponders. "You think he's tampered with them or something to attack us?" he questions, raising an eyebrow.

She gives him a look. "What? Just normal pigeons, not even when he's in control?" she replies incredulously, shaking her head slightly.

"Yeah. Or you can train them. Pigeons have been said to be intelligent animals."

They patrol for a while, fighting off a few pigeons here and there and making sure the rest continue to mind their own business. The patrol doesn't last for too long, as it's only the beginning of the week.

"Let's call it a night," he tells Ladybug, yawning.

Ladybug nods in agreement. 

But before she lets him go, she tells him: "If what you said was right, and the pigeons will attack us upon seeing us, maybe we should be more discreet when it comes to transforming and de-transforming," she suggests, her voice low and cautious. "If they can sense us the moment we're transformed, they'll have a higher chance of knowing who we really are."

"So, you're saying…?"

"Follow me."

Cat Noir agrees. 

♡

Soon enough, he finds himself in the sewers. 

The tunnels are dim, damp, and quiet. The echoes of their footsteps reverberating off the walls.

"I mean… is this really necessary?" He furrows her brows at her. "I feel like a criminal, even though I'm not," he remarks, wryly. At least he can see better in the dark with his green eyes. 

Ahead of them is a 'v' section with a large support in the centre, separating the two tunnels. Surrounding the support is a platform in the 'v' shape. Ladybug leaps into the first tunnel, landing on the platform. 

Cat Noir follows suit, landing smoothly on the opposite side.

"Tikki, spots off!"

"Plagg, claws in!" 

"Of course, we don't have to do this every time." Her voice comes loud and clear from the other side. "Just in case the pigeons see us and are able to refer the information of our whereabouts to Monsieur Pigeon."

Felix considers this for a moment. "Are the police not also doing pigeon monitoring?"

"I've watched a few slack off," responds Ladybug. "For them, it's an easy job. And I guess it doesn't really matter if the pigeon attacks them, leading to fatal injuries, because at the end of the day, Ladybug will come save them."

He lets out a sigh. "Those imbeciles," he hisses through his teeth.

"Sorry?"

Felix straightens, realising that whilst his and Cat Noir's voices are the same, their tones are drastically different. 

Felix clears his throat. "Just imagining us in our civilian forms under the night sky and not in the sewers, m'lady ."

Plagg holds in his snicker.

He can hear Ladybug grimace.

"Anyways," she says, "we should de-transform in different parts of the sewer."

Felix nods, even though she can't see him. "I've got to get out into the main tunnel. It's closer to my house, so I hope you won't look, m'lady."

"No worries," Ladybug replies. "I'm continuing in my direction, so I'll have my back turned on you."

They really, really trust each other.

♡

It is Tuesday morning that Bridgette musters up her courage, once again, to greet Felix. Her eyes catch his figure walking ahead, making his way to homeroom before class starts, and so she strides briskly up to him.

Glancing sideways, Felix acknowledges her presence with a curt nod but doesn’t slow down his pace. Bridgette, undeterred, begins talking, trying to strike up a conversation. Felix keeps his eyes forward, a slight frown forms on his face. 

As they near the doorway, Bridgette, distracted by her attempts to engage him, is not watching where she's going. She doesn’t even notice Felix’s attempt to step back, instead focusing on standing right beside him. In an instant, the two collide at the doorway, much to Felix’s dismay.

Bridgette falters, stumbling into him, while Felix recoils as his shoulder strikes the hard edge of the doorframe with a jolt that draws a wince from his otherwise stoic face.

He reluctantly sighs. Turning  to Bridgette, he tells her, "If you insist on talking to me, I'd prefer you not be a klutz about it." 

Bridgette’s cheeks turn red with mortification. Unsure how to even apologise.

He gestures for her to go in first, needing a moment to calm himself. 

"Go ahead," he mutters.

Is it a stretch to conclude that Bridgette is his bad luck personified?

♡

Allegra raises an eyebrow, pausing mid-bite. "Out of all people, you want to ask Felix?" 

Bridgette fidgets wit her sandwich, feeling a bit self-conscious. "Well, y-yeah!" she says, trying to sound more confident. "I mean, he already talks to us a little. Why not try to become friends?"

"He's going to say no."

Allegra sighs. "Bridgette, it's just the way he is. Felix isn't the most approachable person, and he keeps to himself for a reason. You can't force him to open up."

"But why won't he open up?" Bridgette asks, frustration seeping into her voice. "He's not mean or anything. Just… distant. There has to be a way to get through to him."

Allegra shrugs, though her expression softens. "Maybe he's been through things we don't know about. Or maybe he's just naturally introverted. It's not always about us, you know? Sometimes people have their own reasons for keeping their distance."

♡

Felix sits on a park bench just outside the school. 

Felix's posture is relaxed, yet his back is straight, sitting in the way that he has been taught. His eyes focused intently on the book in his hands. 

On the spot beside him is his bag, with Plagg popping his head out for some fresh air. 

"Felix," says Plagg.

"You're risking people seeing you," Felix murmurs without lifting his gaze from the book.

"I see the Bridgette girl in the distance."

At this, Felix stops reading but keeps his gaze fixed on the book to avoid startling Bridgette. "Is she coming this way?"

"Duh," laughs the kwami. "Just kidding. She's just looking at you. I think you make her nervous."

Felix's brow furrows slightly. "Strange how I feel almost nothing for that girl, and yet when I am Cat Noir, I feel this strange sense of need to protect her."

"You are a superhero, so it's probably ingrained in your head."

"She's annoying," he concludes. "Just like Claude."

Plagg chuckles, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Are you saying that because she's actually annoying, or are you just saying that because you can't admit you have a crush on her?"

Felix's grip on the book tightens slightly, his expression darkening. "Don't be ridiculous, Plagg. I don't have time for such frivolous things."

"I know what boys are like. You just can't admit you like her because you all have massive egos."

"She's annoying. End of story."

Plagg ducks his head into the bag. "Bridgette incoming."

Felix closes his book with a soft thud, shoves the book into the bag, forcing Plagg to muffle a 'hey!' Standing up, he throws the bag over his shoulder.

"Wait!" calls out Bridgette's annoying voice.

Felix's steps falter, his back still turned to her. He's not sure why, but he decides to give her one more chance. Maybe it's just curiosity to see what schemes she's pulling next. 

Slowly, he turns to face her. Bridgette's eyes are wide, her cheeks slightly flushed. She raises two pink tickets, a hopeful smile on her lips.

"Sorry, I'm not interested." Felix's response is curt, his tone cold. He should've known it was a waste of time.

"B-but, you don't even know what it's for," she stammers.

Without another word, Felix turns and walks off, leaving Bridgette standing there. 

He mutters to Plagg, "See? She is annoying."

Plagg, peeking out from Felix's bag, can't help but chuckle. "Aren't you the one who's giving her bad luck? So you're the one who is technically annoying, correct?"

Felix's jaw tightens, his eyes narrowing. "But think, Plagg. If Bridgette is also aware that each time she interacts with me something misfortunate happens, would she not think that it would be for the better, for both of us, that she stays away from me?"

Plagg shrugs nonchalantly, now munching on a piece of cheese. "Maybe, but that doesn't mean she'll actually do it."

"My life is already misfortunate enough. I don't need Bridgette to make it worse," Felix snaps.

Plagg snickers. "Now why would you care about her self-esteem?"

Felix's expression hardens, his voice flat. "I don't."

Felix only wishes he is wrong.

♡

Allegra sits against the cool wall, her water bottle in one hand as the other opens up her phone. 

Scrolling through her social media feed, she sees the latest post from the band she's been following eagerly. The members are all smiles, gearing up for their concert in Paris. The comments are all talking about how they can't wait for Saturday.

Beneath the post, it says that Bridgette's account has also liked the post. Allegra still feels bad for ditching Bridgette like this. She really did want to go to the concert. 

On top of this Saturday, Madame Laurent has asked the two to come in every Saturday until the weekend of the competition.

Yes, the concert would be incredible, an experience she doesn't want to miss—

She shakes her head. Instead, closing her eyes briefly, Allegra imagines the upcoming night in Vienna, dancing with Matteo. They've been working hard together, pushing each other to excel, and their chemistry on the dance floor is undeniable. Her teacher has never complimented her as much as recently.

"We're doing great, huh?" Matteo's voice interrupts her thoughts, and she turns to see him standing beside her.

So great, she wonders if there's any point in even having an extra lesson.

♡

She didn't see Felix at lunch on Wednesday.

She wonders if he's in the music room again, playing the piano, to avoid her, Claude and everyone else.

Chapter Text

On the blue mats stand Bridgette and her opponent, a boy her age wearing the same colour belt that she is. Blue.

He offers his hand for a quick shake, which she takes. The two quickly step back. Throwing his arm down between them, coach Tanaka initiates the fight.

They immediately bend their backs as they circle each other, eyes locked in a fierce stare. Each searching for an opening. Bridgette's hands extend towards him, aiming to seize control and take him down. He mirrors her movements, their fingers intertwining as they try to push back one another.

After Darcy and Felix, she has even asked Anna, Rose and Colette. She tried Nathaniel first thing, who confessed his secret distaste for the band. If she fails in finding another person by Friday, she supposes she will just have to go alone. 

The two struggle against one another's hands for a while, their feet shuffling across the mat.

Maybe she'll find new friends at the concert to hang out with. Though she highly doubts that.

Bridgette tries to release her right hand to grab his neck, but he anticipates her move and counters by using his left hand to do the same to her. Their grips tighten, each trying to overpower the other. She feels his strength increasing as he gains the upper hand, and despite her best efforts to resist, he manages to push her off balance.

She does understand Allegra. If Bridgette had any jiu-jitsu competitions, she would've put her other hobbies or activities on hold.

He gets her to the ground.

Bridgette feels a bead of sweat trickle down her temple, her mind racing as she strategises her next move. 

She takes a while to adjust as he forces her to tap out. Remaining undeterred, she slips her right arm under his thigh as he hovers over her body with his arms over her head. Soon enough, she manages to throw him back.  Bridgette regains control as the standing person. 

In the short amount of time she has, she's able to slide her knee between his legs. As expected, her opponent counters by pushing his foot against her thigh. She grits her teeth, pushing back with all her strength. She grapples with his leg, using her hands to push it to the side as far as possible, feeling the strain in her arms. 

And I didn't do very well in Monsieur Legrand's test today , she thinks briefly.

With a determined shove, she manages to reposition her knee back in between his legs, re-establishing her control. From there on, Bridgette advances her knee onto his belly to force him into a side control.

It's not long before she wins.

"Well done," claps coach Tanaka as the two stands up. 

Bridgette bows to her opponent. He respects her by bowing too, a look of respect in his eyes despite his defeat.

"That's a nice wrap up for the session, Bridgette. I can imagine you getting your purple belt soon, just like your mama." 

Bridgette beams. "Thanks, coach."

He pats her on the shoulder before walking away.

Speaking of her mama, she glances around the gym for her. Her mama has now ascended the ranks, going from purple belt just after giving birth to Bridgette to now being in her second year of black belt.

Bridgette spots her mama at the far end of the gym, gracefully demonstrating a technique with an opponent as others watch intently.

She knows her mama will take her time chatting up her friends. Deciding not to wait, she heads for the changing room alone, waving at her mama as she walks out of the gym. Her mama catches the wave, responding with a warm smile and a nod.

Bridgette must be extraordinarily lucky that every time she enters the changing room to find Tikki, who is in her bag, it is empty. The same way the bathrooms in school are always empty whenever she is required to transform. 

She remembers Allegra telling her that in the beginning, students would treat the lockdown as free periods and just watch the news on the phone. Bridgette wouldn't know this because she's missing every lockdown. Now that the city is used to it, the teachers just continue with the lesson so students have been trying to skip by asking for permission. 

She supposes she's just lucky. Maybe she's the first one to skip.

"Tikki?"

Tikki unzips the bag from inside through a small gap, as the bag isn't fully zipped. 

"Hello, Bridgette!" greets Tikki, excited to see her holder again. "Did you have a good time?"

"Yeah, of course!"

"If only I can watch you fight," laments Tikki.

Bridgette caresses the kwami on the head. "You know I can't let you do that, there's too many people around the gym."

"I understand," responds Tikki. "Your jiu-jitsu training seems to be really helpful. That's why you've been fighting so well."

Bridgette sits down on a bench, pulling out Tikki and placing her gently on her lap. An unsure look on her face. "I wish. You don't know this because you haven't seen me fight, which speaking of, I'll just show you some jiu-jitsu competition videos later, but jiu-jitsu doesn't really involve weapons. The main philosophy is to manipulate the opponent's force against themself. So when I fight as Ladybug, and I have my sword or stick, it's a lot different."

Tikki nods thoughtfully. "That makes sense."

"Not just that, my opponents as Ladybug are always long distance. I can't exactly take Monsieur Pigeon to the floor and force him into submission," recalls Bridgette. "Dawnbreaker did pull my ears that one time but it was more like a cat fight, you know?" 

"That was quite an interesting fight."

"I've even tried grappling Cat Noir but he likes to use his powers. Then there's that one time where I got too close and he tried to scratch my face with his claws in defence," she recalls with a grimace, "and his claws are really long."

"Do you enjoy fighting?"

Taken aback slightly, Bridgette asks, "why?"

Tikki shrugs. "You said before you enjoy jiu-jitsu right? And that you like taking down your opponents and winning?"

"Y-yes. I love jiu-jitsu, and I really want to get my purple belt someday…" Bridgette's voice fades as she thinks about her life as Ladybug. "I mean," she pauses, "I'd rather not fight as Ladybug because that means hurting people. I guess since I've been doing jiu-jitsu most of my life, I can't help but enjoy the intense battle sometimes. Even if it drives me crazy sometimes. Maybe that's why I like training with Cat Noir sometimes, and he keeps it interesting as well."

The kwami listens intently. Her large black eyes reflecting Bridgette's blue eyes. Having seen a fifteen year-old nearly burnt out from exhaustion due to so many duties she has, Tikki does feel an amount of guilt for forcing this role upon her.

"But what I love more than fighting," Tikki perks up her large head at this, "is protecting people. It's so worth it."

"That's what makes you a true hero, Bridgette."

Bridgette lightly taps Tikki on the forehead. "You sweet talk so well."

Bridgette decides to get changed quickly after the short breather she took chatting with Tikki, since anyone could come in any moment. She puts on her jacket at the end.

Tikki, who watches Bridgette put on her jacket, with the new addition, narrows her eyes at this. "I still can't believe you think this is a good idea."

"Hey, it's only to protect myself," Bridgette insists. "Besides, you've heard the news. More civilians are out to commit crimes because the media is so distracted by Ladybug and Cat Noir's fights. If someone comes up to me and tries to beat me for money, and I'm not strong enough to fight them, I can stab them!" At this, Bridgette raises her fist in the air to show her determination.

"Bridgette, I really worry for your health sometimes," Tikki says.

With a small smile, Bridgette zips up her bag, making sure Tikki is securely inside.

♡

Her mama has informed her that she would be having a coffee to catch up with her friends from jiu-jitsu, so Bridgette decides to go home to work on her butterfly top.

As she exits the gym, humming a tune to herself, a sudden, jarring sound pierces the air. 

Bridgette instinctively covers her ears, her heart pounding as she looks around for the source of the noise.

Suddenly, a figure appears before her—a boy just older than her clad in black leather, with a shaved head and a sinister smirk. On his face is a purple mask. Turns out the sound was from his electric guitar. With a pick, he strums his guitar again, sending a powerful shockwave of sound towards her. 

Bridgette barely has time to react, diving behind a parked car to avoid the blast.

Now's her chance!

In her jacket, she has sewn five little pocket holders on each side to be filled with needles. Over each pocket holder are little flaps covering the tip of the needle. Bridgette has tested wearing it to ensure it's safe for her. She will admit it isn't the safest way of protecting herself.

However, since most akumatised villains have some sort of power or weapon, they are unlikely to engage in a hand-to-hand combat with her. So, if she were to be faced with one of them in her civilian form, she has needles that she could aim at their arms to scare them momentarily. She would've also used these for any of the civilian criminals that has been reported to have an increase in numbers

The next part of the plan is that she would run away and transform into Ladybug!

She watches the figure stroll down the street as if he owns it. She can tell he still has his eyes on her, so she can't run away. There's no other people around the area.

As he approaches the car she's behind, she takes one needle from the inside of her jacket and throws it in his direction. 

Bridgette doesn't waste a second. She reaches for another needle, her fingers deftly finding it in the hidden pocket. She hurls it with as much force as she can muster, hoping 

Bridgette reaches for another needle.

The boy's smirk grows wide as he strums his guitar, the sound wave powerful enough to deflect the needle effortlessly. The impact of his power reverberates through the air with a burst of purple shockwave.

The second needle falls to the ground.

Okay, now's really her chance—run!

Without a moment's hesitation, she turns on her heels and makes a dash for the other end of the street. She can hear the sound of  the guitar behind her. Glancing over her shoulder, she sees the purple glow of his power closing in. 

"Bad idea!"

Tikki's head pops out. "You need to transform!"

"He's behind me!"

She considers her options. If she can turn the corner and transform quickly, she could launch a surprise attack. But as she rounds the corner, she notices a few pigeons pecking at the ground nearby. The police have probably ran away, being able to know the existence of a new akumatised person before her. 

The last thing she wants to do is risk one of them attacking her first thing after she's transformed. Then there's always the possibility that they're still under Monsieur Pigeon's control—what if they report her identity?

"I told you those weren't a good idea," says Tikki in a matter-of-factly tone.

"I just need more practice, Tikki!" Bridgette retorts. "Trust me. They'll not work on an akumatised villain but they will probably more on a civilian—"

Before she can finish her sentence, Cat Noir appears in a blur of motion, landing gracefully beside her.

"Let's get you outta here," he tells her. 

In Cat Noir's eyes, Bridgette can see the faint purple. The same riff is played again and Bridgette gets ready to hide. 

Cat Noir strikes back with his black storm but the attack is deflected by another powerful wave of sound surging towards him. He swiftly summons his black abyss.

Yawning, Cat Noir feigns boredom. "This is getting boring. And I was getting to the good part where Raskolnikov is talking to Sonya again!" He turns to Bridgette, and with a slow blink as if he has all the time in the world, he drawls, "don't tell me that's another boy in love with you."

"What? No!" Bridgette stiffens. "I don't know that boy!"

"Hurry up and run," he tells her before breaking off their eye contact.

Bridgette bolts away, almost forgetting that she needs to transform.

Cat Noir turns back to the boy, about his own height. He could make a comment about his weird attire but, then again, who's the one wearing thigh-high boots and cat ears? "So, what's your name?"

He smirks. "Call me Guitar Villain."

Cat Noir lets out an exaggerated sigh. "And Ladybug tells me not to call you guys that."

♡

Ladybug swings into the street behind Guitar Villain, coming from the opposite direction that Bridgette ran towards. As her body descends, she deftly transforms her yo-yo into bugstick, preparing to deliver a blow to his head.

Purple energy rises as the cacophony plays on, forming a barrier around Guitar Villain. Ladybug's bugstick rebounds off the barrier with a resonant clang, her hands straining as she holds on. 

The sound is grating, harsh, and nothing like the electric guitar she enjoys. Bridgette loves rock music, but this akumatised version of the guitar is a perversion of everything she appreciates about it. The sound is just bad and hurts her ears.

Guitar Villain turns around. 

Cat Noir seizes the moment, launching himself forward to cataclysm the barrier.

Ladybug darts forward, aiming to grab the neck of the guitar. Guitar Villain's eyes widen momentarily but sidesteps smoothly in time. 

He strums another riff, sending a shockwave her way. 

She flips backward, gaining some time to step aside herself. Ladybug avoids the blast in time but can feel her own skin tingle beneath the leather suit from the power.

"What is your name?" she demands.

"Call me Guitar Villain." Cat Noir rolls his eyes at this.

Ladybug shifts her stance, her eyes locked onto his. "No. Your real name. Whoever you are behind that mask. Come on!" Ladybug persists. "I know you're in there!"

"That trick won't work on me!" Guitar Villain snaps, his grip tightening on his guitar.

Changing her approach, Ladybug spins her yo-yo around, aiming to capture the guitar from the boy. As the yo-yo whips toward him, Guitar Villain slams his foot on the ground, causing the pavement to crack and shift. 

The sudden tremor throws off her aim, and the yo-yo misses its mark, retracting back to her hand. Ladybug quickly swings herself into the air, landing on the rooftop. 

Cat Noir jumps onto a nearby lamppost. "Hey! That's not fair," he groans, almost like a child. "Your powers should only come from your guitar!"

"The guitar is just a tool that makes it easier to regulate my powers," he explains, strumming a harsh riff that sends a shockwave through the air. Ladybug winces. "I'm still getting the hang of it. But don't worry, I'll kick your ass sooner than later."

Cat Noir's ear twitch at the sound. "Hard to regulate? What?" He sneers, trying to provoke him. "Just like your teenage hormones?" 

Guitar Villain's face contorts with anger, biting down on his lip.

He grips his guitar tighter, the knuckles of his fingers turning white. With a fierce strum, he unleashes another wave of sound, this time letting the tune ring out for longer, the vibrations causing the empty street to tremble violently. The volume grows louder as each second passes, amplifying the impact.

"Great!" Cat Noir barely makes out Ladybug's voice. "Now we can't get closer to him!"

She clenches her teeth as she maintains her focus. 

Summoning his black abyss, he tries to absorb the sound.

Guitar Villain notices Cat Noir's efforts and, to intimidate him, stamps his foot on the ground once more with force. The sheer force blasts debris from the ground, sending pieces of pavement flying in all directions. 

"We need a plan!" states Cat Noir as he leaps away from Guitar Villain.

"There's still people inside the buildings!" yells Ladybug, following behind. "We should help them out!"

"No, a plan to stop him !"

She scrunches her brows at him. "Well, do you have one?!"

They come to a halt just far enough from the sound for their ears to stop ringing. 

Cat Noir takes a moment to catch his breath, daring a quick glance over his shoulder to ensure Guitar Villain is far from catching up to them.

"Well, at first I thought it'd be a good idea if I snatched the guitar from him." Ladybug begins.  "Turns out he's got powers with or without that guitar. Strange. An electric guitar to help him regulate his powers because he's not used to it?"

"Guessing his power is destruction," adds Cat Noir. "Somehow he can do more than me."

"You don't use your cataclysm a lot," notes Ladybug.

He shrugs in response. "It's kinda unnecessary."

A desperate scream for help pierces the air, instantly grabbing both of their attention.

♡

Allegra sits on her bed, her phone clutched in her hand. She types out a quick message to Bridgette, wishing her friend for her safety. 

She hits send and stares at the screen, waiting for the little check mark to turn blue. 

She knows by now that Bridgette has finished jiu-jitsu, and since the new villain who is going around asking people to call him 'Guitar Villain', which is a stupid name, by the way, Bridgette and mama Cheng might just be waiting around inside the gym. 

The check mark is still grey and Allegra lets out a sigh. Okay , she thinks, maybe they're busy running to a safer hiding spot . Tossing her phone onto her bed, Allegra plops down onto the bed. Her eyes glance at the poster of the boy band she was suppose to see this Saturday on the wall.

"Am I overthinking this?" she mutters to herself. There is no way that Bridgette is purposely ignoring her. 

Bridgette has always been slow at responding, at least since high school started. It makes sense, for the both of them to not respond on time, considering they're both working on their own things. 

Her mind races with worst-case scenarios. What if the villain has found Bridgette? What if she's hurt and can't get to her phone? Allegra shakes her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. She probably just has her phone on silent so she won't get distracted during the lesson. Or, maybe she left her phone in the locker room.

Bridgette definitely wouldn't ignore her.

A buzz emits from her phone. Allegra sits up and practically struggles to turn on her phone due to how jumbled her fingers moved. 

She drops her phone again when she realises it's from maman. 

Maman: I'm working late tonight. I'll send you money to order take-out, okay?

Allegra’s shoulders slacken as she exhales through her nose. She starts typing a reply with one hand, fingers tapping out ‘What about Papa?’—but halfway through, she pauses. She erases it slowly, letter by letter. There’s no use asking. Papa’s work schedule is as unpredictable as ever.

She glances around her room. Along the far wall stands a white dresser, the top cluttered with an array of polished medals and trophies. A laundry basket sits near her closet, half-filled with clothes she’s been ignoring for three days.

A little hungry, she decides she will get a little snack, padding down the hallway towards the kitchen. In the hallway, framed photographs line the walls. In one, her maman is speaking in a conference. In another her papa is shaking hands in a cap and gown, the day he earned his doctorate. Smaller frames depict younger versions of Allegra winning medals with her partner, Matteo.

How nice it would be, she thinks, if her accomplishments were academic like her parents. If she won maths competitions like Claude from school.

The apartment always feels too large. Too quiet. If she wanted to, she could probably throw parties like Jean and Aurore do on weekends. Her parents are never home long enough to notice. Papa sometimes wanders in late at night, still half on-call. Maman often doesn’t come home at all, preferring the hotel near her company when she works late. Which is most nights.

Allegra opens the fridge. She grabs a yogurt and a handful of grapes, eating them absentmindedly over the sink.

She glances again at her phone on the counter. Still no response from Bridgette.

♡

Guitar Villain soon catches up. 

Hearing the jarring sound again, the two heroes glance backwards and sees Guitar Villain strumming his guitar as he walks in the middle of the road. 

Ladybug's eyes narrow, her hand moving to summon her yo-yo. She swings it in a wide circle, the yo-yo whistling as it cuts through the air.

"Cat Noir," Ladybug calls out. "You go check it out and come back. I got this!"

With a quick leap, he vaults over a nearby destroyed, empty car and takes off in the direction the scream came from. 

Cat Noir hears a faint cry again amidst the chaos. His head glances around the area rapidly until he sees a boy in his view, trapped under a large piece of rubble. He darts over to help the boy—it's Jean from school. His left arm is bleeding, his face contorted with pain and fear.

Cat Noir quickly assesses the situation. 

He channels his energy and unleashes his Cataclysm on the rubble, disintegrating it into dust. He gently lifts Jean out of the debris.

"Cat Noir, please help my brother!" Jean begs, his voice trembling. 

"Is he around?"

Jean shakes his head. "We got separated."

"We don't have time for that!" Cat Noir says urgently. 

His own thoughts momentarily drifting to Ladybug, she might need him more right now. More importantly, the sooner he helps Ladybug defeat Guitar Villain, the sooner Jean's brother will be returned.

Jean grabs Cat Noir's arm, his eyes pleading. "Please! He's in a wheelchair! He can't protect himself!"

Cat Noir's resolve falters for a moment. With a mumbled "sorry", he scoops Jean up in his arms and leaps, taking him to a safer area. 

He spots a nearby building, through the window he can see that it is crowded with frightened civilians huddling together for safety. 

A man from inside spots Cat Noir through the window, his eyes widening in recognition. Immediately, he pushes through the crowd. Reaching the door, he grabs the handle with a firm grip and yanks it open.

"Over here!" he calls out, waving his arm to guide Cat Noir in.

Leaping over the broken pavement, Cat Noir sets Jean down gently at the doorway. 

"My brother—"

Cat Noir places a firm hand on Jean's shoulder. "Sorry, kid. We have to deal with the problem first. Otherwise, more people will get hurt."

Jean's face falls, his eyes welling up with tears. Cat Noir ignores the pained expression and turns to leave.

The man pulls Jean inside. He tries to comfort the boy, "your brother will be back soon. Ladybug will save him."

Jean's voice cracks as he responds, "but that's… my brother… he's…"

Cat Noir hesitates at the door, overhearing the conversation. He knows he has to make a quick decision. Every second counts.

Suddenly, a flock of pigeons swoops down, surrounding Cat Noir as he runs back to help Ladybug. 

"Hey, what the hell?!" Cat Noir exclaims, ducking and swatting at the birds. 

When he realises they're the same pigeons who persists to attack him, he extends his right hand and takes them all down with a beam of black storm.

♡

After an intense battle, Ladybug and Cat Noir finally take down Guitar Villain. It turns out, beneath the flashy attire is just an average, troubled teenager grappling with emotional turmoil.

Cat Noir has made several attempts to seize the electric guitar, but it's only after a coordinated effort that he finally manages to snatch it away. As Cat Noir secures the guitar, Ladybug doesn't waste a second destroying it with a superspeed chainsaw. In that moment, they both forget that the electric guitar merely acts as a regulator for his powers. 

In retrospect, it makes perfect sense to Cat Noir. A troubled teenager, suddenly endowed with explosive powers, would certainly need something to channel and control that raw energy. The guitar is more than just a tool; it was his outlet. 

The story he tells Ladybug and Cat Noir after his defeat was that he got scammed when buying a new electric guitar to add to his collection. That explains why he cared more for the guitar than the power he gained or the miraculouses he owes to Papillon. 

Cat Noir can see the hopelessness on his face as he falls to his knees, screaming out for the beloved instrument. That was when the bright butterfly left his body. Fluttering away. Ladybug doesn't bother capturing it—she already has one captured at home.

"Well, time to clock out and go home. I guess…" Cat Noir's voice is laced with exhaustion.

Ladybug kneels beside the boy, offering a comforting presence. 

People start coming back outside again as Ladybug restores everything back to normal. Broken windows mend themselves, cracked pavement smoothes out, and debris vanishes off the streets and returns to the structures. Doors creak open. Cautious heads peek out from windows

By now, everyone is used to returning to their daily lives after an attack. Of course, the journalists are still out covering every detail. Those who were out to walk their dogs continue to walk their dogs, those buying coffees on the way home return to their spot in line, and everyone else keeps walking. 

Amongst them is one boy running, desperately. 

It's Jean. 

He's panting heavily. 

Cat Noir readies himself to spring over but decides to scan around looking for a young child who looks lost, hoping to find Jean's brother first. To his surprise, he watches Jean quickly cease running as he finds the one he's looking for. A smile now plastered on his face, even though Jean's eyes still look as though they're filled with worry, and Cat Noir can now understand why.

A young man, who must be in his early twenties, on a wheelchair, strolls over to Jean.

"Louis!" cries out Jean.

"Hey, bro," smiles Louis, his expression softening as he sees Jean. The tension in his shoulders visibly eases.

"You okay?"

"Y-yeah," Louis reassures him, though his voice is still wavering. He reaches out for Jean's hand, who instinctively offered his, squeezing it gently. "I'm fine, really. Just a bit shaken up."

Cat Noir feels his heart tighten when Jean kneels down to hug his brother tightly, the bond between the two brothers evident in their embrace.

As Jean parts himself from his brother, he looks up and sees Cat Noir watching them. Gathering his courage, he walks over, his head slightly bowed. 

Biting his lip, Cat Noir feels uneasy.

"Uh, sorry for earlier," Jean mumbles to his surprise. 

Cat Noir tilts his head, a puzzled expression on his face. "What? What are you apologising for?"

Jean shuffles his feet, glancing back at his brother before speaking again. "For distracting you from doing your main job. I overreacted. I'm at least thanking you for saving me, and thanks to Ladybug for saving my brother. You were right, my brother is safe now."

He shifts awkwardly in his stance, unsure of what to do or say. "Uh, no worries at all." Cat Noir blows his hair out of his face as he feels himself getting warm. "I guess I was wrong. I should've saved your brother as well."

Jean shakes his head vigorously. "No, no. He's fine now, just shaken. T-thanks, we're gonna go home now." 

And with that, they're gone.

"You got fans now?" comes Ladybug's voice behind him, amused, nearly making him jump.

"No. That boy, Jean, was stuck under rubble earlier, so I helped him. He just thanked me, is all." He should've stopped there, but he can't stop the words tumbling out as he explains the situation. "He and his brother got separated. Even so, he asked me to help find his brother."

"Well, I'm glad you managed to find him."

His eyes blink slowly, his tail flicking with unease. He really doesn't need to tell her any of this. "I didn't. I came back to you first thing after getting Jean to safety."

"What?!" She takes a step forward, her left eye twitching momentarily despite her efforts to maintain a calm expression. "Cat Noir," she says softly, but there's a steely edge to her voice.

"Yes, m'lady?"

Cat Noir notes how her hands are clenching at her sides. "You need to stop being reckless," her voice lower than usual.

"What do you mean?"

"You had the time to save his brother and yet you didn't."

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his ears flattening slightly. "Oh, come on. If he wasn't disabled you wouldn't have felt bad."

Her calm expression shatters. "That's not it! Cat Noir, you are wrong!" She takes another step forward, her voice rising with each word. "You're a hero, you need to take care of the people! You need to do the right thing!"

His tail stops moving. 

"You say he's disabled and yet you waste your time taking care of that Bridgette girl!" Hearing him speak so casually about this, she angrily crosses her arms at him, her brow furrowing. "Like you even know her at all."

"I know enough to—"

"What if I wasn't here? What if there is no Ladybug? If there was no way to restore Paris? What would you do?" she asks. "He would've been dead."

Suppose he'll just stay dead, then, thinks Felix nonchalantly.

(He couldn't care for Madelaine, who was a stranger to him, much less the brother of someone who mocked him for his cold demeanour.)

"I'm going to de-transform. See you around, I guess."

♡

Bridgette de-transforms in the sewers, carefully stepping over the damp ground. She climbs up the ladder, her hands gripping the metal rungs as she pushes the manhole cover just enough to peek out. 

Her eyes scan the area, ensuring no one is around. Satisfied, she fully opens the cover, jumping out swiftly and replacing it behind her. She brushes off her clothes and begins her walk home.

As she walks through the streets, smiling at random strangers and pretending to be normal, her thoughts drift back to the earlier conversation with Cat Noir. 

"Cat Noir really pisses me off," she mutters, trying not to speak too loudly. "He thinks he can just do whatever he wants."

Tikki pops her head out of Bridgette's pocket. "At least Jean still thanked him?"

She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I guess. I just don't know how to feel about him. He can be nice and heroic, and then sometimes he just does things his own way. It's like he's pretending to care."

"I know you're a great superhero, Bridgette, but being a superhero can be hard. What Cat Noir did may not exactly be right, but he knew what he had to do to help you defeat Guitar Villain. It can be exhausting to be a saviour, and I know that you know that very well."

She lets out a deep exhale, her breath visible in the cool October air. "Yeah, yeah, you're right, Tikki." She stops walking for a moment, her eyes narrowing in thought. "I'll just have to coach Cat Noir into being more self-aware."

"Perhaps he grew up differently than you did. Experience changes the way people think."

She hits her right fist against her left palm in determination, her eyes bright. "So I'll just have to make him care about Paris then!" she declares, continuing walking. 

Suddenly, her phone rings. She pulls it out, seeing Allegra's name flash on the screen. 

She answers it quickly. "Bri, I changed my mind," Allegra's voice crackles through the speaker. "I told Matteo and my teacher that I'm not gonna take the extra lesson. I wanted to see that concert, and, I don't know why I thought an extra lesson meant more than hanging out with you. Please don't say you've found somebody else."

Bridgette's face lights up with a smile. "Of course, not. I couldn't find anyone, and I would rather see them alone if I couldn't see without you."

"And you're not mad at me for cancelling last minute?"

"No! I wouldn't be mad at you!" reassures Bridgette. "So what time will you come over on Saturday then?"

♡

He arrives at the Agreste mansion as his civilian self, but with a glance around, he quickly transforms back into Cat Noir. 

He sighs inwardly, feeling the strain of the effort it takes just to get home. Sometimes, it seems easier to stay as Cat Noir the entire way. He curses himself for listening to Ladybug's advice, trying to appease her. 

In any case, there's less risk of being attacked or caught by a pigeon in this neighbourhood, which has more pigeon monitors than others. This is most likely due to the affluence of the people living here. The last thing they want is for an akumatised attack to disrupt them from doing whatever boring activity they're spending too much for.

His movements are swift and fluid as he scales the walls with ease. Once on the other side, he drops down lightly, landing in the garden. He's not sure what kind of house or apartment Ladybug lives in but he wouldn't be able to get in through the gates with his father's built-in security. 

Felix glances around, ensuring no one has seen him, and de-transforms. 

If anyone, say Nathalie, asks, Felix will say he wanted some fresh air.

"I was reckless," he eventually speaks. 

"Yeah, you were." Plagg floats out, giving Felix a stern look. "You should've saved his brother instead of arguing about what's best."

Felix shakes his head, completely ignoring the tiny, yet older kwami's potentially wiser words. "No, I'm talking about my relationship with Ladybug. I think she views me differently whenever she sees that I'm being careless. If I want her to fall for me, I need to become the man she wants."

Plagg stares blankly at Felix.

"Uhm, I'm pretty sure girls like honesty, Felix."

Felix frowns. "Honesty? Sure, but I need to be more than that."

He's so clueless, he doesn't even understand what I meant! thinks Plagg.

"I need to be what she needs. Even if I don't care about this whole hero thing." He rubs his temples, his head hurting thinking of the plan he has to concoct. "So long as she trusts me…"

"You're gonna pretend to change as Cat Noir, but really you're just putting on a facade?"  Plagg feels a shiver of unease course through him. 

For the first time, Felix laughs. It's a short, dry chuckle as he realises. 

"A facade on top of a facade, huh…" his eyes harden with resolve.

Plagg should be used to his holders acting selfishly by now. He's lived for so long that it's hard to become emotionally attached to anything apart from cheese. Still, Plagg, once human himself, retains the ability to empathise deeply with another human. 

He understands why his holders oftentimes choose to close off their emotions to cope with being cursed as Cat Noir, condemned with misfortune.

But, something about the last vision Plagg saw before he destroyed it leaves his tiny body cold and shivering. 

What Felix is planning, though manipulative, is far from immoral. 

And despite the fact that Felix has briefly considered killing himself, the young, isolated fifteen year old boy, who's truly a gentleman at heart, wouldn't dare to kill the girl beneath the ladybug mask. 

Maybe Plagg should cataclysm Felix's copy of 'Crime and Punishment', just in case any idea relating to murder  ever gets into his head. 

Forget about defeating Papillon, or Null for that matter—that kwami has been at it for years trying to make his plan a reality. 

If Ladybug manages to come out of it alive, at least from Cat Noir, she's lucky. 

♡

The late afternoon sun filters through the singular window of her bedroom, casting a small golden beam across Bridgette’s bedroom floor. 

She decides to work on her dress as she waits for Allegra to arrive. The plan is to get ready together and then take a taxi to the concert venue. She pauses to rub her tired eyes and glances at the clock. Hopefully her friend will arrive soon.

On the floor beside her is her jacket, which she had also been working on simultaneously. It sprawls out on the floor, the inside with the sewn-in pocket holders filled with needles facing her. She has replaced the two she lost. 

“It was a bit of a silly idea,” comments Tikki, coming into view.

Bridgette doesn’t look up. “There’s no such thing as a silly idea,” she mutters, taking and folding the jacket carefully. “I just have to improve it.” She pauses, fingers tightening slightly on the fabric. “If something happens and I can’t transform… I still need a way to protect myself. I’m not a superhero all the time.”

Tikki hovers closer, frowning, but says nothing more.

Suddenly, from outside, Allegra’s voice cuts through the silence. “Bri! I’m coming up!”

Bridgette nearly jumps. “Tikki—hide!”

The kwami zips instantly into her desk drawer, vanishing just as the front door clicks open downstairs.

The door opens.

“Well, aren’t you excited for tonight?”

Bridgette turns around and faces her best friend. “Of course!”

Chapter Text

Featuring:
little fingers gripping onto grief, 
yesterdays stippling into tomorrows—
—a boy crippled by his own hands

♡

"What would you even gain from this?"

The two were standing on the sidelines of the soccer field, situated just behind the middle school. 

Claude checked the watch on his wrist for time, the one he received from his papa for Christmas. His papa said that the watch came from his father's collection, which was passed down after his death, which of course made it all the more special that he is now passing one down to Claude. Except, Claude didn't think it really mattered.

It was twenty minutes after school had ended, and the soccer club was not on today. Here and now was the perfect time for them to talk.

The boy, who had asked him to talk, which Claude knew was nothing good, shrugged his shoulders. "I guess seeing everyone turn on you would be pretty funny."

Claude pressed his lips tightly, his fists clenching at his sides before speaking again. "If you want to bully Kim, do it yourself."

"Yeah, I would," Phillippe drawled, his eyes darting to the side briefly before locking back onto Claude's with a cold intensity. "But you're his friend. You stood up for him before, you'd stand up against me."

"Fuck you even wanna bully him for, anyways?" Claude nearly spat.

"He owes me money."

"You offered to buy him lunch."

"Sucks to be poor." Phillippe took a step forward, tilting his head mockingly, his lips curling into a sneer. "If you don't deal with Kim for me, then I'll let everyone know what you did. Either way, if I tell them or not, you're going to be hated. But, which one would you rather be—a psycho or a bully? Because if you ask me, if you're a bully then at least you can still be cool. Nobody thinks psychopaths are cool."

Claude knitted his eyebrows close. 

"It's gonna be easy. You're Kim's only friend. Everyone already hates him. If you suddenly turn your back on him, I guarantee you, I don't think he'll be surprised." Then, he added, as if to make a point: "Even Darcy doesn't like him, and she's class president."

Claude regarded Kim as a friend, and the sentiment was mutual. 

He vividly recalled the first day of middle school when he had  kept to himself, as he had already isolated himself as a child. It might've been a mistake, as, in hindsight, it made him an easy target. Thankfully, the leading bully at the time, Phillippe, instead caught onto another loner named Kim, who he started to torment. Claude was lucky they never shared the same class, so Phillippe never got to know Claude.

In the first week, he would watch Kim get picked on in the hallways, during lunch, and free hours on the field. He would watch alongside the other bystanders, who mostly kept to themselves as well. They all knew that television shows, with high school settings and friendship themes, were not the same as reality. 

Realising that since he was a bigger nerd than Kim, he needed to fit in fast. 

He liked Maths, but was lucky that it came naturally to him. Thus, he never had to study hard, and instead spent his time playing the latest video games. When he overheard that skateboarding became the new trend amongst the boys, and even some of the girls, in his school, he quickly bought one after school and learnt how to skateboard. Learning comes fast to him. Having two very fit fathers, he was also raised to enjoy the outdoors and became popular with his own male peers very fast.

He hid the fact that he was adopted. When he did invite friends over to his house, it would've been when his parents were out. So long as Claude let them know beforehand, they were just happy that Claude was able to make friends of his own.

People knew him as the boy who can play the keyboard and guitar, instead of the one who played Mozart, Liszt and Chopin on the piano; he wrote music in the genres his friends liked, so that he could be liked.

And thankfully, half of his school population wore either glasses or contacts, and therefore Claude simply looked normal.

Despite his introverted tendencies, he somehow managed to break out of his bubble and socialised with his peers.

Yet, he felt bad.

It felt unjust that Kim was bullied for being himself when Claude got away with it. So, he did what he thought was right. 

He still remembers befriending Kim till this day. He recalled the look of relief on Kim's face when he extended a hand in kindness. He invited Kim to lunch, to his house, to hang out over the weekends. Kim neither connected with Claude's friends nor initiated conversations with his own peers, but was still thankfully civil. The short, skinny Vietnamese boy who always wore a red hoodie just cannot talk to anyone else. 

Claude supposed it made sense. They never talked much with him before, so why should he talk to them? 

(It's funny, isn't it? How you and someone else can live the same life, grow up similar, and yet experience different encounters?)

Darcy, the class president, was a mere bystander in this ordeal. She disliked Kim, not out of personal animosity, but because in first year, Phillippe persistently made her uncomfortable with jests about her and Kim being a perfect match. She had good grades. He didn't as much so. She was tall for her age. He was short. Darcy, who had no interest in dating, despised Phillippe even more for his relentless teasing. 

Part of Claude is pretty sure that these days Darcy wasn't ignoring Kim on purpose, instead, he is certain she did it knowing that Kim also felt awkward around her.

He cannot do this.

He truly could not bring himself to do this.

Phillippe saw the hesitation in Claude's eyes. "Think," he tried to persuade, "what will your parents think?"

Claude glared into Phillipe's eyes, which remained blank.

"I'll tell everyone."

"Fine," Claude answered instantly. His eyes were wide and unblinking. His shoulders slumped in defeat, but he still attempted to protect his friend. "I will. But after this one time, you better leave him alone." 

Phillippe smirks. "Okay, okay. I'll give you some time, by the way. You can start next Monday."

Phillippe turned his back, already feeling victorious, but Claude wasn't done.

Claude called out after him. "You're an asshole!"

♡

Claude spent the rest of the week focusing on other things. He wanted to make his supposed busyness believable to Kim. 

He uploaded three new experimental songs on SoundCloud, which Kim followed and expressed his awe for, much to Claude's dismay. He posted videos of himself performing skateboarding tricks, which Kim commented on each one with praises, and pictures of the additional homework from cram school, which Kim messaged back with photos of himself doing homework. 

'You actually inspire me,' was the message Claude chose to ignore.

When Kim sent him a message, he either waited hours before replying with a dry response or simply ignored it for the day. 

At school, people naturally conversed with him first so he deliberately gravitated towards them. He knew this was upsetting Kim, but he clung to the justification that just because Kim only befriended Claude didn't mean Claude couldn't spend time with other people.

There had even been a few times when Kim had tried to speak, Phillippe would notice, come over and cut him off, which Claude inevitably allowed. Even if the conversation was dry as hell, Claude would rather watch paint dry. 

"I go to cram school twice a week, and I still struggle. I don't know how you balance everything—school and outside school," said Kim, referring to the activities that Claude has posted himself doing. 

They were finally alone after Jean and everyone else left the lunch table. Claude had spoken so much that he left little room to chew his food. The bowl of pasta in front of him still full. They had been talking about tests, and how much of a jerk their Maths teacher was to Claude, even though he was the best student, was the biggest contributor to the school Maths club, helped the school win a few competitions, and studied alongside his extracurriculars. 

"Uh, yeah…" mutters Claude, awkwardly.

"Do you ever get tired from—"

At that moment, Phillippe, who was sitting at another table, watching them, walked over. A sly grin on his face. "Hey, Claude," he said, intercepting Kim mid sentence. "How's it going?"

Claude shrugged, but it was only to cover up the tension he felt at Phillippe's approach again. "Not much, just the usual."

Kim's expression shifted to one of unease, his eyes darting between Claude and Phillippe. 

Phillippe settled himself on the opposite end of the table, leaning back comfortably. "Going to cram school today?"

"Every Friday."

"You don't need it. Not like him who does." At this, Phillippe tilted his head in Kim's direction. He was referring to Kim's bad grades, which never improved despite Kim attending cram school. "My friends and I are going to the Skatepark Bowl de La Muette. We're gonna pick up food on the way. You should tell your mentor you're sick today and come with us instead."

Claude's face remained carefully blank. 

Phillippe winked.

"Sounds good," said Claude casually, though deep down, he desperately wanted to take the fork he was holding and stab Phillippe in the eye. He took a bite instead.

Kim, who had experienced Phillippe's intrusion a few times, knew to stay quiet.  His eyes lowered, the frustration clear in the set of his jaw.

"Actually, we're gonna go out and play some soccer before two. Wanna come?"

"I'm still eating," Claude said, still chewing, glancing at his half-finished bowl of chicken pasta.

"Bring your food with you," Phillippe insisted, his grin widening.

Reluctantly, Claude stood up, the bowl of pasta in his hand feeling heavier than it should. He cast a quick, apologetic glance at Kim. "See you later, Kim," he said, trying to keep his voice light.

He left before giving Kim a chance to say his goodbye.

♡

The weekend passed with Claude continuing to ignore Kim's messages.

Monday arrived too fast, and as Claude walked to school, he rehearsed the exact lines he would say to Kim. Phillippe didn't say he had to do anything physical. Therefore, over the weekend, Claude studied vocal forms of harassment from online forums, written by victims themselves who described in every detail exactly what was said to them and how it made them feel. Regardless of how subtle those words can be.

Claude approached the school gates. The first thing he saw was Phillippe and his friends circling Kim like a pack of wolves. Kim tried to walk out of the circle, but each time he turned, he was faced with the smug face of a boy taller than him, who nudged him back in with a laugh. Claude couldn't help but wonder if Kim was going to stay short forever, always an easy target for bullies like Phillippe. 

His small frame looked even more vulnerable amidst the towering figures around him.

"For someone so tiny, your ears are so big," jeered one of Phillippe's friends. 

"Yeah," Phillipe snorted. "He's like a goblin."

Kim tried to leave the circle again, but his head bumped against Phillippe in the chest. 

Phillippe grinned wider, shoving him back. "Woah, careful. Are you trying to start a fight here?"

Kim's eyes were downcast, his shoulders hunched in defeat. He didn't respond, knowing that anything he said would only provoke more taunts. The other boys snickered, their laughter sharp and cruel.

Claude walked past, making eye contact with Kim briefly. He's got enough people with him this morning, thought Claude, I'll just do my piece later.   The only person who stood up for Kim at the end of first year now chose to walk past. 

Later, in class, Kim sat down beside Claude. 

Claude remained facing forward, pretending to be engrossed in his notes, not wanting to acknowledge Kim after this morning. Moreover, he's put in so much effort to ignore Kim, training himself to not be tempted to respond immediately, that he can't lose all his progress now. In his peripheral vision, he could see Kim fidgeting with his pen. 

He glanced sideways, subtle enough to not make eye contact. He was relieved to see that there were no raw bruises on Kim's face or arms. 

The lunch bell rang quickly, and students who had already packed up five minutes early began to walk out of their classrooms. Claude packed up his things. As he headed towards the cafeteria, he mentally prepared himself for what he knew was coming. Claude spotted his usual table and made his way over, where Jean was already seated, munching on an apple.

"Hey, Jean," Claude greeted.

"Hey, Claude," Jean replied, smiling.

As they chatted, Claude kept an eye on the entrance, knowing that Kim would soon arrive. True to form, Kim entered the cafeteria a few moments later, his eyes scanning the room nervously. When he saw Claude, he made his way towards their table.

Kim approached hesitantly, his tray clutched tightly in his hands. "Hey, Claude," he said quietly, waiting to see if Claude is still content to sit together.

Before he could respond, Phillippe and his friends swooped in.

"Hey, goblin!"

"Leave me alone," spat Kim, finally gaining the courage to say something. Kim's face flushed with embarrassment, and he took a step back, glancing desperately at Claude. 

Claude could feel the weight of Jean's eyes, and from everyone else at the table, waiting to see what Claude would do next. It was obvious, wasn't it? He stood up for Kim first, and he continued until they left Kim alone. He'd help Kim again. His mind raced, but nothing came to mind. 

"I'm going to the bathroom," Claude muttered abruptly, standing up. He avoided eye contact with everyone, his pulse hammering in his ears.

♡

"Hey, Claude."

Claude sighed, turning around. 

Phillippe didn't look too happy. "You're supposed to be the one beating the shit out of him, yet you left me to do all the dirty work." Phillippe paused. He crossed his arms over his chest, taking a deep breath. "You said that after you showed Kim his place, you wanted me to leave him alone, and I promised I would. But I can't do my part until you execute your part, can I?"

Claude stood there, his face expressionless, letting the silence stretch between them. 

Phillippe's eyes narrowed, his fingers tapping impatiently against his biceps. "You're lucky I kept my mouth shut," he threatened with a hissed. "If I wasn't any more dissatisfied with you, I would've already told everyone. But honestly, watching you struggle is more fun."

Claude clenched his jaw, biting back the retort that rose to his lips. He turned on his heel and walked out of the bathroom, his steps quick.

He saw Kim waiting outside, conveniently. Naively,  Kim's face lit up with hope as he saw Claude approaching.

"Hey, Claude. Let's talk—"

"Just piss off, won't you?" spat Claude. "For goodness sake, you cannot take a hint. I keep ignoring you to let you know you're fucking boring, yet you keep coming up to me. Just piss off. Stop holding me back." And with that, Claude walked off before he could see the reaction he caused.

Phillippe, who had stood inside the bathroom, listening to the exchange, smirked. It wasn't exactly what he wanted, but for a person who was kind to a fault, it was good enough.

♡

"Good job," said Phillippe, walking up to Claude. "Hey, what's your number?"

Receiving silence as a response, Phillippe patted Claude on the shoulder. 

Claude furrowed his brows, pulling away from his touch. "I don't want to be your friend."

"Nobody's gonna want to be your friend after this. If you don't want to be alone, you have to stick by me."

♡

Claude considered himself fortunate to have the kind of mind that enabled him to learn independently. Otherwise, he wouldn't be skipping class and leaving the material-learning for later. Never in his life did he ever think he would do such a thing. 

People always said he was a good kid.

"Kim's too nice," Claude muttered, a cloud of grey escaping his lips as he exhaled. He squinted when the smoke blurred his vision.

He never thought he'd take up smoking, but there he was, sharing a cigarette with Phillippe of all people. If he wasn't smoking right now, he'd be beating the crap out of this boy. None of Phillippe's friends were here either. Despite his friends' general disregard for school, none of them were here skipping and smoking with them. Claude suspected that Phillippe had invited him to be alone for a purpose.

He hated the smell of smoke. He was cautious when Phillippe handed him the cigarette, the lighter in his hand ready. It didn't hurt his throat as bad as he thought it would. However, he was certain that hurting himself was better than hurting others. 

"He's an ass-kisser," laughed Phillippe. "Let's skip again tomorrow."

"I have classes," replied Claude in a firm tone, despite his throat.

"Boo, you nerd," Phillippe joked with a dry chuckle. "You can always catch up later, and besides, you've got cram as well. Just get your mentor to help you."

"Aren't you the one making me skip cram too?"

Phillippe exhaled. In the confined space of the bathroom, his breath sounded heavy and angry, echoing off the tiled walls. Claude decided not to push further.

"I get bored if I smoke alone."

Then go find someone else , thought Claude bitterly.

Phillippe could tell what he was thinking just by looking at his face. "Antoine said that you've a big fat ego. He doesn't like that," he said, a smirk playing on his lips.

Claude arched a brow. "Uh-huh."

If he remembered correctly, Antoine had a reputation for picking on the weak. For those stronger than him whom he disliked, he would either talk badly about them behind their backs, spread rumours, or challenge them to fights. He was also stronger than most boys in this middle school in terms of height, weight and muscle. 

"If you want to be protected," Phillippe paused to blow out another cloud of smoke, "you have to be my friend."

Claude followed with an exhale of his own. The ghost of his cigarette lingering in this musty bathroom.

"Do you still talk to your pa?"  asked Phillippe, changing the subject.

"At home, yes."

"Is he released from prison?" Phillippe asked, his eyes glimmering with interest.

"Are you talking about—"

"Your biological father," he clarified, leaning closer.

He could tell what Phillippe was trying to do—he was reminding Claude that he knew everything that Claude had been trying to hide for nearly the past two years. 

Now practically glaring, he responded in as calm of a tone as he can manage, "What do you think?"

Phillippe shrugged, nonchalant.

To Phillippe, being a friend meant little. It didn't imply having someone's back in the way most people would think. It didn't mean that your friend would protect you from others, but only from the damage they themselves had the power to do to you.

♡

Claude didn't begin by picking on victims himself. He often remained on the periphery, offering a few murmured words of agreement whenever Phillippe came up with a new insult, allowing the rest of the group to cheer and revel in the gratification of making themselves feel more worthy just because someone smaller, and weaker, wasn't.

He knew that complete silence would be a misstep. Merely being seen with Phillippe wasn't enough to alter his peers' perceptions of him, and Phillippe wanted Claude to be one of the group. Entirely different from the rest of the school. 

Still, he adamantly refused to do anything more than that. He understood that the administration turned a blind eye to bullying unless it escalated to physical violence, and he didn't love the thrill of risk as much as Phillippe did. At night, the scenes would replay in his mind. He'd lie awake, staring at the ceiling, questioning how he had ended up in this position. 

Even when he busied himself so much to the point he barely had time for bathroom breaks, those nagging thoughts of regret always returned to haunt him.

As a child who, fortunately, was never bullied himself, he had never intended to become a bully. 

(How come nobody ever realises that things have gotten out of hand until it gets out of hand?)

Here he stood again, by Phillippe's side. Alongside the rest of his friends. They gathered on the landing of the large squarial staircase. Behind them, stairs ascended to the next floor; before them, stairs descended into the dimly lit corridor. Bernard, who was their victim, stood on the edge of the downward stairs with no eyes watching for his back.

Bernard was short, small, and timid—yet still taller than Kim. Was it too late to say Claude was only noticing a trend now?

Phillippe's intent was clear. He wanted to intimidate Bernard, to see fear flicker in his eyes, but also to shake him down for cash to buy cigarettes. He had been cornering Bernard for the past two weeks, pressuring the boy until he couldn't take it anymore and handed over whatever he had before he ran away. Claude could see how stubborn Bernard was. Everyone knew that you should never give them what they want in the first place, otherwise they will come back for more. 

However, Claude will admit that he wished Bernard could just hurry up so they can go buy a pack already. Nicotine has gotten the best of him.

Bernard, of course, did not have the money. As he had said for the past half an hour. 

They all know this to be a lie.

"Come on, Bernard, don't make this harder than it needs to be," Phillippe taunted, his hand outstretched, palm up.

Bernard's eyes darted around, avoiding the gazes digging into his skin. He trembled, his small frame shaking under the pressure. "I—I'm sorry, I don't have any money," he stammered.

Claude watched. His eyes were as dull as it can be. Unlike the others' who were gleaming with the thirst to prey.

"That's not what I want to hear," Phillippe snarled, his hand shooting out to grab Bernard by the collar. The smaller boy flinched, squeezing his eyes shut.

Phillippe shoved Bernard to the side of the staircase, slamming him against the metal railing. The clanging sound reverberated through the stairwell.

Then, he let go. Bernard's small frame subsided with relief, though fear was still evident in his eyes and quivering lips.

"Are we going home now?" one of Phillippe's friends suddenly interjected, his tone surprisingly flat and bored.

Phillippe turned his head, his eyes only making contact with Claude. He tilted his head toward Bernard, as if to say 'go on'.

Claude stepped forward.

He felt his hands clenched into fists at his sides, his nails digging into his palms, drawing thin crescents

He opened his mouth, the words tasting bitter on his tongue. "Bernard," he began, raising one fist, "if you want to come in tomorrow with the other eye unbruised, you better bring in what we ask of you. Let this be a lesson—"

As Claude raised his fist, intending only to instil fear, Bernard suddenly turned and fled. Though, truthfully, if Claude had thought it through at the time, was it really so sudden of a turn that it even scared Claude? Because the poor boy must have been thinking about running away for a long time. He just never acted on it. Claude watched Bernard barely take three steps before he tripped, his smaller stature tumbling down, limbs flailing in every direction.

But in this world, Claude was miles behind everyone. He couldn't push himself any harder to do better. 

Bernard managed to get up, his leg slightly limp. He kept going forward, even though no one was chasing after him,  the sound of his uneven steps echoing through the stairwell. When he reached the first step downwards, his foot misjudged the distance and his heel slipped off the edge. He tripped again, this time harder, missing three-quarters of the stairs. He landed with a painful thud.

Claude rushed down, skipping two steps at a time, to find Bernard's body sprawling across the cold, hard floor. His ankle now twisted at an unnatural angle. His face contorted in agony. Bernard let out a guttural sound of pain, but quickly silenced himself when he realised that Claude was still standing and was very much capable of shutting him up.

"Guess he won't be bothering us for a while," came Phillippe's voice from behind, nonchalant.

Turning around, Claude yelled: "Fuck off, Phillippe! Someone call one-one-two!"

Nobody on the other end of the staircase moved an inch. 

Subsequently, Claude was the one who took out his phone and called for help. He called emergency services first, then yelled around the vicinity until a teacher who was staying behind came to assist. Even though Bernard feared him, Claude was the only one who stayed.

That was the day that marked the incident.

♡

"Claude."

The weight of his name uttered sunk deep in the room. It felt hard to breathe.

Opposite Claude sat his two fathers. His papa, who took upon the kinder, more relaxed role upon the two, had never said his name as sternly as now.

"Tell me," said his papa. "What happened?"

Claude shifted uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting to his pa. The man, who was only five years older than his papa, embodied the stricter persona. 

He watched Claude trying to answer with a disapproving look. He didn't need to say anything.

The principal sat at the head of the table. Claude had always been a good kid, always been complimented by his teachers for being a good worker. He had never gotten himself into trouble, and when his name was called accusingly, everyone came to his defence. "He wouldn't do such a thing," they said. He had never been called to the principal's office before, and now, here he was.

What was the point of asking him? His parents were already informed, as evidenced by the expectant look on the principal's face.

Claude's mind raced as he tried to find the right words. He fidgeted, his fingers twisting in his lap, and took a deep breath. The air felt inconsumable. Claude swallowed hard, his throat dry. 

No matter what Claude said, he wasn't going to get out of this without punishment. He was in the wrong here. He had no excuse to make it look like it was Phillippe's fault, nor anyone else's. He had no one else to back him up, only people to support the decision to suspend him. There was nothing to oppose. Nothing to save him.

Claude kept quiet, the silence stretching uncomfortably. His fathers' gazes bore into his, heavy with disappointment. The principal's foot tapped against the floor, the sound growing louder and more insistent with each passing second.

The principal finally broke the silence, sighing loudly. "The camera footage has depicted Claude seemingly threatening Bernard, with his fist raised. Bernard, at this, turned around and ran away. Whilst Claude didn't physically push Bernard, his actions led to Bernard panicking and tripping as he ran down the stairs. Even after falling, Bernard continued to run and tripped again, ultimately twisting his ankle. This meeting isn't about a physical assault, but rather about the harassment and bullying that led to this incident."

Unable to maintain his composure, his papa finally asked, "What's wrong with you? You've never been like this. Hell, you told me all excitedly that you befriended Kim, and now you're bullying someone else?" Claude can hear the tremble in his papa's voice. He was never the one to scold Claude for his misbehaviour. In a softer tone, his papa adds: "Claude, you know if you have something to say, you can always tell us. We're here for you."

Claude's pa, who had remained silent, finally spoke, his voice cold and stern. "Claude, I'm very disappointed in you."

The principal continued, his tone softer now too, but no less serious. "Claude, this is a serious matter. We need to address the bullying culture at this school, and it starts with holding students accountable for their actions. You're suspended for a week, and during that time, I want you to think about your behaviour and the impact it has on others."

Claude muttered under his breath, "Oh, fuck off."

His pa arched a disapproving eyebrow at the language, his posture straightening as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Claude," warned his papa. "We gave you a better life just for you to turn out like this?"

"You think you know everything about me?" retorted Claude.

"You were so promising."

The frustration boiling inside Claude reached its peak. He slammed his palms down on the table with such force that the sound reverberated through the room. The chair behind him squeaked as it was pushed back, but it was nothing compared to the sharp edge of his voice. 

"Oh, so it's okay for orphans to be blackmailed and bullied, but when they do it to others, all of a sudden, it's not?!" He spat. His papa winced at this. "This school did shit when Kim was bullied, and who stood up for him? Me! And then I got shit on, harassed verbally and online by bastards like Phillippe just cause I was friends with him! And I never complained, said anything, or stopped being his friend just because. I only said a few things because if I didn't, Phillippe would tell everyone that I…  that I…"

"Claude—"

He felt his eye twitch. "I barely touched Bernard! Nobody told him to run away! He fell on his own and now the whole school's going to blame me for it!"

The principal quickly intervened, "nobody's going to—"

"Claude, sit down." His pa cuts off the principal. The principal lowers his head, conceding. "Enough of this."

Claude reluctantly sank back into his chair, his body tense.  "And I was the only one who stayed with him." Claude's voice came barely coherent.

"You still participated in bullying," his pa responded. "You know better than that."

Claude's eyes flashed defiantly. "If he's gonna suspend me, then he should suspend about fifty other people as well," he said, pointing an accusatory finger at the principal. 

"We will deal with Phillippe and the others," said the principal, "but you are here because Bernard's parents are thinking of pressing charges."

His papa rubbed his temples, a sigh escaping his lips. The lines on his face seemed to deepen. 

He could really do with a cigarette right now.

♡

Rumours consumed the school like wildfire, screaming that Claude had pushed Bernard down the stairs. Returning to school, he felt the weight of the whispers and the accusing glances.

Darcy, who had been friendly with Claude because she was class president, and the two also shared interests over academics, now turned her back to him whenever he approached. As if she hadn't been a bystander this whole time. The same happened with Jean, and everyone else who he used to talk to. All they do now is look at him, and point him out, recalling the incident over and over again. 

In the days that followed, Claude overheard people talking about the incident again. In this exaggerated tale, he had orchestrated the whole thing. He was a chronic smoker and didn't have enough money himself, so he bullied Bernard for money. Allegedly, it was he who had seized Bernard by the collar and slammed him against the railings. The recount ended with "That's what Jean said he heard".

Phillippe, meanwhile, entirely ignored Claude. Having shifted his attention to other victims, he surrounded himself with his clique of so-called friends. 

Claude knew he would be right, regardless of what the principal promised to ensure that even verbal harassment would be addressed. The school didn't care so long as there was no physical harm involved, and it proved to be true when the teachers continued to let Phillippe away with his antics. Turning a blind eye. Antoine escaped the school's disciplinary measures because his fights happened outside of 'school premises'.

Claude now ate lunch alone. He walked through the school hallway alone, sat in the homeroom and lunch alone, and walked home alone. He was as alone as Kim, but at least people respected him. When in the same room, the other person would've glanced at Claude and then made an effort to talk to Kim, as if to spite him.

Oh, and now everyone knows Claude was adopted by two fathers. 

At least Phillippe kept his mouth shut as to why.

In this unjust reality, he'd rather bear the name of a bully than of a murderer.

♡

Papa reassured him, "We're not sending you away forever. You know that, right?"

Claude merely shrugged, his eyes avoiding.

"Enjoy the summer," Papa continued, trying to inject some cheer into his tone. "You have all your things, don't you? Just keep your laptop safe, mind your own business, and don't start talking to your schoolmates again. Wait till next year. Everyone will forget it all when September comes, I bet."

His pa, who was already in the car, would be driving him to the countryside for where they needed to go, whilst his papa had work meetings to attend to at home. Claude would rather one over the other, but since his pa is usually quiet, he will just re-listen and re-analyse a few of his favourite albums. 

Just as Claude was about to step out the door, Papa called after him, "Wait, Claude."

He stopped, turned around, but said nothing.

His papa eyed him up and down. "Did you bring your watch?"

Claude hesitated before answering, "... no."

Papa's brows furrowed slightly. "Is it in your room?"

"Yeah."

Papa sighed, a weary smile touching his lips. "Stay here, I'll go get it."

Claude waited by the doorway, the seconds stretching into what felt like an eternity. He heard the familiar creak of the stairs as his papa made his way upstairs. Curiously, Claude glanced back to his pa. The man was wearing a slightly irritated expression, but remained looking forward as to not disturb the two. They both knew that Claude's papa loved to play family.

Papa returned, holding the watch delicately in his hand. 

"Keep it safe," he said, placing it in Claude's palm with a gentle smile. "It's yours, after all."

Claude looked at the watch, its face a small, polished mirror reflecting his uncertainty. He didn't put the watch back on his wrist, instead holding onto it within his sweaty palm and walked away.

♡

Needless to say, it was deeply upsetting for Claude to know that while his peers were eagerly going on vacations, beach trips, and summer camps, he was being sent back to the same mental institution for young people where he had spent a difficult part of his childhood. 

It had been five years. He was now fourteen years old.

Claude vividly remembered the institution from when he was nine. The old wallpaper that was peeling away, mostly because some of the other young ones liked to pick at it for fun, the musty smell of it too. The hallways were longer than his middle school, and the longer you stayed in it, the more uncomfortable you felt. Whilst it was filled with young ones, and would still likely be occupied by teenagers his age today, he wouldn't want to waste his time chatting in the hallway. 

"This sucks… I can't believe papa and pa actually went through with this," Claude muttered under his breath, feeling betrayed. Thankfully, he was allowed to keep his laptop. 

To undergo suspension, he very much understood why, but being sent back to what most people call a psychiatric hospital for people with mental illnesses? Claude was perfectly capable of controlling his own emotions. It seemed as though the only crazy ones were his fathers, not him.

"Tch," he spat. 

Should've dragged Phillippe here too.

As he arrived at the institution, a wave of familiarity washed over him. This was the place where he had spent two long years before being adopted. He remembered the countless hours spent studying to catch up on his elementary education, even during the summers, all to prepare for middle school. Being the only few who had made significant emotional and academic progress, he was given a chance to meet a selection of couples who were looking to adopt.

The building itself had remained largely unchanged, save for a white modern remodel at the entrance.

He approached the entrance, dragging his suitcase behind him.

♡

One of the staff members, a kind-faced lady named Charlotte, recognized him immediately. Her eyes widened in surprise when she recognised the same boy, with the same large (though now dulled) eyes, thin brows and neat black hair. Just much taller.

"Anas? Is that really you?" she exclaimed, a warm smile spreading across her face. However, it quickly died when she realised he wasn't a visitor, but now a summer-resident. "What happened? Don't tell me they're abandoning you. I swear, you were a good kid."

Claude nearly winced hearing the name she used to address him. "It's actually Claude now," he corrected gently.

Charlotte's brow furrowed in confusion. "What? You changed your name?"

He shook his head. "No. Papa and pa did."

Charlotte was in her mid-thirties when Claude first arrived. She had a reputation for being bossy. None of the kids listened to her, especially the teenagers when she nagged about doing their washing.

However, she was also kind, helpful, and always gave Claude snacks in secret. When Claude requested a certain textbook, Charlotte always made it a priority to go into the town's library to retrieve it for him. He was overjoyed to hear her tell him, "you are my favourite out of all children here", and he made it his goal to get into a good school. He wanted to assure her he would have a good future.

Seeing her smile made him forget all his worries. Now, it just irritated him. He wanted to go home.

Later, she asked, "What did you say your name meant again?"

"Anas or Claude?"

"Anas."

Claude looked away, his brow furrowing slightly. "I couldn't tell you; I don't remember," he said in a flat tone.

"It means 'friend'," Charlotte explained.

"Why'd you ask me if you remembered?" He couldn't help but frown, crossing his arms defensively.

Pausing, Charlotte's eyes searched his face as if trying to understand the boy she once knew. Except, how easy was it to even understand a murderer in the first place? 

She took her time to answer. "It's a pretty name," she replied simply.

"I don't care," Claude muttered, his gaze dropping to the floor. 

He shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms to let one hand run through his hair. At this, he realised he should've taken a shower yesterday or this morning. He dreaded seeing the state of the shared shower room for the teenagers.

Charlotte wasn't ready to let him go yet. "Do you remember what my name means?"

Of course, he did. Charlotte had been as insufferable as ever when he first came here, insisting on redoing an icebreaker that included all the children who had already been there long-term. She only wanted to make every new child feel welcome and at home. He still remembered hearing them complain and grumble about doing icebreakers for the nth time.

"It means… uh… 'free man'," Claude said, meeting her eyes once more.

"So you do remember," Charlotte said. Claude noticed the longing in her eyes and wondered how monotonous her life must be after he left. "Do you miss being here?" 

He shook his head. "Not really."

Hearing this, Charlotte's face fell. Her expression hardened. "Then you better fix up your attitude quickly and get the hell out of here."

Claude groaned in response.

"So what? Tell me, what happened? Why are you here?" Charlotte pressed on, undeterred. 

"Don't worry, Charlotte," Claude replied, slumping his shoulders. "I'm only here for the summer. They're not un-adopting me. They just sent me back because they thought I went crazy after I bullied a kid on the stairs. He ran, fell, and broke his legs. Didn't push him, by the way, as most people are led to believe."

She ignored his defensive tone. "Down a flight of stairs?"

Claude sighed, "Well, he tripped on the first flight going down, then he kept running even though nobody chased after him, and then he tripped again. So it was more like he fell down flights of stairs."

"You are so stupid, you know that?" She shook her head, slapping him lightly on the arm. "Bullying is so juvenile. You will learn when you get older, and you will regret it and mature. Trust me on that one."

Claude sighed, "I'm sure I will."

"You were such a good kid, and you were better than most here, I'd say."

He glanced away, the memories of his past resurfacing. "I remember being sent here because I stabbed my ummi."

Claude had lost his accent over the years, though it had never been strong to begin with, given that he was only half Moroccan. His French father had always discouraged him from speaking Arabic.

Charlotte looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you remember the first month you were here? All you wanted was your mère. You kept asking me if I knew if your 'ummi' was okay or not." Claude nearly winced hearing how much better her pronunciation was than his. After a brief silence, she added, "You know, I actually wanted to name my son, if I ever had one, Anas."

"You don't even speak Arabic."

Nor did she have any Moroccan relations. 

But none of it mattered. Charlotte had divorced three times already, a fact Claude learned later when she insisted on catching up on their lives. She had never shared this with him when he was a child because it was too complex for him to understand and, frankly, none of his business.

He remembered how, as a child, Charlotte had always seemed invincible. It was only now, as he looked back, that he realised how much she must have been struggling behind that smile.

But, it isn't as if Claude cared enough. After this summer, he swore to never come back.

No matter what improvement he faked to get home as soon as possible, he supposed he would have to keep it up for the rest of his life.

♡

He understood his fathers' desire for him to reflect on his actions here. But as much as he knew he needed to focus on his recent mistakes, he couldn't help but recall the reason he was sent here the first time. It was a memory he had been advised to forget.

In truth, it wasn't something he wanted to think about either. He didn't want to dwell on it, having moved on. He didn't want to think about anything.

As soon as he was finally alone in his room, the first thing he did was take out his laptop. The room was small, its walls now painted a soft white, as the wallpapers were too old to protect the room, with a wooden floor that creaked whenever he moved. Connecting his headphones to his laptop, he opened up BandGarage.

In a fit of rage during his suspension, he had deleted the last few files. Impulsive, he knew. They weren't anything he was particularly proud of, nor could he imagine himself uploading it for everyone to hear, but they would've been nice to keep nonetheless.

He spent his time playing virtual piano, even though it wasn't as great as his actual keyboard left at home. He experimented with virtual drums, too. It was nice to relax, taking his time to do things after the week of exams. Claude had spent more time studying as his excuse to not go out. Not that he was invited to any more parties after the incident. When he started to think too much of school, he took out the free notebook that Charlotte had given him, with the logo of the institution on the cover, and practised Maths questions from free websites.

Unlike the other young people here, Claude didn't use the notebook to record his day-to-day life. He didn't see the point. There was nothing interesting about his life to write about. 

Well, the food was better than it had been when he first arrived years ago. There also opened a small store fifteen minutes away, which Claude was occasionally permitted to go by himself to buy snacks.

♡

Charlotte, later on: 

"Did you know your name means 'lame; crippled'?"

♡

He tried to ignore her.

"I'm not going to name my son that," she insisted. "So Anas it is."

"Well… you can now say you didn't name him after me."

"Why did your fathers called you 'Claude' when you don't have any issues with your legs?" Claude shrugged at her words, unable to answer.

"Probably after Monet."

"It's a stupid name."

"It's quite a common name."

"Your two stupid fathers are forcing you to blend in with these stupid people."

♡

Not much has changed when he went back to middle school for his last year. 

His parents have maintained the same habits, and roles, and whilst they must've enjoyed time to themselves, both his papa and pa greeted him with a smile. They asked him how his summer was, and he could only respond with "boring". He didn't return the question. He can see the tan on their skins. His neighbours, on the other hand, asked him how summer camp was.

The hallways were still filled with the same cliques, with some new changes amongst them. For instance, Darcy and Anna are all of a sudden best friends. Claude supposes the one thing he really missed was that he couldn't hang out with anyone over the summer. Teachers blabbered about their own holidays to the likes of Belgium, Italy, Spain and the Netherlands. Other students talked about going home to see their distant relatives in Vietnam.

Oh, and Kim did get taller. 

Much to Claude's surprise.

He almost didn't recognise Kim if it weren't for the fact that he still felt the need to keep to himself. Despite him being much taller, and leaner, than half the boys in school, he still refused to take part in the social hierarchy. 

Phillippe wasn't impressed.

♡

As high school approached, he promised himself he would do everything right this time. He was determined to prove to his fathers that he was okay, a perfectly fine and sane human being, and that the summer spent at the institution hadn't left him as fractured as he sometimes felt.

Part of this involved making at the minimum one friend.

Being told to help a student out with directions on the first day, despite himself also being new, he saw it as the perfect opportunity to make that first friend.

His appearance, and choice of attire, remained the same apart from the watch he stopped wearing. For his upcoming birthday, he considered asking for a smartwatch, something that felt more fitting. Over the summer, he had caught up with the gym trend, spending hours working out with his papa. The effort had paid off — he had built some muscle, giving him a stronger, more confident appearance.

"Hey, man. What's up?"

The boy, however, seemed unfazed by his friendliness. 

"Felix Agreste," replied the boy instead. "That's my name," he added, seeing Claude momentarily stunned at his tone.

"Excited for day one?" Claude smiled as he walked Felix in, trying to lighten the mood. 

Except, the question was ignored.

Undeterred, Claude tried again. "What did you get up to this summer?"

Felix finally responded, though not in the way Claude had hoped. He explained that he had spent the summer studying extra topics in History and Chemistry. Claude clarified by asking if he went on any vacations or went out to parties, only to be ignored again. It seemed he didn't have any interest in getting to know anyone. 

Claude couldn't say the same for himself. He had never felt this lonely, and the summer spent at the institution only isolated him further. 

Later, Claude found out that Felix Agreste had grown up in a wealthy family, being the son of an infamous Parisian fashion designer. However, he was homeschooled his whole life, and at home had no associated peers to keep him company. He also didn't seem the type to have many playdates as a child or have befriended any other millionaire's children for connections. 

He wondered if Felix ever struggled alone.

From the outside, it might not seem the case because Felix practically isolated himself from everyone. Not just Claude. 

He admits: He doesn't really care about Felix. He can befriend just about anyone, so long as they didn't go to the same middle school. But, he will say he finds Felix interesting.

Remembering Charlotte's obsession with names, he curiously searches up Felix's name at home. Lucky; blessed. 

It was a better name than Claude. 

He decides then that he was determined to befriend Felix.

Chapter Text

Two and a half months in, their Chemistry teacher, Monsieur Martin assigns the class a research presentation project to be completed in pairs. 

Felix confesses that whilst he is used to his classmates by now, he is irritated by the fact that he is forced to interact with his classmates more. See: The whole thing about public school is that, although grades are important, working together as a team is equally valued. If not, more valued than individually-graded assignments. In order to be able to work in any good salary job, one must be able to effectively communicate with their teammates even during disagreements.

Having been raised by a single father, who designs his own clothing line with little need to consult others for opinions, due to his little amount of self-doubt, Felix is well aware that he struggles to integrate into society because of this. But he doubts that integrating into his current environment is beneficial.

"I've picked the pairs at random," announces Monsieur Martin. 

Oh, great, thinks Felix. 

Their Chemistry teacher begins to call out the pairs. 

The longer Felix listens on, the more he starts to consider who his partner may be. Forget physical attributes, what about his partner's academic abilities? Their commitment? Felix will play along with the social and teamwork aspect if he must, in order to make his partner more comfortable around him. He's done it already with Ladybug, he can do it again. 

"Felix Agreste." 

At this, Felix's head perks up.

"And Claude Savard."

Felix can physically feel Kim's eyes burning into his skin, even with just a quick annoyed glance. Mentally, Felix prepares himself to be confronted by Kim again the next boxing lesson.

At least Claude is one of the more reliable partners.

♡

This week, most of their mock test results have been returned. As expected, Felix scored exceptionally well. Every paper reported back with neat red nineties or full marks at the top of the page. Every subject but one.

Holding onto his French Literature paper tightly, his thumb covers the large '42%' in the corner. 

By the time the hallway has emptied when school ended, Plagg pokes his head out of Felix's pocket, his tiny voice breaking the silence: "Hey, it's just one bad grade. Don't worry too much about it."

Felix does not look down. "One bad grade matters when the rest of my results are above ninety."

Plagg stretches out, floating just above the pocket flap. "Oh, come on! It's French literature. It's not like you're failing rocket science. The curtains are blue, which means your dude is sad. The end. If you can read 'Jekyll and Hyde' in English without blinking, you can handle a poem or two in your native language."

Felix's jaw clenches. He doesn’t reply. The paper has been marked thoroughly. Phrases circled. Whole sections of his analysis crossed out. The comment scrawled at the end still echoes in his mind: "Well-written, but you missed most of the points."

He stops in front of Monsieur Legrand's classroom. The door is closed. His hand hovers over for a moment before he strikes his knuckles against it—two short knocks, tight and controlled.

"Come in!"

He steps inside. 

The overhead lights have been turned off, the afternoon sun filters through the half-lowered blinds. Monsieur Legrand is at his desk, still grading other assignments with a red pen, glasses perched low on his nose. When he looks up and sees who has entered, his eyes widens slightly in surprise.

"Ah. Felix." He places his pen down slowly. "I assumed you'd be the principal giving me grief for some reason."

"I want to discuss my test paper."

"Yes," he says slowly. "You seemed to have struggled with it. Grab a seat and sit."

Felix hesitates for only a moment before taking a seat from one of the desks and pulling it forward to the teacher's desk. Then, he sets out his test paper on the desk. 

"So, what is it about your test that you struggled with?"

"Apparently everything."

He sighs. "You gave me an essay that was structurally clean. Impeccable grammar. You know how to form an argument, that's clear," says Monsieur Legrand, flipping through the paper. "However, you seem to always misunderstand the question."

Felix tilts his head slightly, lips pressed into a flat line. "I answered the prompt. I backed up my thesis. You just didn't like my interpretation."

"That isn't true. I've never given students a number to grade their essays," Monsieur Legrand continues. "Only feedback. Except, this was a test. I do believe that feedback is more valuable—helps them reflect, rethink. And I have also given you feedback on why your points are not strong enough. They need to be better supported."

"I've never had a problem before when I was tutored privately."

"And that," Monsieur Legrand says, leaning forward just a bit, "is part of the problem." He clears his throat. "In private tutoring, your essays were likely read by only one person. Maybe two, if your father hired more staff. But let's be honest—if the goal was to get a number and move on, then most of your feedback wasn't there to push you, it was there to please you. Or, more accurately, to please your father. In school, especially when it comes to literature and theory-based exams, your written work is often assessed by multiple examiners."

Felix watches Monsieur Legrand gesture vaguely as if outlining an invisible system. However, Felix believes that simply because he was exempt from unbiased treatment does not mean he was not trained up to standard. 

"You don't know anything about my father."

"No, but, I know how systems work. In school—real school—your writing is assessed by multiple people. Passed between markers. Compared. Debated. It's not neat. It's not tailored to flatter you. It's honest." Monsieur Legrand closes the paper and looks back up. "Felix, your writing sounds clever. But it often lacks support. You don't explain why the author said what he said and what kinds of emotions his writing might encourage people to feel. Even though I give you and all the class the correct answers, and the evidence to support it, you don't use it."

"I'd like to think there's more than one answer to a question."

"And that's not wrong in thinking," Legrand replies. "In fact, if you can present a different answer, one I didn't expect, and back it up with actual evidence? I'll be the first to reward it."

He lets that sit for a moment. Felix looks unconvinced, but slightly less rigid in his posture.

"To prove a point," Monsieur Legrand says, reaching down into the stack of homework books on the ground beside his desk. "Let's look at one of your classmates' work."

He pulls out a slim pink-covered notebook. Felix caught the name written in black ink along the edge: Bridgette Dupain-Cheng.

He opens it and lays it flat. The page is covered in neat, round handwriting. But there are also underlined quotes in pencil and margins filled with little doodles—mostly sketchy eyes, flowers, and the occasional cartoon cat. 

"Here. This is one of the possible test questions I got you all to do before the mock test. It might show up in the actual tests in January," Legrand says, pointing to the question: 'How does the author use characterisation to deepen our understanding of the protagonist?'

Felix squints at the answer. 

"Here Bridgette has answered with references not only to the text but what she imagined the character might have felt in certain scenes. She drew connections to how that empathy changed the pacing, how it affected the other characters' choices."

Alongside the margin, a red tick. Another. And a note:

"Excellent insight. Lovely use of characterisation. And as always, charming sketches—keep them coming."

Felix stares at it longer than he means to.

"Would you like to take Bridgette's book home to review?" 

Felix's eyes flicks up fast. Traumatic flashbacks. "No. That won't be necessary."

"It would be beneficial."

Monsieur Legrand then moves onto another possible exam question, followed by asking Felix how he would write his answer, and how Felix could improve his answer if he explained why not just how historical and cultural context could matter to the story, but the character's background and personality too.

The two engage in a bit of back and forth before Felixfinally says, "I've already passed tenth grade, so I suppose it doesn't really matter to me."

Monsieur Legrand's brow lifts slightly. "I suppose. But this is me telling you the harsh truth. How are you planning to pass eleventh grade if you keep writing like this? You're staying in public school for the rest of high school, aren't you?"

"Yes," Felix answers hesitantly.

"Then take this year to catch up on literature. Listen to me in class," he suggests, folding his hands together. "Don't bury yourself in Chemistry, or History, or English just because they're easy for you. You'll need Literature next year—and not just for grades. You'll need it for life. If you want to work in a good career where you will be talking and empathising with lots of people someday. If you want to be a good person."

Felix stiffens slightly at that.

"I'm not saying you aren't intelligent," Felix hears his teacher continue. "You are. But intelligence and empathy are two very different muscles, Felix. One helps you succeed. The other helps you understand what success even means. Listen, son. You won't like this, but maybe you should consider making some friends."

"I don't—"

"Just hear me out," Monsieur Legrand holds up a hand. "Talk to people when they talk to you. Not with those one-word brush-offs, either. Ask them questions. Find out their interests, their opinions. Offer your own. Have real conversations. It can drastically change the way you think." 

He pauses, analysing Felix's expression.

"Your father is coming to the school at the end of the month. We'll be discussing your test results, your participation, and your general adjustment." Felix's jaw twitches slightly hearing this. "Your mock exams are in January. That gives you all of December to do some serious practice. However, you're probably better focusing on other things more than studying, And, I'm gonna tell you something that you probably won't like to hear: December is usually cheery. Exciting. Don't waste it. Don't study every second of every day. Take the time to relax . Talk to your classmates about Christmas. Or snow. Or anything, really. How about that?"

Felix doesn't answer.

"Is it hard for you to talk to others?"

"Not at all. I just choose not to." His teacher seems unconvinced.

Monsieur Legrand leans back slightly in his chair, but pushes Bridgette's notebook towards the boy. "Bridgette doesn't really need this. I'll tell her I lost it. But I am thinking of holding after-school classes soon to help some of you students. You are welcome to join."

"Okay, thank you," Felix says curtly and stands up.

♡

After school, Claude decides that it wouldn't hurt to stop by the library for the first time since the term has started. He figures that if he wanted to be on Felix's good side that he should get some additional knowledge on Chemistry first by doing it the classic way.

Books. 

Claude believes that it is the only way to show Felix that he is taking it seriously, as the boy did not look very happy during class when their names were announced together.

His plan was simple: skim through a couple of textbooks, jot down some notes relevant to the theme of their presentation. Then, when the two meet up, Claude could get a head start on putting the notes up on his laptop. This would then give them more time to rehearse presenting.

Walking through the aisle for 'Science', he pulls two textbooks for a quick look. This will do , he thinks.

But instead of heading to the librarian's desk to check it out, he begins to drift to the next aisle in 'Fiction'. He has never been much of a reader, and his fathers never forced him onto it considering he was already juggling many extracurriculars in middle school. Perhaps he could give it a shot.

He snorts at the thought—that Felix would notice. The boy would see Claude reading alone in the courtyard, or in the cafeteria, and his eyes would light up. He would be excited, walking right up to Claude and say: "No way, Claude! You're reading the same gothic Victorian book that I'm reading! No one has ever been able to understand me the way you do! Don't you think the characters are so pitiful? I really relate to them because…"

Claude then shakes his head.

Yeah—Felix would never say something like that. In fact, Claude isn't even sure what kind of books Felix actually reads, only that they always look complicated, old, and probably depressing. And truthfully, Claude's never had much interest in any of it.

He admits: It is hard befriending someone who is completely different to you. But there is no way that it is an impossible feat. People are different for a reason. Even if Claude were an exact replica of Felix—say if he was adopted by a wealthy family instead that valued appearance and status above all else, and brought up in the same isolated environment—even then, it is unlikely that he and Felix would ever have become friends. Because Felix would still have no interest in befriending anyone.

Randomly, Claude takes out a plain black hardback book. It looks rather ruined, with no title and no summary. But it is definitely the most sophisticated-looking book among the rest. Also, out of place.

This one looks like the kind of book Felix would pick, Claude thinks, amused.

He flips it open to the first page. His brow furrows almost immediately.

This isn't in French.

He blinks, flips a few more pages. The words are unfamiliar. He is pretty certain that the letters do not even belong to the latin alphabet. 

Whatever, he shrugs to himself.

♡

The late afternoon sun casts long shadows across the cracked pavement. The golden light glazes across the top of the gateposts and the benches along the path, but it did little to ease the stiffness in Felix's shoulders.

"Felix?" says Plagg. The kwami pokes its head out when it receives no response. "Hey, don't feel too bad about what Monsieur Le-Graaande said. He thinks he's too good, hence his name."

Felix exhales, just barely a sigh. "You're not helping."

"I'm trying to," Plagg replies, floating out and hovering near Felix's shoulder. "I mean, it wasn't that bad. He didn't fail you. He didn't throw the paper into the fire and declare you unworthy of literature. He just… challenged you. I think you're more annoyed that he made sense."

"Felix!" 

Hearing the voice, Plagg immediately flies back into Felix's pocket. 

Felix reluctantly turns around. "Claude," he addresses the boy.

"Well, well. Interesting seeing you here." Claude's backpack is slung over one shoulder.

"School's finished. Obviously," Felix replies cooly.

"Yeah, but it finished thirty minutes ago . And you're only just walking out now."

"Just talking to a teacher, is all." Felix turns around and begins to walk. Claude attempts to catch up with one skip.

"I was in the library. Figured I'd find something to read for our project and not just get everything off the internet." With that said, Claude digs into his backpack and takes out one book. "But look what I found. This one—this one's weird."

He hands it over to Felix. From its outside appearance, it looks to be on ordinary, classic hardback book. However, there is no title on the front nor spine. Curious, he flips through the book and recognises the text style. 

"This book—"

"I know , right? Weird, huh? I just grabbed it because the symbol looked cool. But I flipped through it, and it's full of this strange writing. Totally unreadable. Some pages look like diagrams, but I don't recognize the language." He laughs a little. "I checked it out due to curiosity."

Felix's attention does not leave the book as he hands it back to Claude. His posture has subtly changed. Straighter, more alert. "May I borrow it after you?"

Claude looks at him with mild surprise. "You're interested?"

Felix hesitates, then answers simply, "Perhaps."

"Well, okay, 'perhaps', he says— mysteriously , like he's hiding the secrets of the universe," Claude teases in an overly dramatic tone. "Refraining from showing even a sliver of joy out of his interests." Claude nudges him lightly with an elbow, much to Felix's dismay. "You know, if you actually got excited about stuff like this—like, openly excited—I wouldn't judge you. No one would. I'd just be happy you're showing more emotions. You've got, like, three."

"Three?"

"Stoic, stern, serious." 

"Those are descriptions, not emotions."

"You can keep it if you want. Actually—here. Take it." Claude ignores him and hands it back to Felix. "Only for you, my dude. My most emotionally repressed Chemistry partner."

"Thanks." Though there's little appreciation in his voice after Claude's mockery.

"Speaking of Chemistry, who's house are we doing the project at? Do you wanna come to mine, or should I come to yours?"

"I don't mind either way."

"Alright, how about tomorrow we work at yours, and the day after that, mine?"

Felix frowns slightly, suddenly remembering. "Why can't we just do it in the library?"

Claude makes a face. "You can't talk in the library."

♡

Claude closes the door behind him as he enters his bedroom.

He crosses the room, reaching to his dresser where at the top of it sits a small medicine bottle. There is not much left in it. Opening it, he takes one pill out and pops it onto his tongue, letting the bitterness rest there for a moment before rushing to grab his half-full water bottle from the floor near his bed.

He takes a long swig, swallowing quickly. 

Right. Notes.

Claude really should get started. He has those chemistry points to finish before meeting up with Felix. Not that he exactly wanted to do it now.

Maybe he could ease himself into productivity. After finishing his schoolwork, he could make some music. He does need to have something for show for Jean's Halloween party.

He flops onto his desk chair and pulls out his phone, unlocking it with a quick swipe. A small grin creases onto his face as he sees that he has gained a couple more listeners on SoundCloud.

A knock sounds at the door.

He doesn't look up. "Come in."

His papa's head pops in, the door leaving a small gap. "I'm heading out to the gym while your pa is handling dinner tonight—wanna come with?"

Claude hesitates for half a second, then shrugs to himself.

"Sure," he calls back. "Just lemme change. Oh, and papa?"

His papa turns back.

“I’m running low on medication. Can we see the pharmacist before the gym?”

“For your antidepressants?” Claude nods. “Sure.”

♡

For the first time in his life, Felix decides to postpone studying for later and it is not due to procrastination. He swears by that. Instead, he pulls out the old book Claude handed him, filled with text that makes no sense. 

It is deemed more important than Bridgette's notebook sitting untouched in his bag.

"Plagg," he calls, as he flips through the pages of incomprehensible text. "Is this book important?"

The kwami floats lazily into view, mid-yawn. "Not really. It was just a regular copy of some nonsense. But when my presence was summoned near it, well…" Felix watches him give a small, careless shrug. "You know how I work. Destruction and all. I didn't exactly tear it apart, but I did ruin whatever was written in it. My energy scrambled the contents. Happens sometimes."

"Happens sometimes?"

"My power works in mysterious ways due to its misfortune aspect."

Frowning, Felix asks, "So it is just a ordinary book warped by your energy?"

Felix stares at the pages again, trying to make sense of the symbols. He hopes for some pattern to click. Perhaps it could be some ancient language spoken and read by kwamis, and has somehow translated French into the language by Plagg's magic, except Plagg is just too illiterate to understand. But there was nothing. No logic. Just chaos pressed between old paper.

"If there was a book on the history of kwamis," he adds, "That would be useful."

Plagg cocks his head. "You say you don't care, but here you are, wishing for a textbook on my species to get to know me better?"

"I don't."

"Sure you don't," Plagg says with a half smirk. "For the record, though—there's no physical record of kwami history. Not anymore. It was all supposed to be erased. That book? Meant to be destroyed by my touch as soon as I materialised from thin air."

Before Felix can respond, Plagg floats down and gently touches the open page with one paw. The book disintegrates in a silent flash of black dust. Gone. Felix recoils slightly, blinking at the now-empty space in his lap. At least there was no need for him to return this book.

He looks up, scowling. "I can't believe you made me excited over a book for nothing."

Plagg snorts. "That wasn't excitement."

Felix narrows his eyes. "What was it, then?"

"A very moody, very emotionally-repressed form of interest," Plagg says smugly. "Claude was right. You really do struggle to express emotions."

Felix looks away, jaw tight.

He thinks of his literature paper still folded in his bag. He still doesn't want to do the homework. Not after what Monsieur Legrand said. Empathy. Emotion. Talk to people. Felix had no idea what any of that had to do with writing better essays. He offered facts to support his points, what more does Monsieur Legrand need?

What made less sense was that earlier this week, he overheard Jean complaining about the need to read more books. As it is supposedly the solution to getting better at French lit. What a joke , Jean said. But reading is all Felix does . And he is still struggling.

He leans back against his chair, closing his eyes.

Maybe he should go on patrol tonight. 

At least being Cat Noir makes sense.

"Plagg, have you eaten already?"

"Oh wow, you really do care about me," says Plagg. "And yes, I have."

"Good." Felix stands up immediately. "Because we're going to patrol the city now."

"Wait—what? Why? You don't even know if Ladybug is going to be out tonight."

"I want people to see me. People through windows,  with phones. Someone will post something. A blurry video, a photo, whatever. Just enough for Ladybug to come across it. She will then know I'm out there. She will see that I'm serious about this." He then mutters softly, "After all, I upsetted her last time. And I can't fix that if she thinks I'm not trying."

"Ugh, okay."

"Plagg, claws out!"

Cat Noir exits through his window. The night is waiting.

♡

Bridgette sits cross-legged on her bed, surrounded by opened textbooks with stray worksheets from different subjects overlapping. On the corner of her bed is her sketchbook, opened, but nearly about to fall off the bed.

The edge of her mechanical pencil taps absently against the page as she works through a Maths problem she had already given up on twice.

The window beside her bed is opened just slightly, letting in the cool evening breeze. Then—movement. Her pencil freezes as she turns her head towards the window, catching a familiar flicker of black and blond in the distance.

Finally, an excuse to not do her Maths homework!

"Tikki, spots on!" 

With a flash of red and light, her transformation overtakes her in a heartbeat. She turns toward the window, grabbing the frame with one gloved hand and throwing it fully open. Cool air rushes into the room, scattering a few pages of homework across her bed like white butterflies.

Without a second thought, she vaults forward, her feet landing lightly on the ledge. She doesn’t hesitate materialising her yo-yo in hand, swinging herself across the rooftops in Cat Noir's direction.

"Fancy seeing you here, Ladybug," says Cat Noir, as nonchalant as he could even though he anticipated she would follow him.

"Of course. Since you're here too." Ladybug lands lightly beside him. Her gaze shifts around, looking beneath the streets. "Did you see anyone?"

Cat Noir shakes his head. "No… I'm just on patrol. It's our heroic duty now to protect the city."

Ladybug arches an eyebrow, smirking just a little. "Ah. Taking this job seriously now?" she teases.

By now, she knows him enough to expect a comeback, even something that is directed towards her instead. 

Cat Noir doesn’t respond immediately. There is the faint creak of metal as wind brushes by. His eyes stays forward, jaw slightly tense. Then, slowly, he turns to her with his signature smile, the one that magazines like to go into detail about. 

"As always, my lady."

She knows that he is faking it. She knows there is something up lately. Perhaps he is tired as she is too?

And before she can respond, he leaps. His figure cuts through the air like a shadow, landing on the next rooftop with barely a sound. Normally, this would be the part where she'd go in the opposite direction, scanning her own sector of the city. They always split up eventually. But Ladybug hesitates only a second before leaping after him, her yo-yo spinning as she swings across the gap. 

They run together across two more rooftops before she speaks again, "You know, Cat Noir... I don't really understand you."

He slows, just enough to glance over at her. His ears perk subtly at the sound of her voice.

"What do you mean?" he asks, almost innocently.

"The first day we met, you were... annoyed. Clearly not thrilled about being a superhero. It was written all over your face." She takes a breath, steady but sure. "But then, the second time we saw each other, you comforted me. You said it was our duty, our Fate. That we had to do this, and that we were more than capable of doing so. Like you understood what it meant."

He doesn't interrupt, though his pace falters slightly.

"And yet," she continues, voice softer now as she recalls the events following Guitar Villain, "You still don't really get what being a hero means, do you, Cat Noir?"

She watches him, walking ahead.

"You think getting rid of the enemy is all there is to it."

Cat Noir stops his movements. He has not expected this of her at all.

The wind picks up again. His long blond hair tickles his face as they move with the wind. 

Ladybug watches his face. His usual playfulness isn't there. His smirk has faded. And for the first time in a long time, he looks... unsure.

Cat Noir thinks for a long second.

A very long second.

He stares into the dark horizon, debating whether to pull the thought from his chest or leave it buried, where it is safer.  But then he glances sideways at her. Her eyes open and waiting. He decides that, perhaps, it would be a good idea to let her in on a part of his personal life. 

In order to get to know each other better, he thinks to himself. That way, she could perhaps share her life, with leading clues that suggests of who she really is.

That was one of his plans. Find her in civilian form. Court her. Kiss her.

"In... my civilian life," he begins, then chooses to sit down in the same spot he stands, "some people would say I'm weird."

Ladybug follows.

"Most people know I'm different," he continues. "In the sense that I grew up a little differently compared to everyone else. Actually... a lot differently." He runs a hand through his hair, ears flicking slightly. "If you saw who I really was underneath this mask—and the way I really talk, or act—you'd probably think: 'No way. That's not Cat Noir. That's... someone else entirely.' But… what can I say? This is my first time being a superhero."

"Oh," she says gently. "That is... understandable. I guess it can be hard for us to really know each other when we have to hide who we are."

But what if we didn't?

What if you just kissed me right now?

"But how about this?" she says, her voice brightening just a touch. "You have role models, don't you? People you look up to?"

He tilts his head, slightly unsure.

I suppose not, then.

Ladybug elucidates, "Whenever I feel overwhelmed, or unsure, I think about the people I admire. I try to act how they would act. Think like them. It helps me carry myself with more confidence. It sort of makes me more dependable than I really am. So whenever I struggle as Ladybug, I think about my role models."

"Role models?" he almost says to himself.

"Yeah! Like... your maman or papa, maybe. Grandparents. If you have any cousins. Your neighbour, maybe. A teacher. A friend. Someone who showed you how to be brave without saying a word." 

Looking at his face clearly, she notes how his expression has not changed. And this stillness says more than the silence lingering between them. 

She adds, trying to offer a different perspective: "You know, even a book or cartoon character can be a role model. That's why people write them."

"Have you ever read 'Jekyll and Hyde'?" he asks suddenly, turning just slightly towards her.

Ladybug blinks, caught off guard by the question. "Isn't that a musical?"

Cat Noir chuckles under his breath, the sound low and dry. "I didn't know there was a musical. But no, I meant the original book. By Robert Louis Stevenson."

It amazes Ladybug by how perfect his pronunciation of the English author is.

She shakes her head. "No, I haven't read it. I've only heard of the musical as well. What's it about?"

He leans back on his hands, gaze drifting up toward the starless sky. "It's about a man named Henry Jekyll. A good man—at least by society's standards. He's respected, kind, intelligent. A doctor. He does charity work, he's well-mannered, well-spoken. The kind of person everyone trusts." He pauses. "But in a series of written confessions, he admits he's always had these darker urges—things he couldn't act on. Things he buried deep. So he creates a way to separate those two sides of himself. One, the good man as himself. The other, Edward Hyde. However, even if he believes himself to be one and not the other, for instance the awful man that is Hyde, it's only because, radically, he is both."

He turns to her. His gaze falls on her lips, which he notices her chewing on.

"What do you think about that, my lady?"

"I… uh…" she struggles to come up with an answer.

Felix admits he is not much of a romantic at heart. 

She would never kiss me after a conversation like this.

The silence stretches for another breath. The longer that Ladybug looks into Cat Noir's eyes, the more lost she begins to feel. 

Then—fluttering.

A soft, sudden rustle cuts through the quiet. The flap of wings.

Cat Noir's ears twitch. Ladybug stiffens.

From the corner of the rooftop, a lone pigeon lands with surprising force. Its beady eyes blink once, then twice, head twitching at a stiff angle as it cocks its gaze toward them.

The two superheroes immediately moves into position, just how they are used to.

♡

With no pressing need to return to Monsieur Remier just yet, the soft wind carries Pigeon Four towards a windowsill in which it lands.

Inside, Darcy Visage sits at her desk reading through her class notes. As she reaches for her glass of water, she notices the movement outside her window. She tilts her head, and sees clearly that it is only a pigeon. Her heart ticks a little, but she notes that the pigeon is not making any effort to break in, nor attack or dirty her window. In fact, it is not even looking at her. It isn't menacing at all.

She unlatches the window and slides it open slightly, letting in a breeze that smells faintly of night rain and city dust.

"I hope there's just one of you," she says, half to herself, half to the bird. Her voice is dry but not unkind. "If there's a whole army waiting, I'm going to regret this."

The pigeon does turn its head. It does not make any effort to move much else.

Darcy leans forward, her arms crossed as she relaxes, studying the bird. Its eyes are beady and black. And through it, Darcy can only see her own reflection.

"They're saying you're evil nowadays," she murmurs. "But I don't think you even know what's going on. Not a thought behind those little eyes."

As if trying to understand, the pigeon tilts its head.

"You're just doing what you're told. Or what you think you're supposed to do." She reaches one arm out, attempting to pet its soft feathers. 

However, just as she manages to not startle the pigeon, her father calls loudly from outside her room:

"Darcy! I'm home!"

She turns at the sound of her papa. And just as quickly, she turns around only to find that the little pigeon is gone.

Darcy closes the window, hearing the latch click back into place.

The sound of the front door opening echoes faintly down the hallway. She turns toward it, stepping out of her room just as her father set down his briefcase near the coat rack.

"You're home early," she says, blinking in surprise.

Her papa gives a tired smile as he loosens his tie. "Yeah. Shocking, I know."

Being fifteen, nearly sixteen, the court doesn't care as much about her papa accompanying her every second of the day like they would with a younger child.

He shuffles into the living room and drops into his usual armchair facing the television. His posture slumps in a way that suggests he has been holding himself upright all day. Darcy follows and curls up on the sofa nearby, legs tucked beneath her

"I mean, I know I'm the mayor and all," he begins, running a hand through his greying hair. "And I'm supposed to work late hours, long meetings, boring reports… but it's never been this bad since the whole Ladybug and Cat Noir thing. We had big problems before. Now we have even bigger problems on top of it all."

There is a short pause.

"I wish I could help," Darcy says. "But I'm no Ladybug."

Her papa lets out a dry laugh. "I'd love a Ladybug who could solve political problems. Parisians aren't happy with me lately," he admits. "We've lost a lot of money. Between all the public warnings, advertising, and safety drills... The city's budget is slowly bleeding. Even if Ladybug restores all the damage in the end, we're still expected to build safety zones, keep up emergency protocols and calm the public. And all of that means we still can't fully deal with homelessness. Or single mothers who aren't getting the aid they need. Or kids who've fallen behind in school. There's only so much I can do."

He leans back in the chair and sighs deeply.

"And it's all because of stupid pigeons."

Darcy bites her lip.

As the mayor's daughter, Darcy wishes she could do something to help. During school lockdowns, when chaos erupted somewhere in the city again, the most she could do was stay inside the classroom, help keep things calm, and make sure no one panicked. Which, thankfully, they usually didn't. 

Most of her classmates were used to it by now.

But that only makes Darcy feel worse. It isn't bravery. It is numbness.

She hated that she didn't have more to offer, especially when her papa comes home looking the way he does tonight.

As if sensing the lull in conversation, her papa speaks again. "Anyway," he says, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "How's your mother?"

"She's fine," Darcy replies. "She wasn't too… abnormal. I got home from school, we had dinner, and watched a few episodes of that baking competition show before bed. You know how she gets overly invested in the judging."

Her papa chuckles softly. 

Then, she adds: "But no, she isn't exactly seeing anyone, if that's what you were asking."

Her papa lets out a long breath—somewhere between a sigh and a laugh—but neither sounds relieved. Then, in a mock whine, he mutters, "'The government's not doing anything. The mayor doesn't give a shit about us.' That's what they say. Every day. As if I'm not out there, working double shifts, sitting in endless meetings... How come no one cares that I just went through a divorce?"

Darcy has grown used to her parents respectively complaining about one another to her. 

"I'm sorry, Darcy," he says. "I've just been... emotional lately."

"It's okay, Papa."

"Do you wanna do anything this weekend?" he asks, attempting to make up for the lack of time he has spent at home with her.

Darcy hesitates only briefly. "Oh—I was going to go out with Anna. Actually…" She glances at him, hopeful. "Can she sleep over tomorrow night?"

"Sure," he answers with no hesitation.

With that, Darcy decides to go back to her room. The hallway is quiet again as she steps out. She doesn't hear any noises from the television. 

Sometimes, she wishes she could be one of Paris's pigeons. Just wander the sidewalks all day, hang out with her pigeon friends, fly around a little, find some food, sleep. No big expectations. No responsibilities.

Of course, she is proud of her father. She still remembers the press conference when he first announced he was running for mayor—standing tall, promising to protect Paris and make it better for everyone. For his little girl and her mama. He said those words exactly. 

At the time, she didn't understand why her maman had told her not to tell anyone she was the mayor's daughter. 

Her father tries his best to be the best mayor, to keep his promises to the people. However, somewhere along the way, he forgot how to be a husband. The divorce felt sudden. She blamed her maman at first, for starting arguments out of nowhere. Then she blamed her papa, for drifting, for becoming more absorbed in politics than in parenting.

Eventually, she realized something deeper: The cracks were always there. Long before she was even born.

People can change, yes. But more often than not, they revert back to their old ways

With that said, will Paris change for the better? Or maybe what Paris was before was the best it could have been. 

She hopes that when Ladybug and Cat Noir defeat Papillon, it could be better again.

♡

"You thought a patrol was enough for her, don't you?" 

"Shut up, Plagg."

♡

The two typically share different classes for last period, which means that their classes never really cross at the end of the day. After being assigned as a pair, Felix reluctantly gave away his number, to which Claude was ecstatic about. 

It does not take long for the euphoria to fade, however, as Claude soon realises that Felix is not much of a texter. Or a replier.

In fact, he has never seen Felix on his phone much. Whenever he spots the boy sitting alone, he was always nose-deep in a book with a heavy cover and no pictures.

After being ignored three messages in a row, Claude decides to wait near the school gates. He leans against the brick wall to the side, his eyes half-scrolling through his phone and half-scanning the crowd of students that is still walking out. Then—there it is. A flash of blond.

Even if Felix isn't blond, Claude would still know just by his posture.

Claude perks up immediately, pocketing his phone in a flash. He practically leaps from his spot, intercepting Felix with an unwanted grin.

"Hey, dude!"

Felix stops, almost startled. 

Now that Claude sees him, Felix does seem rather absentminded since he walks with his head tilted down. Felix does not say anything, and Claude wonders if the boy is still distracted by whatever he was thinking about. For a loner, he has to always be thinking about something. Claude should know.

He notices how Felix quickly stiffens his already perfect posture, finally looking him in the eyes as the rest of the students walk past them.

Holding his hands up a little, he softens his tone. "Sorry, didn't mean to scare you."

Felix's grip tightens on the straps of his bag. "You didn't scare me."

Claude chuckles nervously as he rubs the back of his neck. "Right… So, uh, I guess you're gonna lead me to your house now?" he asks, already cringing at how awkward it sounded out loud. "Like we arranged?"

"Of course," replies Felix. "I normally walk. It takes approximately thirty minutes. However, we can take the bus for a quicker journey, if that's more convenient for you."

Claude straightens himself as well. 

"Walking is fine!"

Chapter Text

Walking home is awkward for the both of them.

Claude has imagined this opportunity differently. It would have been the perfect chance to get to know Felix better. Perhaps he would crack a joke that Felix could laugh at in which he otherwise wouldn't in the presence of many people. In reality, each time Claude asks a question, he receives a one-word answer.

Felix is really determined to be alone.

"What kind of music do you like?"

"Classical."

"You always walk home?"

"Yes."

"Favorite food?"

"Can't say."

Great! Progress! Claude drew two words out of him.

Claude tries to keep the mood light, joking, "Come on, man, you gotta give me something to work with here. Do you even breathe when I'm not around?"

But Felix doesn't even crack a smile. He just walks, one hand in his pocket and the other holding onto the straps of his bag. His steps perfectly measured.

He's really determined to be alone, Claude thinks. Even when he's not.

For Felix, the silence from Plagg is a rare relief. For once, the kwami isn't pestering him with snarky observations or trying to float into someone's sandwich. But the trade-off? Claude. His classmate walks beside him with relentless, strange optimism—like a golden retriever trying to make friends with a brick wall.

He is sick of Claude's immense curiosity in his life, as if his life was much more interesting than anyone else's. Felix answers only because not answering would be ruder. But he doesn't offer more. He does not open up because he does not wish to. How much more difficult can it be for Claude to understand?

Still, Claude keeps trying.

And it is irritating.

Not because Claude is loud or offensive in the same manner that Plagg is. It is the way he talks as though everything matters. For instance, he talks about his favourite childhood cartoon character, and how the show is still releasing new seasons for the younger generations but it simply is not the same as it used to be. Or,  his favourite underground rapper on SoundCloud who followed him back one day and that made all the difference in the world.

It is all so idle.

Nothing he says makes sense, Felix thinks. None of this conversation is meaningful. It's just filler. White noise with legs.

And yet, somewhere in the back of his mind, Felix hears Monsieur Legrand's voice.

"Talk to people when they talk to you… Ask them questions… Have real conversations. It can drastically change the way you think." 

There's no way, thinks Felix, that simply having a conversation about trivial things would get him a better grade in French Lit.

He has just gotten used to losing an extra hour a day walking to and from school. At first, he resents the inefficiency. He lost time to endless sidewalks, crowds, pushing past other people and had to make it a habit of checking the weather. But over the days, the rhythm of it settles. Strangely, it all passes quicker than he expects it to.

Yes, there is unwelcomed noise in the background but they remained in the background. Other people’s chit chat. The wind. The bicycle bells. He has even learned to tune out Plagg because of it.

Finally, the two reach the Agreste Mansion.

He presses the button beside the gates. A soft chime echoes on the other end, alerting either Nathalie or one of the other securities of his arrival. A routine he does everyday, much like his classmates do too at school. Yet, Claude finds it a fascinating new experience with a breathy "woah". 

The iron gate slides open with a quiet mechanical hum. Felix enters, and Claude follows quickly as he glances around at the manicured hedges and polished stone pathways.

It is only a quick walk before they reach the main door. Warmth greets them as they step inside the foyer. 

Felix barely catches sight of Nathalie's head walking down one of the hallways. She moves so briskly, yet her heels makes almost no sound as she disappears down towards what Felix imagines to be the smaller back garden. He knows it well. She is heading out for another smoke, far away from the butterfly garden, which Felix has not really visited since the dream he last had.

It's a good thing, he thinks, that Nathalie didn't catch sight of Felix with a guest. Even though she is aware. Perhaps she is kind enough to give Felix the space he needs.

The only other person in the foyer is the bodyguard. Large, expressionless, stationed like a statue near the entrance to the sitting room. Claude nearly jumps when he notices him.

Claude then turns to Felix. "So… are you going to introduce me to your family?"

Felix blinks. "Huh?"

Tilting his head, Claude explains, "You know. That's usually what people do when someone comes over. Like, 'Hey, this is my dad. This is my friend from school or soccer, Claude'. Unless, you know, their parents are away for the weekends and your friend invited you over secretly." He raises a brow, "Was that woman your mother?"

His response comes a second too late, having to think how to phrase it. "Nathalie is not related to me. She is my father's secretary. She has… things to do."

Claude notices the slight shift in Felix's posture, a tightening at the shoulders, as much as he tries to remain still. Claude decides not to dig. Instead, he plays it cool.

"Oh, okay. Cool," he says, trying his hardest to ignore the gaze of the bodyguard. "Lead me to your room, then. We should probably start on this project before we get too sidetracked. Not that I think we'd get sidetracked, of course, but... you know, just in case."

Felix turns, already walking down the other hallway. "I was thinking we could work in the library."

Just as he begins to follow, Claude pauses mid-step. "You… have a library?"

"Yes?" Felix glances over his shoulder. 

Claude lets out a short, disbelieving laugh as he hurries to catch up. "Right. Of course you do. Honestly, I don't even know why I'm surprised anymore." The two continue to walk, and Claude suddenly speaks again but in a high-pitched voice: "Hey, maybe you should take me to the secret lair after working on our project! I bet you have all sorts of cool gadgets! Secret doors, laser swords and teleportation guns!"

"I don't know what you're talking about."

♡

They have been working inside the Agreste's library for about half an hour. 

The space itself feels more like a museum than a study room: tall bookshelves lines the walls, filled with leather-bound volumes and hardcovers that look ancient. A long polished table stretches between the boys, one side claimed by Felix's neatly stacked textbooks, the other cluttered with Claude's open laptop, snack wrappers, and a tangle of charging cables.

Felix is reading through and taking notes from the third textbook. Meanwhile, Claude has his laptop open. His posture slouches as he leans back in the old wooden chair, occasionally scrolling and nodding to himself.

Then, suddenly, he perks up. "Dude," he says, eyes wide, a grin pulling across his face. "I've found the perfect template for our presentation!"

He spins the laptop around so the screen faces Felix. 

The template is a soft bubblegum pink with white borders and large animated cat stickers in the corners. The title font is Comic Sans. Not that Felix would know what it is, but he knows just from one glance that it is beyond ridiculous.

"You cannot be serious."

Claude laughs. "Okay, okay—I was just messing with you," he says, clicking off the screen to show him a different template. "I've been checking out a bunch of templates, seeing what could look good. I figured we could use this green one instead."

Felix can't help but narrow his eyes. "It's been half an hour… and you've spent all that time choosing a template?" His voice is sharper than intended. "You're just wasting time."

Although taken aback for half a second, Claude recovers quickly as he clicks onto a document filled with notes. Bullet-pointed. "Whoa, chill. No way. I already wrote half of my notes yesterday. I'm doing my share of work like we agreed on."

Felix leans over slightly, scanning the notes with a glance. They are... as good as Felix imagined them to be. Thorough. Claude is indeed a good student.

He watches his classmate lean back again, folding his arms behind his head. "You should relax, man. Seriously. You spend so much time stressing over getting everything done that you miss out on, like… let yourself breath. Sometimes, you find answers when you're not even looking for them. When you're just… chilling."

Felixs let out a long, quiet sigh.

After a solid hour and a half of semi-focused collaboration, they manage to finish half of the presentation. Six out of twelve slides completed, with notes and structure mostly in place. They have agreed prior to finish the remaining slides at Claude's house next time. 

Once Claude packs up his belongings, he announces, "Alright. It's nearly seven. I should head home—I'm starving."

The two move down the hallway. Felix leads Claude to the front door, and just as Claude was about to leave, a soft click of heels echoes from behind them.

Nathalie reappears, composed as ever. She wears her usual dark blazer, hair tied tight, and the smell of smoke is completely absent. She looks between the two boys.

"Your friend is leaving?" she asks, stepping into the foyer with her hands loosely clasped in front of her.

"What does it look like?"

Claude turns his head slowly toward Felix, raising both brows in amusement.

"My name is Nathalie. It's nice to see Felix bring a guest home." Glancing at the time on her watch, Nathalie then asks, "Have you two eaten yet?"

"There is still half an hour till dinner time," explains Felix.

"Perfect!" She claps her hands. "Your father has cancelled his dinner with you. Your friend can take his place if he would like to stay for dinner. After that, I can gladly arrange a cab for your journey home."

"No way," says Claude, his face lighting up.

Nathalie smiles slightly. "Follow me. You two can sit in the sitting room whilst dinner is being prepared."

Felix rushes ahead, whispering almost aggressively to Nathalie, "Since when does Father eat dinner with me?"

Nathalie ignores Felix, walking ahead. Felix trails just slightly behind her now, clearly irritated. He supposes this is all part of his father's plan to get him to open up. 

When they reach the sitting room, Nathalie opens the heavy wooden doors with a soft creak, gesturing for them to enter. Even though Felix was technically permitted here, he never makes it a point to spend his leisure time here. The room is performative, meant for hosting, impressing people. A crystal chandelier hangs overhead, making its presence known to everyone. In the far corner is an old black grand piano.

Claude steps in with wide eyes. "Whoa. Cool. You have a grand piano? That must be very expensive."

He moves toward it with curiosity, already reaching out a hand.

"Can I play it?" he asks, glancing at Nathalie for permission.

Nathalie nods. "You're very welcome to."

He grins, already brushing his fingers over the edge of the keys.

Felix throws Nathalie a sharp look. She smirks in response. It annoys him more than he likes to admit. Even he isn't allowed to play that piano. He is only ever allowed to practise on the spare grand piano in the designated music room, which is far more modest in quality and sound. 

Oblivious to the tension, Claude sits down at the piano bench and presses a few keys experimentally. The sound hums bright and clear in the high-ceilinged room.

"Man, this sounds amazing," he says, his voice full of awe. "I used to play in elementary school, and played for the school talent show once, but never on a piano this fancy." He glances at Felix before returning back to the piano. "Do you play?"

"Since I was five."

"Of course you do!" says Claude in a happy tone as he plays a random song. "I don't even know why I asked!"

Nathalie checks her watch and turns toward the hallway. "Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. I'll have the staff bring drinks."

She disappears before either of them can respond.

Felix, still standing at first, slowly crosses the room and sits stiffly in one of the leather armchairs near the fireplace. The cushions are firmer than he remembers. This room is rarely used these days. The scent of polish lingers in the air. Even their family pictures and paintings are no longer displayed on the walls. It is left clean and white, bare of any memories.

Claude squints at his hands. "Let's see... do I still remember it?"

Felix watches as Claude launches into the beginning of a familiar piece—Moonlight Sonata, slow and deliberate. Not perfect but with enough confidence to show he remembers it well. 

"Who's your favourite composer?" Claude asks casually, not looking away from the piano.

"If I have to choose, it would be Chopin."

"Ah, yeah, classy. My music teacher used to go on and on about his Études. She loves them. I never learned how to play them since I stopped taking lessons before I could learn it. I remember why, my fathers only wanted me to learn enough to explore the rest by myself. To be more creative, as papa said. But, pa, he just wanted to save more money for holidays." Claude stops playing. "Let's see…" he says slowly as he plays a few familiar notes. "Prelude in E minor," he recalls as he begins to play a part of the composition. 

Felix watches in surprise as Claude then plays a few other compositions of Chopin's, naming them before he does so. 

"Waltz in A minor… and Nocturne in C-sharp minor."

Between phrases, he throws in some facts he half-remembers. "Did you know Chopin hated performing in big concert halls? He preferred small salons. Being the celebrity that he is, he actually has stage fright. Can you believe that?"

Watching Claude play the old piano causes Felix to experience an emotion that he hasn't felt in a while. No, it is not jealousy. Not even annoyance, as much as Claude has caused him already. No. What Felix feels, sitting stiffly in the leather chair, is a slow, sinking ache. Unwanted memories rise to the surface like mist.

He remembers this room differently. 

Warmer.

(Softer.)

He remembers the room painted in a deep shade of green, and paintings, framed in gold, hung up on every surface of the wall. The candles were not just for decor but were actually used. 

His mother used to play here. Back when she was still alive. At the time, he was still practicing on the other grand piano in the music room, but occasionally his mother would let him sit beside her at this one. In all honesty, six year old Felix had always been content just watching her. And so did his father.

On rare evenings, the three of them would be in this very room. His father and he sat together and listened. Sometimes she would speak softly as she played, either apologising for a missed note or simply allowing her thoughts to spill out between. Felix listened more so to his mother talk about how much she loved this one composer or this one sonata, and how it made her feel, than the actual composition. Then other times she spoke of something completely unrelated. Just trivial matters. Idle.  

But he listened to it all. And he still remembers what she said till this day, every little thing.

They listened to her like she was a part of the composition

Then she was gone.

And the piano was off-limits.

And—

He feels a faint tug.

Felix blinks away from Claude. Looking down, he sees the crystal chandelier reflect in the kwami's large green eyes. 

"I'm hungry," he whispers.

Felix does not say anything. But his fingers, folded tightly in his lap, curls inward just a little more.

Claude lets the final note linger, then leans back slightly, stretching his fingers. 

"Wow. I can't believe I still remember all that." Claude interjects Felix's thoughts, who looks up. "All I do now is make indie pop on SoundCloud. Haven't really played since I was eleven. And even when I use piano in my music now, it's just MIDI or on my laptop." Turning around to face Felix, he grins as he says, "Apparently I have a photographic memory. But I always forget that I do. Which is... pretty ironic, right?"

Before Felix can answer, Nathalie enters the room to inform them that dinner is ready.

"Great! I'm starving!"

♡

"I'll see you later then, Felix?" says Claude, already halfway out the door.

"You too."

He stands in the doorway, watching as Claude made his way down the stone steps with Nathalie quietly escorting him toward the front gate. The warm lights of the house spills out onto the gravel path. It was to his surprise that Nathalie offers to drive Claude home personally, and it certainly makes Felix wonder what she will discuss with him in the car.

Turning his back briefly, Claude waves Felix a final goodbye. Felix does not return a response as the door closes.

When Nathalie returns, and enters the sitting room to make sure it is still presentable, she is surprised to see Felix sitting idly on the armchair. A book in his hand, as always.

She offers a slight smile. "Did you have a good time?"

"I brought him here to work on a presentation project, not to hang out."

"Understandable," she replies, unbothered, as she grabs a duster from thin air "But surely his company wasn't unpleasant. Right?"

Felix closes the book. "I’m going back up to my room. Good night, Nathalie."

She gives a small nod. "Good night, Felix."

♡

She spots the small tupperware container tucked toward the back filled with last night's homemade croutons. Popping the lid off, she takes a quick sniff and smiles. 

She takes a bowl from the cupboard, dumps in a generous handful and then starts making her way out.

Walking past the living room, her papa sees her and calls from behind, "What are you doing with those croutons, Darcy?"

"I’m gonna eat them?" Darcy called back over her shoulder. 

"On their own?"

Backtracking, Darcy raises a brow at her papa as though he is the strange one. "Y-yeah, study snack."

Her father makes a vague noise of disapproval but does not press further.

Back in her room, she runs to the window. Unlatching it, she sets the bowl of croutons outside and then closes the window again. For some strange reason, she only hopes that the same pigeon would come back again. Maybe she pities their kind. 

After that, she returns to her desk and opens her laptop back up again. The glow of the screen lights up her face as she refreshes the forum she has been following.

As a fan of Cat Noir, Darcy naturally cares about everything tied to superheroes. Their duties, their impact on the city, and how the public perceives them. She often scrolls through threads discussing the true identities of Ladybug and Cat Noir, or speculating whether the recent surge in villain attacks signals something bigger. A few posts even hint at possible connections between certain public figures and akuma activity. Of course, the latter is all just conspiracy theories.

Out of curiosity, Darcy clicks her way into a more global forum. Unlike the usual fan theories and speculative gossip, this one had a colder tone. More critical, perhaps. 

The first comment has received a lot of likes:

User27781: Honestly I might believe that the mayor of Paris is purposely investing money into three randos and conducting these acts around the city to avoid real issues. It's a whole play set up for the rest of the world to see so we can forget how superficial Paris is.

Darcy’s mouth pulls into a small frown. Her fingers hovers above the trackpad.

User9283727711: yeah, like parisians are so dumb, they’re acting as if these people in costumes are the biggest issue in the world. it’s clearly edited. there’s more important things going on, like starvation and poverty.

The forum continues in this tone. The further that Darcy scrolls, and the more that she reads, it seems that everything happening in Paris is simply a media stunt. 

User635522: Hey I dunno whats actually going on but honestly paris seems fine. If these ‘villains’ or ‘assailants’ are real then how come the city hasnt fallen to pieces yet? Pretty certain its just cgi or some kind of editing like everyone else says.

User0038882: This entire time i thought the French were pulling a prank on us hahahaa.

But there’s no way.

Darcy sits back. 

She has been going to school just to be trapped in lockdowns, with lessons continuing on as her classmates watch on live news that someone has been thrown across with their body splattered in blood, or a child getting stuck beneath rubble. It’s a surreal experience to walk past a cafe or shop after it has exploded one day just to see it perfectly fine again, as if the violence never happened. 

Just as the weight of the comment settles over her, a notification pops up from the corner of her laptop screen. It’s from the Cat Noir fan club.

Her eyes refocus as she drags her cursor to the icon and clicks. The page loads, and immediately, her mood shifts.

An image of Cat Noir, mid-leap, with the background edited. Badly, she might add. Someone has even added a subtle shimmer to his eyes. A filter washes over the whole image in pastel tones, giving it the unmistakable aura of a K-Pop poster.

Darcy can’t help but smile.

Kittynoirre: Just dropping this in to heal everyone’s timeline #princeofparis #catnoirsupremacy

queenbeeee: new lockscreen!

justanordinarygirl13: my therapist said i need to see him at least once a day for emotional regulation

Then, she hears an unsurprised yet welcomed peck at the window. Her smile only grows wider.

♡

Felix steps out of the classroom. He is certain he is getting used to his bad luck, so much that he is not surprised that Bridgette is chasing after him again.

He barely makes two steps before he hears her voice. Although, now he is familiar with the exact sound of her footsteps. Particularly from the way brogues sound against the ground compared to other students who mostly wear sneakers.

"Hey, Felix!"

His spine straightens instinctively.

Again, thinks Felix grimly.

"What is it now?" he asks, his tone not exactly harsh, but unmistakably unenthusiastic.

Bridgette trots up beside him, her signature ahoge bouncing with each step, her usual bright energy still intact despite his cold reception. She ignores the frost in his voice, if she notices it at all.

"I know you read a lot," she begins, clasping her hands behind her back as she kept pace with him. "And I happened to see you with a particular book a while ago. I've been interested in it for a while, and I was wondering… could I borrow it from you sometime?"

Felix slows his pace, just enough to glance at her properly. "Which would it be?"

"Jekyll and Hide!" she replies, slightly unsure if she was saying it right. "Or... Jay-keel? Something like that?"

"Oh," he says, then corrects her, "You mean the 'The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde'?"

"Yeah! That one!" Bridgette nods profusely, who would have found Felix strange if it were not for the fact that he spoke the title in French.

Felix watches her with a slightly bemused expression. "I can lend it to you," he says, "But the copy I have is in English. I don't think my father owns a version in French, unfortunately."

Her ahoge, like an emotional barometer, droops instantly. "Oh…"

The disappointment on her face is not subtle, and she could never attempt a poker face even if she tries. 

Sighing, Felix adds, "Perhaps he does have a French copy somewhere. Our library has a few English books translated into French editions. I could ask him about it."

Bridgette looks up quickly, her eyes wide. "Really? You would do that?"

He gives a small shrug, almost dismissive, though the offer had clearly been intentional. He can’t say exactly why he is even doing this for Bridgette.

Bridgette beams, and practically bows at a hundred and eighty degrees. "That's so thoughtful of you. Thank you, Felix!"

He averts his gaze, mildly uncomfortable with the praise. "Don’t mention it. Just... don't treat it like a comic book."

"Don't worry—I'll give it back in perfect condition. No dog-ears!"

Gradually, the two hear Allegra’s voice in the background getting louder. Bridgette turns around.

"No way, that's so cringe!" she says.

Anna’s voice follows, defensive. "No, it's not! In fact, you should join the club."

Without thinking, Felix also turns his head to see what is happening. 

Allegra walks with her arms folded, looking like she is trying not to implode. Next to her, Darcy holds up her phone proudly, screen turned outwards for everyone to see. Her lockscreen? A heavily edited image of Cat Noir in mid-air, against a pink background with pops of roses surrounding him. 

If Allegra is not cringing hard enough, Felix is.

"I mean, come on," Allegra says, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You have him as your lockscreen?"

"Yeah. So? He’s hot. And he saves lives. Dual threat."

Claude waves at the pair. He raises his voice as he suggests, "Hey, how about we go out to eat today?

"Oh, that’d be good," says Darcy, lowering her phone. "I’m kinda sick of cafeteria food. I want an actual, good baguette."

"I wanna come too!" exclaims Bridgette, running towards the group.

"I guess I'll come," shrugs Allegra, since Bridgette is tagging along.

"Hey, Felix!" he calls. "You wanna come grab lunch with us?"

"No thanks." 

"But… you’re gonna eat lunch alone."

Without another word, Felix walks off.

Anna comments as she watches him. "I think that's what he wants, Claude."

"Don’t make me drag you out, dude!" shouts Claude, cupping his hands around his mouth to increase the volume of his voice.

"Aaand, he’s gone."

♡

The group stops at a place to get sandwiches, with the majority going for the classic combination of fresh baguette and thinly sliced ham. 

Bridgette, being the sweet-tooth that she is, opts for a baguette with butter and jam.

About ten minutes later, they reach a park just past Lycée Françoise Dupont, a quiet green space with green benches under the trees that overlooks the pathways in which the Parisians walk on. So they decide to sit there and people-watch. Their bags tossed to the side of the bench in a small pile.

They are lucky the weather is good today.

"Funny, pigeons used to roam around here all the time and now it's only seagulls," comments Nathaniel, who decided to tag along, glancing at the scenery.

"I mean," adds Anna, "I hate seagulls more."

As if on cue, one of the large birds standing around gives a screeching caw.

Anna groans and takes a bite of her baguette. She covers her food with one arm, shielding it. "I swear, if one of these things swoops down, I’m suing!"

"Sue who?" asks Nathanial.

"The sky."

Finally comfortable with the group, Allegra makes a teasing remark to which Claude and Nathaniel laugh.

Meanwhile, on the other end of the bench, Darcy leans slightly toward Bridgette, who sits contentedly nibbling on her jam-slathered baguette, legs swinging a little under the bench.

Darcy nudges her gently with an elbow, keeping her voice low enough not to interrupt the rest of the group. "So," she says casually, eyes flicking sideways, "What were you and Pessimist talking about earlier?"

"Huh?"

"You know, Felix."

Bridgette swallows, her expression not quite embarrassed—but definitely aware. "Oh. I just asked if I could borrow a book from him."

Darcy's eyes light up with mischief. "Oh-ho~ Tell me about it."

"Hey, come on! It’s not like that!" Bridgette'scheeks flush as she tries to defend herself. 

Darcy raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

"I just…" Bridgette fumbles for a response, eyes darting briefly to the others laughing down the bench. Then she sighes and looked down at her half-eaten baguette. "I…" she pauses, thinking of an excuse to hide the real reason as to why she wants to read 'Jekyll and Hyde'. "I just wanted to get to know Felix. And instead of forcing him to hang out with us, or take part in something he clearly isn't interested in, I thought maybe I'd try something he actually enjoys. And then! We can talk about the book… and find something in common."

"Seems like it’s hard for you to give up on him."

Bridgette’s mouth opens to protest, but she lets the words die in her throat. 

"Well, he is kinda popular. He got voted thirteenth somehow. I still don’t get it though," she says. "He's a bit of a statue, but hey, less competition for you."

Wanting to steer the conversation away, Bridgette perks up. "By the way—congrats on being class representative!"

"Thanks!" smiles Darcy before dead-panning. "You're three weeks late congratulating me, by the way."

"Oh! I—I guess so. Sorry, I forgot." Bridgette nearly winces at the realisation. "I actually voted for you too. I could tell that you took it more seriously than everyone else."

"Well. That means a lot, Bri. Thank you."

"You’re actually a role model. I don’t know how you get top grades, do two sports, volunteer, and still manage to get to know everyone as class rep."

Darcy slowly hums. "Let's just say I have a role model of my own, too." Although her tone dulls towards the end.

Suddenly, a sharp scream pierces through the warm air of the park.

Bridgette jolts upright, instincts kicking in immediately. Her hand moves to her earrings, fingers brushing against them as her eyes scans the area for an assailant.

But then—

"Let go, you absolute menace!" comes Anna’s voice, high-pitched in frustration.

Tilting her head to the side, she sees Allegra, Claude and Nathaniel watching Anna in a tug-of-war with a particularly aggressive seagull. It flaps its wings violently as it declares war. The thing that the seagull is tugging: Anna’s half-eaten baguette.

"Darcy!" Anna shrieks.

"What am I supposed to do?!"

 "I don’t know! Kill it or something!"

Bridgette lets out a laugh.

Scrunching the paper from her baguette into a ball, Darcy adds dryly, "That’s Anna for you."

"You two are really close," says Bridgette. "Just like Allegra and I."

"Yeah," Darcy nods, but then her expression begins to soften. "Anna and I have been friends since middle school. She used to be super quiet back then, believe it or not. Wouldn’t even raise her hand in class."

"This is mine!" comes Anna's voice again. Bridgette and Darcy turn around to see Anna finally, and successfully, yanking her baguette back. "Get your own lunch!"

The seagull gives one final, indignant squawk before flapping away in defeat.

She dusts off the baguette and gives it one more quick inspection before taking a satisfied bite out of it.

"You're still gonna eat that?" asks Nathaniel with a judgemental tone.

"Well, yeah! I used my own money to pay for it. I worked for it."

"Oh…"

Anna immediately turns her head toward him, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean 'oh'?"

Nathaniel lifts both hands slightly in surrender. "I—I didn’t mean anything by it," he stammers, taking a small step back on the bench as if distance might save him. "I just meant it like, 'oh, okay,' not—like—not in a judgy way."

Claude pats Nathaniel on the shoulder. "You let these words get to you, bro. Anna's being sarcastic."

Before anyone can say any further, a sudden gust of wind cuts through the park. Tree leaves begin to rustle violently and the birds on the branches erupt, and so do the seagulls in the surrounding area.

"RUN!" screams another citizen.

Bridgette immediately perks her head up.

"What the…" mutters Allegra.

Then—

BOOM.

The group turn their heads towards the sound and sees an invisible force tear apart a tree, just thirty feet away, splintering branches and the leaves left burning. A quick second passes, another tree explodes. Screams erupt nearby. People on the other side of the park scatter. 

"We gotta go," states Claude.

Emerging between the two damaged trees is the unmistakable figure of the Mime. His skin deep purple, his black tophat tilted slightly to the side, gloved hands raised mid-performance. But, there is nothing charming about his performances. Everything he does is violent.

Bridgette looks to her friends. The girls hold each other’s hands as they begin to make a run for it, with Darcy grabbing onto Bridgette’s wrist. 

I need to fight him!

Of course, she takes one more look at the Mime who returns her gaze.

With a silent sweep of his arm, he mimics lifting something heavy before throwing it. The invisible weight hurls through the air, slamming into a trash bin that was situated beside the bench they were previously sitting on. The bins crush on impact, the metal crinkling loud with parts of it shattering. One piece barely scratches Bridgette’s arm.

The Mime is not finished.

He shifts his stance, arms raised again. His hands mime the pulling back of a bowstring, fingers curled in the shape of an arrow. The moment he lets go, an invisible projectile launches toward another group of teens midst their escape—

—faster than the eye can follow.

No!

Her blood runs cold.

Bridgette, still in her civilian clothes, slips a hand inside her jacket. Her fingers brush the cool, flat shapes of the needles lined neatly in their stitched holders.

In one smooth motion, Bridgette pulls out three needles, flicks her wrist, and lets them fly—aimed not to wound, but to interrupt.

The needles cut clean through the air, glinting briefly in the sunlight before striking the invisible force mid-flight. One strikes with a strange crackle of energy and drops. The other two follow, disrupting the flow of the attack just enough to cause it to veer off course, the force of it slamming into another nearby tree.

She exhales sharply, relieved as she finally turns her head back to Darcy as they continue to run. 

But the Mime has noticed.

And he's walking towards them. 

And she knows it isn't long before she is in danger when she can't transform.

His fingers move like he's winding a rope, and suddenly the air around Bridgette tightens. She gasps, stumbling as an invisible force clamps around her ankles, her knees buckling.

Bridgette hits the grass hard, her elbows scraping against the ground as she fights the invisible binding, breath sharp in her throat.

"Here!" Darcy leans down to offer a hand, but unbeknownst to her, Bridgette is trapped.

The Mime raises his arm in the air, miming the grip of a hammer.

Only then does Darcy's eyes go wide.

Just in time, something crashes into the earth beside them, sending a shockwave of black energy to combat the invisible hammer. Hearing the clang of the hammer hit the floor, Darcy lets out a sigh of relief before quickly helping Bridgette up.

Bridgette winces. The metal feeling harsh against her ankle. She can’t run when she's trapped like this, much less transform.

Dust and grass explode outward as a figure drops from the sky, landing between the Mime and the two girls in a feral crouch, one hand pressed to the ground, the other already glowing green with crackling, chaotic energy.

"Cat Noir!" says Darcy, almost too excited to see him.

Cat Noir lifts his free hand and fires a precise bolt of energy at Bridgette's ankle, but just slightly to the side to break the chains. 

Immediately, it becomes Bridgette's turn to grab Darcy to run. She hauls her to her feet and takes off, tugging her through the park and towards an exit, avoiding all the branches and flames in the way. It seems the rest of their friends have escaped in time. She needs to take Darcy somewhere safe before telling her an excuse that can let her run away and transform into Ladybug. And, it's just her luck that she can’t think of one right now!

Cat Noir flexes his arm, lightning still dancing faintly along his fingertips. His signature smirk plays across his lips.  

The Mime raises both his hands dramatically, as if gripping a giant sphere, and then crushing it between his palms. 

The air around Cat Noir ripples with an invisible force compressing inward. Cat Noir braces just in time, ducking low and flipping sideways to avoid the crushing attack. The heels of his boots skids across the grass and he leaps, twisting midair. Electricity sparks across his arms as he prepares his next move.

"Black Storm!"

He hurls a wave of lightning across the field, streaking through the air. The Mime jumps back in time and avoids Cat Noir’s attack. The lightning tears through the space where he'd stood a moment ago, exploding in a flash of sparks.

"Dammit," Cat Noir growls under his breath. "Where the hell is Ladybug?!"

Out of the corner of his eye, a figure is charging back into the park. 

It's Claude.

"Cat Noir!" Claude shouts, waving a hand. Face flushed, sweating, his hair a mess and his clothes covered in dust and dirt.

"What are you doing?! Get out of here!"

The boy pants hard, clearing running beyond his limits. "Where is Bridgette?!" 

This… this stupid boy, Cat Noir can’t help but think. His stomach begins to knot. Doesn’t he know? Doesn’t anyone know? That Ladybug will fix it all. That she always does. All they have to do is wait.

"Out of here, as should you!"

"Oh!" Then Claude manages a smile amidst this danger. "Okay, thank you!"

Something in the atmosphere bends suddenly, and Cat Noir senses it a second too late.

The Mime thrusts his hands down as he pantomimes cranking a lever. 

"Hurry—" Cat Noir's warning shout turns into a grunt of pain as he’s slammed off his feet and hurled backwards into an already broken bench, wood splintering around him. He tumbles to the ground with a thud, one arm clutching his ribs. 

It doesn't hurt one bit. His suit absorbs the worst of it. But Cat Noir would rather not be thrown like this.

Claude shouts his name, but his voice becomes lost in the chaos.

Cat Noir grits his teeth, blinking through the haze, lightning flickering again at his fingertips.

His body is aching. His breath shallow.

He forces himself up to one elbow, wincing as the Mime's taller form strides steadily closer. 

This will be a long fight without Ladybug.

Chapter Text

This time, Claude finds Felix at the gates.

"Hey, dude."

"Hello, Claude," says Felix. He tries to hide his exhaustion, and he thinks he's doing a fine job considering he is always monotonous.

However, he does notice Claude sounding rather hoarse in his greetings. His shoulders slope, and it isn't just the result of his weighted school bag. Looking into the boy's eyes, Felix can see the colours dimmer than this early morning. It only makes sense given how school continued after the fight with the Mime.

In hindsight, it was a good thing that Felix never tagged along to going out for lunch. Not that he would have wanted to.

Claude perks up, finally hearing his name spoken by the Felix Agreste. The rasp now barely there. "Wait—did you just say my name?"

Felix arches a brow. "Yes. Why wouldn't I?"

And suddenly his fatigue disappears.

"I don't know. You never really address the rest of us by name, well, since you're always giving us the silent treatment."

"I don't recall giving you the silent treatment," Felix replies, stepping away from the gate as they fell into pace side by side. In fact, Felix is certain he has called Claude by name, but oftentimes chose not to do so in his attempts of avoiding him. "I simply don't see the need to speak unless something needs to be said."

"Oh," Claude pauses as he recalls, "My house is about thirty minutes away. But I typically take the scenic route. If it's too late for you, we can take the short route, the bus or you can have dinner at my place."

"Whichever you wish."

Claude smiles. "Scenic route it is."

A decision Felix immediately regrets.

He doesn't say anything for the half hour of the walk, trying to tune out of Claude's constant commentary.

At first, the walk is rather tolerable. Felix, after all, has been working on building his stamina. Thirty minutes, which is what he normally does daily, is tolerable. However, as they pass the forty-minute mark, he begins to feel a persistent ache in his legs.

Eventually Claude, having exhausted all kinds of conversation topics that comes to his head, becomes quiet.

It is Felix who later breaks the silence. 

"You don't get tired of walking fifty minutes twice a day?" 

Claude shrugs, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie. "Eh. I was recommended to walk every day. Sort of… my form of meditation, I guess. But!" he turns to Felix with an almost exaggerated smile, "I don't mind it! I find it quite relaxing, and sometimes I come up with new song ideas."

Felix ignores the latter. "Your doctor told you that?"

Claude hesitates, scratching the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. "More or less my doctor, yeah."

Felix realises he doesn't care enough to know any more. 

They turn a corner.

"I just remembered something," Felix speaks again. "I can stay late at yours to work, but I need you to know… I may have to leave if I get called to."

"Called to?" Claude repeats.

"It's… important. And I can't ignore it. Even if there's an attack going on."

"Hey. Do whatever you need to do. Seriously." Then Claude adds, "Just… if you do go out during an attack, can you at least text me when you get home safe? Doesn't have to be a long message. Just like, a dot. Or a 'yo'. I'll get the message."

Felix stares at him for a moment, quiet.

"…Alright," he says finally.

♡

"This is my mansion!" announces Claude with an exaggerated flair, throwing his arms out as he gestures toward a tall, brick building. Presumably filled with flats.

They pass a row of mailboxes and begin climbing a steep flight of stairs, the sound of their steps echoing.

Still in good spirits, Claude adds, "We just can't use the rest of the rooms or facilities. We've had them blocked off since there's only three people in the house, and having this much space active for no reason is a bit of a waste of money."

Looking upward, Felix notices an older gentleman slowly making his way down the stairs, one hand gripping the rail, the other holding a walking stick.

The man's face brightens when he sees Claude.

"Hello, Claude. How's it going?"

"Good. And you?"

"Oh, so-so. I'll see you later?" the man replies with a kind smile to Felix before continuing on his way.

"That's Monsieur Simon," Claude says once the man is out of earshot. "Lives alone on the first floor, he's our neighbour. Retired postman. He's been here longer than anyone, and has known me since I was a kid."

They stop on the second floor. 

Claude leads the way to the first door on the left, pulling out his keys from his bag and slipping one into the lock. With a twist and a small click, the door opens. Felix follows him inside. 

The apartment is modest but bright. The living area and kitchenette share a single open space, roughly the size of Felix's own living room at home. Although their space is more colourful, with mismatching sofa and cushions, framed photos on the wall and a small welcome mat adorned with daisies in the corners. Much like Madame Bustier's classroom, there are handmade decors in almost every part of the room.

Seated on the couch, flipping through a magazine, is a tall, broad-shouldered man with greying hair and a serious, contemplative expression. Though he seems to be older in age, his frame tells Felix that he is still a capable man. Across the room, sitting at the small dining table near the kitchenette, is a man who seems younger in years. Not just in his face but also in his energy. 

The two certainly don't look like brothers, thinks Felix.

The moment Claude steps inside, his face beams.

"Hi Claude!"

"Hello, Papa," Claude greets before closing the door behind him and Felix.

The man on the couch glances up. "You've brought home a friend."

"Yeah, this is my classmate," Claude replies. "Felix Agreste."

Felix, straightening his posture instinctively, gives a slight bow of his head. "Good afternoon, sirs."

Claude turns to him with an easy grin. "These are my two fathers," he explains, gesturing casually. "That's papa—" he points to the man at the table, "—and this is just pa." Claude then nods toward the man on the couch.

His papa stands up from his seat and walks over to give Felix a handshake. Felix steps forward and accepts it.

"Monsieur Savard," Felix says politely, making direct eye contact.

"You can just call me Adam," the man says with a smile, although slightly surprised at the boy's firm handshake. "And that's my husband, who you can also call by name."

"Julian," the other man says simply.

Returning to the kitchen, Adam opens the refrigerator and retrieves a small white pastry box.

"Here," he says, handing it to Claude. "A snack for your study session. I picked up some macarons from the bakery down the street."

"Thanks, papa!"

♡

Claude swings open his bedroom door.

Felix walks in behind him, quietly taking in notice of Claude's room. It is perhaps everything he expected Claude's room to look and more, although he has never visualised it in this amount of detail.

His room is equally spacious as Felix's, included with a balcony, although the space is very much used.

Band posters almost cover an entire wall, most of them Felix don't recognise. There is a world map stretched over the closet doors, dotted with little red stickers. Next to it is a giant periodic table. In the corner sits a worn skateboard and a slightly deflated soccer ball. Two guitars are mounted on the wall. One is acoustic, and the other is electric. Although Felix would not have known the difference if it were not for the fact that Claude pointed it out. A keyboard stands beneath the two, its stand surrounded by tangled cables and a pair of headphones hands off the edge.

There are also two bookshelves, with the edges of the books in stylised fonts that tells Felix they are comic books and graphic novels. On top of it stands a few action figures. On the desk sits a computer and a smaller laptop in front of it. Claude has also got piles of colourful sneakers at the end of his bed. 

Felix's eyes eventually draws to the dresser, where a few framed photos sits neatly.

One displays a much younger Claude—maybe five years old—grinning with a woman who shares his smile, her hair tied back with a bright scarf. His mother, Felix assumes. The rest of the pictures are of Claude and his two fathers, some taken in the moment in which the edges are imperfectly blurred, some from school events or vacations.

Beside it all lies a small medicine bottle. Felix barely looks at it.

Claude sets the box of macarons on the desk, then takes his laptop and plops down at the edge against his bed. "You can take the chair if you'd like."

Not wanting to feel out of space in someone else's house, Felix decides against it. He sits down opposite Claude, and takes out his notebook and flashcards. 

"It's alright."

"I'd love to try macarons from Bridgette's bakery someday," he says, opening his laptop and balancing it on his knee. 

"I'm sure they taste just like any other bakery's macarons," Felix follows nonchalantly.

After finishing the final touches to their slides, having debated over the format and order of their respective slides, they begin to rehearse. Claude starts first, pacing back and forth with his flashcards in hand. The sight of it reminds Felix of his father one morning as he waited for Nathalie.

Felix, sitting on the ground, continues his part when Claude finishes. 

To his surprise, Claude kindly interjects him to remind him a key information he has missed out. Felix frowns slightly, then double checks with his textbooks.

"You're right."

He looks at Claude again, who is now casually spinning a pen between his fingers while waiting for Felix to restart. Felix returns to his lines but finds himself admitting in his head that he certainly did not think Claude of all people would have a photographic memory. Then again, it makes sense. It's probably the only reason as to why Claude is so relaxed and easy-going.

After another round of rehearsal, Claude drops down onto his bed.

"Okay," he groans, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, "I think we've earned a break. I can literally feel my brain starting to tingle."

Felix, now seated in Claude's gaming chair, for his back was hurting, gives a slight nod. 

"So," Claude draws out his words lazily. "How you feeling about the exams in January?"

"Fine."

"Of course. I figured you'd say that. You'll probably ace them all."

Felix shifts slightly in his seat and averts his gaze.

"You know," continues Claude as he stares into the ceiling, "I thought you were ignoring me more than usual lately… especially after Madame announced I got the highest score in Maths, beating you."

Felix looks up at that, his face almost scrunching. "I wasn't," he replies after a beat. "That had nothing to do with it."

"Cool. Just wondering." There was a short pause before Claude speaks up again, "You thinking about applying for the talent show in March?"

"I haven't heard of it."

"It's not really advertised yet," Claude explains. "Still a couple months away. But if you're interested, now's the time to start preparing. I think applications open next month. I wanna apply. I was thinking I'd do something different this year. Everyone knows me as the DJ guy, so I figured… maybe I could play something classical. Playing on your piano last time kinda unlocked a couple of good memories. I forgot how much I loved that stuff."

Silence.

"My teacher loves Chopin," repeats Claude.

"You told me that."

"I know."

Felix doesn't know what else to say; he doesn't know how to make conversation. "Who is your favourite composer?"

"Mozart. But if you'd asked me when I was seven, I'd have said Debussy, cause I thought his name sounded funny." Claude grins stupidly.

The perfect Felix almost lets himself chuckle.

"In middle school, I always wanted to join a school band," says Claude, beginning to reminisce. "But I never bothered because… I guess I worried people would make fun of me. Or that it wouldn't be cool. Middle school was like that. Everyone pretending they didn't care about stuff even if they did." He gives a crooked grin. "So I stuck with basketball. Safer that way. But man, I actually hated basketball."

Felix says nothing at first, however, curiosity in public school makes him ask: "What were you like in middle school?"

Claude blinks, caught off guard. "Wait—are you actually asking about me?" He sits up and points to himself dramatically. 

"What was middle school really like, then?" Felix corrects himself.

"Right, right," Claude answers with a low chuckle, lacing his fingers behind his head. "I was a normal kid. Like everyone else. Except I was good at school, at sports, had my own hobbies, and could still have a lot of free time to hang out with my friends. I wasn't popular, per say, but I was cool with everyone. But middle school… it's weird. You know, you don't take anything seriously being a bunch of thirteen-fourteen year olds, but at the same time, everything important is happening."

Claude's voice drops.

"Puberty hits like a truck. Popularity suddenly matters. Everyone's quietly sizing each other up, trying to figure out who's going to survive. You have to choose which high school you want to go, which friends you want to keep, what career path you might want to do. And somehow, you're supposed to figure out who you are through all of that." He continues, "You make all your best friends there that forms a core part of you, and when you leave, you forget them all. Well, most of them. Not because they don't matter anymore but because you're just not the same person anymore."

Is there a better way to describe the silence they are experiencing again?

"Well, what about you?" Claude asks, genuinely. "What's it like being homeschooled?"

"For me: Structured. Predictable. Quiet."

"Aren't you lonely?"

"I wasn't lonely," answers Felix. "Just different. I suppose I never really thought about my life. I had something scheduled for every hour of the day, and when I wasn't studying, I accompanied my father around the world to see his work partners."

"Cool, where've you been?"

"Vienna, Barcelona, Berlin, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Amsterdam…"

"Bro, that's just Europe. Lame," interjects Claude with a feign tone of mockery. "You know Morocco?"

"I do, but I've never visited it if that is what you are going to ask me next."

"That's where I'm from. There, they speak French too but it sounds way different. I was put into speech therapy for years after my parents moved here." Claude ends his sentence with a dry laugh. 

"Your fathers?"

"No."

Felix stares at the framed photo of Claude and the woman. It is almost reminiscent of a portrait of five year old Felix with his mother.

"I don't understand public school." Felix tries to return to the original subject after another awkward pause. "I don't understand how someone like you used to go around harassing people in middle school, and then suddenly change into everyone's friend in high school. I don't understand why people can't just stay consistent."

Claude blinks, almost caught off guard by the bluntness. "Did you know… that I was actually blackmailed into 'harassing' others?" 

Never did Felix think he would have this kind of conversation with Claude. His eyes quickly meets Claude but then returns to the floor as he lets Claude speak.

"Ugh, it's so annoying now that I think about it," groans Claude, dragging a hand down his face. "There was this little brat who found out a secret of mine, and used it against me. But, instead of forcing me to be his slave, do his homework, or give him my lunch money, like how it normally happens in the teen movies, he forced me to be his 'friend'." Claude raises his hands and air-quotes the word with his fingers. "He already had a group, by the way. But maybe he was lonelier than he let on, or maybe he liked having control over people. I don't know. But suddenly, I had to tag along everywhere. Skipping class. Hiding in the bathrooms to smoke. We almost set off the fire alarm one time. And his favourite—picking on people smaller than us.

Curiously, Felix asks, "Was that secret really worth it? Worth harassing others over?"

"In hindsight? No. Not at all. But back then? I thought it was everything. And the sad part? If people found out now what it was, they'd probably go, 'Oh. That kind of explains why Claude was a jerk back then.'" His gaze also falls to the floor, then he exhales through his nose.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that, Claude," Felix says, attempting to offer some comfort. However, what is he even supposed to say?

Felix never wanted to become involved with anyone. And now here he is, in Claude's apartment against his own will, working with him on a project in a subject they both enjoy, talking to him about life, letting Claude vent to him.

Felix sighs internally. 

We don't have to be friends, he tells himself. After this project, they can return to normal. He doesn't have to interact with Claude more than necessary.

"Long story short: I was sent away to a mental health institution. I was there for a while before I got adopted." Claude shakes his head with a hollow laugh as he begins to recall. "My middle school teachers found out about my past. Of course, they gossiped. Oh, yeah, the other thing about public school is all the gossip you get. And that same brat, he overheard. I don't even remember his name now. Oh, and you know Kim? He and I used to be friends back then."

Ah, Felix thinks. So that's why Kim doesn't like Claude.

"He particularly didn't like the fact that I, someone who was well-liked, was friends with a nobody like Kim. To clarify, Kim was short in middle school. Much shorter. And quiet." Claude lets out a long breath. "I should've just let him tell everyone. No one would've believed him, and even if they did—who cares? And yet I was so ashamed of myself. Of everything."

As his words lingers, Felix begins to feel Plagg tapping him against his thigh from within his pocket. At first Felix finds the tapping irritating, but soon he starts to recognise the extended taps. Morse code?

Since when did Plagg knows morse code? And how does the kwami knows that Felix also knows it?

Felix sounds out the words, "You… shouldn't beat yourself… over something like that." Felix waits for the rest of the taps to continue in order to avoid sounding unsure. "I'm here for you if you ever need anything…?"

What the hell, Plagg?!

"Well, thanks but I caused a kid to be disabled. For the rest of his life. After that, everyone hated me. Which, honestly, I kind of deserved. Especially Jean."

Felix's brow furrows slightly. "Because his brother's disabled?"

Claude blinks, lifting his head. "Wait—his brother's disabled?"

"I saw them once. Outside school. His brother uses a wheelchair."

Claude's expression shifts. It's subtle, but clearly unsettled. "Jean's talked about his brother before. A lot, actually. I just… he never mentioned that."

Then, to Felix's surprise, Claude slaps himself. 

"Sorry, I shouldn't have dumped it all on you. You're a new kid. You don't know how this works. And everyone is right, by the way. I only befriended you because you were an easy target."

Tap. Tap… Tap…

Connecting the words together, Felix decides against saying them. 

Felix's right hand presses Plagg back down. 

Then, with no change in tone, no shift in breath, he offers a part of his life, "Till this day, my father still believes I am the cause of my mother's death." He elucidates when Claude gives him a confused look, "She was… a weak person. Physically, I mean. The doctors advised her against having any children. But she was determined, even though my father cared more about her health. We were a family for a good while until… Unfortunately, she passed when I was seven."

"Ah," Claude says gently. "That makes sense. That's why it's just you and your papa now."

Felix nods.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Claude went on. "But… your mother wouldn't have blamed you. She wanted you here. She fought to bring you into the world. And I bet—no, I'm sure—she'd be proud to see you now. That you're healthy. Smart. Capable"

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Thank you…" Felix sounds out Plagg's message. 

He doesn't know how to describe it, but he has never told anyone outside of the Agreste family or house about his mother's death. And there is… a strange feeling to letting someone in. Exposed, he feels. But strangely, he doesn't regret telling Claude of all people.

"No problem, dude."

A sudden alarm sound cuts through the air. Sharp, identical tones rings out from both of their phones.

Again?

Claude, who has been lounging casually on his bed, stands up to grab his phone from the nightstand. As he checks the message, Plagg swiftly flies out into Felix's bag, where his phone resides. Having memorised Felix's password, Plagg unlocks the phone, opens up the alarm app, and plays a ringtone.

"I have to leave," says Felix, standing up from his seat.

Claude raises an eyebrow, still thumbing through the updates. "Well, that's inconvenient."

"I did mention early that I must leave even if there is an attack going on."

Claude hums as Felix begins to pack up his belongings.

"Wait!" blurts Claude suddenly, causing Felix to pause halfway through zipping his bag. "My fathers probably won't let you leave if you say you're heading out in the middle of a public emergency."

Felix thinks for a moment. He glaze shifts from Claude to the door as he calculates his next move.

It certainly won't be: Well, guess what, Claude? I'm Cat Noir, and I kinda have to impress Ladybug to get her to kiss me. Oh no, I'm not in love with her or anything. It's only because—

"Can I jump out of your balcony?"

Claude gawks at this. "What?"

"Your balcony," Felix clarifies.

"No way, dude!" Claude waves his hands. "That's insane!"

"It's only one floor," Felix states, now seriously considering the logistics. 

He walks towards the balcony and opens the door.

"H-hey!"

Felix turns back to Claude, his voice calm. "Tell you what. I will climb out through your balcony now, and once I'm finished… I will come back the same way. Then I will walk out through your front door like a normal person so your fathers know I'm alive and unharmed. You just need to pretend we've been hanging out in your room this entire time, and tell them that Felix is not hungry for dinner."

Claude follows as Felix steps out, trying to picture a boy as sophisticated as Felix climbing down the balcony and then scaling back up as if it is nothing. 

"Are you gonna be okay with that?"

Felix pats down on his vest. "Yes. I'm a very skilled climber. Trained from the age of five."

Claude's jaw drops slightly. "You're joking."

"I am."

Claude let out a sharp laugh, half-disbelieving. "Ah, you got me. I hate how you say that stuff so seriously."

Felix allows the faintest hint of a smirk.

Still chuckling, Claude runs a hand through his curls. "I don't know, man. What if you slip and end up with a broken leg? Or worse—what if the Mime sees you on the rooftop and just BAM!—takes you out with a baseball bat in one swing?"

"He won't," states Felix.

Claude is still unconvinced.

"I'll make sure of it."

For a moment, Claude hesitates, chewing his lip. Then he turns on his heel and strides across the room to his dresser. He digs through a drawer, tossing aside a pair of socks and a tangle of old phone chargers before pulling out a coiled rope.

"What is that?" Felix asks, watching as Claude shakes it out.

"Rope," Claude answers, as if it is obvious. "Had it since boy guides. One of our leaders gave it to us for knot-tying practice and hiking exercises. Figured it might come in handy someday." He walks over to the balcony, tying it to the railing. "Guess today's the day."

"Thank you."

"Don't sweat it dude." Although saying this, Claude feels a sweat drop from his temple. "I can't believe I'm doing this. I'm such a bad friend."

♡

Cat Noir leaps onto the edge of the rooftop, then pounces forward into the scene where Ladybug is already engaging in a battle with Monsieur Pigeon. He hovers  above her, balanced atop a cloud of pigeons as usual. 

"Ah, I see our other little friend has finally arrived!" Monsieur Pigeon acknowledges the cat superhero.

Ladybug glances up at Cat Noir in relief, but didn't let her guard down, her yo-yo snapping out again to ward off an incoming pigeon.

"Missed me?" He winks at her.

"Took you long enough!"

"Well, I was wondering where you were earlier!"

Ladybug hesitates. "I was busy, okay?"

Releasing his claws, Cat Noir slashes a black storm in a swift arc over the pigeons, aiming to knock Monsieur Pigeon off. "Can't this old man take a break for once? You're really pushing the retirement age here."

Only a portion of the pigeons fall off. Like usual, there is always so many that it becomes time consuming to take out all of them.

Monsieur Pigeon scoffs, puffing up his chest indignantly. "Clearly you were the one taking a break! Leaving your lovely partner all alone to defeat me, how shameful!"

"Come on! Why are you, the bad guy, holding me responsible? Do you want to win this fight or not?"

"Oh, don't be like that! It's been months now. Aren't we all friends by this point, just like a flock of pigeons?"

Lunging forward, Cat Noir directs his black storm at the pigeons again. A few more scatter with their feathers bursting in the air like confetti. 

But then—one particularly daring pigeon shoots toward him like a tiny missile, wings flapping with wild determination. He tightens his grip and strikes again, sharper this time. To his dismay, the pigeon twists midair, neatly dodging the attack.

From the corner of his eye, he sees that Ladybug has landed lightly beside him. Her hands on her hips. "Wow," she calls. "You're rusty today."

"Please," says Cat Noir in an irritated tone. "Now's not really the best time for a fight."

Ladybug notices the change in his expression. "We're gonna get this done and over with, quickly," she adds, reassuringly.

"Good."

♡

Well, Claude has indeed just witnessed it with his own eyes: a boy as sophisticated as Felix climbing down one floor from the balcony. And he did so as if it was second nature, which does make Claude doubt Felix joking previously.

There was not even the slightest hesitation in Felix, and he demonstrated no struggle grabbing onto different parts of the building. 

Claude shakes his head, deciding to head out of his bedroom for a bit.

He walks out to see his fathers already seated at the dining table, casually eating their dinner. Dinner smells nice, but he isn't feeling hungry. 

"Hey, you two want dinner?" his papa asks, waving a fork in greeting.

"Nah, thanks. Felix and I aren't really hungry yet," says Claude. "I just came out to ask if you could maybe leave some leftovers for us? We grabbed something on the way home—and, uh, we also finished all the macarons." He gives a small, apologetic smile. "They were really good. Thanks, Papa."

His papa chuckles. "No problem, son. I'm glad you enjoyed them."

His pa lifts his head slightly. "What's Felix doing right now? You two have been holed up in that room for a while."  

Claude gives a casual shrug, trying to keep his voice even. "Just rehearsing his lines for the presentation. Felix is a bit of a perfectionist." He then adds with a knowing tone, "If you couldn't tell."

"Sounds about right. It's getting pretty late, though." Julian exchanges a look with Adam before continuing, "You might want to ask your friend if he'd prefer to stay the night."

At this, Claude stiffens slightly. "Uhhh…" he stalls, laughing awkwardly. "I don't know. I'll have to ask him. He might still want to head home."

"Alright," says Adam. "But if he changes his mind, it's no trouble. We've got extra blankets if he wants to sleep on the couch, and I think I have the sleeping bag somewhere if he'd rather stay in your room."

"Thanks, papa. Thanks, pa. I'll check with him." And with that, Claude retreats to his room.

♡

As the latch of the door fell into place, the smile upon Claude’s lips falls like a mask. He pressed his back against the door, eyelids closing, head tilting to rest against the wood with the heaviness of one who dares not look forward. A long, trembling breath escaped him.

Suddenly, he feels worse after dumping all that information on Felix of all people. Yet some secret part of him knew he had longed to disclose this part of him other than his fathers, to be heard by someone other than his fathers. And, he supposes Felix would never use it against him the way that Phillipe did.

In that conversation, he recalls his own mind hovering near the brink of telling the truth entirely. And now that he is thinking about it, the image returns with merciless clarity.

That is the one thing about a photographic memory that he despises so much.

Closing his eyes, he sees again his birth father in his earliest years. He had been abusive and mostly towards his mother. Bruises blossomed on her skin like an unwanted garden, new flowers every evening. Coming home from school or practice and witnessing him hitting her was not new, and was how Claude had spent most of his evenings. When he was nine, his father had lost it on him.

The man had screamed louder than comprehension. And suddenly there was a knife in his hand.

His next words were 'kill your mother or I will kill you both'. 

He remembers the iron grip crushing his wrist, the small bones nearly shattering beneath the pressure of his father. His own fingers, frail yet compelled to clutch the handle, dragged unwillingly toward her. He remembers this pressure well. The motion. The struggle. And the cold, horrible understanding that if he didn't move somewhere, somehow, he'd be dead before he could scream.

Claude’s body lowers into the ground, the back of his shirt lifting against the door. His fists clenched now in his lap, the phantom pain of that grip returning. His nails dug deep into his palms.

He grabbed Claude's hand—the one with the knife—and forced it toward her.

He's never spoken about it. Not even to Papa. Not even to Pa.

The therapists had told him again and again: " It was not your fault. You were only a child."

But no one else remembers it like he does. No one else sees the way her eyes looked at him.

Claude stares at the floor now, jaw clenched so tight it aches. His fists tremble slightly. 

He's never forgiven his father.

But sometimes, he's not sure he's forgiven himself either (and forgiveness is not easy).

As Claude is distracted, it is then that a pale butterfly slips through the sealed window; its wings spectral as it flutters through the air, making its way towards Claude. The butterfly hovers for a breath, then lands lightly on the back of his hand. Its tiny legs brush against his skin—but something is wrong. It trembles, unable to settle fully. It flutters its wings in quiet resistance, as if something in Claude refuses to let it enter.

"You were only a child."

Papillon.

He is here. Watching. And he wants in.

The butterfly glowed, purple light blooming outward until it crowned Claude’s head.

"You did what no child should ever have to do. You carry guilt that is not yours. You try to be strong. Kind. But deep down, you are angry, Claude. You want to scream. You want justice."

The word ‘justice’ twists like a blade.

Because Papillon knows how to say it just right.

The room seems to constrict around Claude. The air is heavier now.

"Let me help you, Claude. Let me give you the strength to take back what was taken. The world made you a victim. But I can make you powerful."

Claude opens his eyes slowly. His vision blurs, not from tears, but from the intensity of the rage surging beneath his skin. In the dark glass of the window, a stranger looks back at him.

Wait.

Knock.

Knock, knock.

Claude instantly snaps out and moves from his position. Behind him, unnoticed, the butterfly silently slips through the wall, vanishing into the evening air like it was never there.

He unlocks the window with shaky fingers.

"Thank you, Claude," says Felix as he jumps through. He looks at Claude, who still seems to be dazed. "Are you feeling alright?"

"Uh, y-yeah!" 

"Are you sure? 

Felix stilled, eyes narrowing in thought. But it was too late; the creature was gone.

"I…" His voice catches. "This is going to sound insane, but… I heard a voice in my head. Just now. And I don't know if you'll believe me, but… I think it was Papillon."

Felix stands still, quiet. He thinks for a moment.

It is too late now to find the butterfly.

Then, dry as ever, he says, "We do have a school counselor, yes?"

Claude nods.

"I think you should go see them."

Claude lets out a breathless, nervous laugh. "Yeah," he replies, eyes fixed on the floor. "Yeah, maybe."

Felix straightens his back, ever-punctual as he is, glancing at the clock on Claude's wall. "Right. I suppose it's time for me to head home."

"This late?" asks Claude. "You can stay over if you'd like."

"I appreciate it," he replies, tone perfectly polite, "but I must head home."

"Oh, okay." Claude remembers the macarons that are still sitting in his room. "You hungry?" he asks Felix. "We have dinner leftover in the fridge, or you can take these macarons home with you."

"No. I'm fine, thank you."

"Wow, okay.” Claude adds with a forced levity, “You don't really eat much."

"I eat when I need to."

"Right," Claude says, with a laugh that's just a little too tired. "That's the most Felix answer ever."

♡

As soon as he exits Claude's apartment building, Plagg flies out for some fresh air.

"You seen it, didn't you?" asks Felix, straight to the point.

Plagg now floats closer to Felix's shoulder. "Yes. The purple aura around his face. That is Papillon talking to his victims."

Felix's jaw tightens. "I would've gotten closer," he mutters, "if it weren't for the damn window being shut."

Lately, with Paris on edge, the government distracted by akuma attacks, and every news broadcast spinning on a loop of Ladybug and Cat Noir, the crime rates of Paris have gotten worse. People know, of course, and they discuss these crimes on the daily. However, as soon as Ladybug and Cat Noir appear on the television, the conversation diverges. People forget. Quickly. And then other people use this opportunity to commit wrongdoings.

Thefts. Break-ins. Muggings.

And tonight, it just so happens that Felix, in his civilian form, becomes a victim to a robber.

"Hey!"

Plagg immediately hides in his pocket.

Felix pauses at this. He hasn't even left the street of Claude's apartment.

Out of the shadows stumbles a scrawny, older man. Mid-fifties maybe, hunched forward, face unshaven and tight with nervous energy. His clothes hang off him in layers. In his hand holds tightly a switchblade.

"Give me your wallet!" The man practically barks, pointing the blade at Felix.

Felix's entire body stills. His eyes narrow slightly.

Behind the façade of calm, his brain spins.

Great. Just great.

I can't, Felix thinks sharply, considering transforming into Cat Noir, even though he technically could. It would just risk his identity to Papillon, who is far more dangerous than a robber. His eyes flick down once, then up at the man again.

And, despite the fact that Felix has been training as a boxer, he is only a beginner. Not to mention that he barely has any muscle as a fifteen year old boy. It would be great if Ladybug could take the old man down for him, but then, how would Ladybug be able to help him when there is no warning for robberies?

Although, Felix wouldn't exactly mind dying at his hands, just so he would no longer have to be a superhero. But just as Felix takes out his wallet, he hears footsteps hurrying down the street. 

Turning his head, he sees Claude running down. 

And in front of Claude is his father, Julian, who grabs the scrawny old man by the collar and slams him down to the floor. The man flails in panic, eyes wide. His switchblade falls to the pavement. 

Felix glances up to Claude, who has his phone to the ear. Most likely calling the police.

Julian shakes the man once, hard. "You come after anyone again, and I swear, you'll wish the police got to you first!"

The man stammers something incoherent, breathless.

"The police are coming soon," says Claude.

"Good," grunts his pa, Julian.

"You good, bro?" Claude asks, concerned.

Felix blinks. "I am," he replies. "Thank you."

Claude lets out a shaky sigh. "That was close, wasn't it?" He runs a hand through his hair, still winded. "You probably would've been better off if you'd just stayed. Honestly, I thought you were gonna call Nathalie or something."

He doesn't answer right away. He could've called Nathalie. It would've been the smart thing to do. The safe thing.

But he didn't. Because he needed to talk to Plagg.

He turns his attention back to Claude, who's now squatting down, elbows on his knees, watching the man on the ground without anger. Just exhaustion. 

And something occurs to Felix.

Perhaps, in truth, Claude resembles Dr. Jekyll more than any other. A good man, all in all. Smart, educated, talented in many hobbies. And with all that, there is a scarier side to Claude in middle school , a past version of himself that Felix had never been witness to but had heard of through passing. Yes, he was blackmailed, and chose to accept his fate as to avoid letting his secrets out. It is human nature to want to survive.

It certainly makes Felix ponder, did Claude ever enjoy his other identity the way Jekyll accepted Hyde? Did he even slightly enjoy the power that came with tormenting other students weaker than him? For one, Felix knows himself to enjoy Cat Noir's powers, even though he despises being Cat Noir.

He studies Claude a moment longer, silently asking the question: Did you like it, even for a second? Were you ever tempted to keep being him?

"Well, are you going to do it?"

The question snaps Felix out of his mind.

"Do what?"

"Call Nathalie," says Claude, as if it was obvious. "You need to get home safe."

Felix hesitates.

There it is. That line between them. The difference that defines them. Claude did the wrong thing once. But even now, with the hindsight, with the regret, he's still trying to make things right. 

Even given the choice to be Hyde, Claude would still rather be Jekyll.

♡

The front door swings open with a soft click, and Darcy steps inside. It's quite late. After the incident in the park, and heading back to school, Darcy and Anna decided to head back to Anna's house to squeal about Cat Noir. 

But the moment she opens her bedroom door, she stops short.

Her room now feels… emptier.

All the posters of Cat Noir (and Ladybug) on her wall have been removed, replaced with the bare white paint. On her desk, it's visible that her notes and textbooks have been shifted slightly. Her pens moved out of its organised state. 

Darcy flips through her notebook and finds all her Cat Noir doodles on sticky notes gone. She looks through her drawers and cannot find her scrapbook.

Footsteps tells her that her papa is nearby.

"Papa?"

"Yes?" His voice calls from the hallway.

"Have you been in my room recently?"

Her papa steps into the room. "I found your Cat Noir posters."

"Okay… where are they?"

"In the trash."

"What, why?" Darcy tries to remain calm. 

"You're the mayor's daughter," he states. "You should know better than to indulge in childish things like superhero fan clubs. It's beneath you."

"Ladybug and Cat Noir are superheroes. This is just my way of showing support."

"If you want to support Paris," he says slowly, deliberately, "then you have to take things seriously."

"I do—"

"Whatever childish fantasy Ladybug and Cat Noir are chasing around in masks… the city always returns to normal after they're done playing superhero. But do you know what normal means for most people?"

She doesn't answer.

"Starving," he says. "Working two, sometimes three jobs just to afford rent in a city that celebrates masked people more than it does mothers. Collapsing from exhaustion, not from villain attacks. That's what normal looks like for people without the luxury of a secret identity or a fan club. There is less support for these people than Ladybug and Cat Noir."

"I understand," she says eventually.

Chapter Text

Featuring:
in these dreams and desires, i dance
viennese waltz, i stop, aged memories, i stand—
—sinking deeper, i lose my disposition, i run

♡

It isn’t unusual for the apartment to be empty, and today is just like any other.

For Allegra, a girl who is particularly picky with her peers, and tends to spend her time on her own company, even she is still unaccustomed to such quiet. Even with music, she has listened to the same songs so many times that she has it on pause.

Inevitably, she reaches for her phone. 

The muscles in her arms elongate with a faint ache as she attempts to grab her phone from her position, without having to shuffle her body across the bed.

She reminds herself of the necessity of stretching more often. Dancing without adequate preparation and stretches is unwise, as her instructor often reminds her, and she does notice that the result of it has affected her moods. Particularly during school.

It's Bridgette she chooses to message. After two weeks of answering only with a noncommittal “maybe”, Bridgette at last agrees to come over. It has taken Allegra some persuasion at first, until her friend remembered she needed a model for the dress she is entering into that design competition. 

Sighing, Allegra falls back onto her bed, with her phone in her hands, staring at the message.

Her hair follows in motion, blond strands curling over the pillow. She doesn’t blame her friend for being busy, unlike herself. She understands well enough the demands placed upon her friend. She knows that Bridgette wakes up early to help at her family’s bakery, studies twice as hard due to her background, does jiu-jitsu competitively, and invests a lot of time on art, especially fashion design. 

By contrast, Allegra’s own days feels curiously hollow in shape. 

Perhaps she should involve herself in school drama more often just to pass the time, although previous experience proves that it instead consumes more time. If Allegra had not been a dancer, she wouldn’t be sure how she would go about day to day.  It had been a privilege her parents had granted with great reluctance, and only after her teacher had persuaded them. " This will benefit her greatly," Madame Gaillard had insisted, hands clasped as though pleading with the gods. " She is a star, can’t you see?"

Yet, even this won’t last long. After the competition in Vienna, she will spend her Saturdays bored aimless again. That is, unless Madame Gaillard signs Matteo and her up for another. And another after that. However, Allegra can tell that this will all end soon, and that eventually she will have to give up dancing to focus on school.

It would be good for her to open up to people at school again. She knows that. 

When Bridgette arrives with the dress in the bag and a camera slung over her shoulder, Allegra gets dressed into it immediately in the front hallway. There is no one else about and by now, the two are rather comfortable with each other. Additionally, knowing her parents, Allegra would not see them home until the evening. 

Whilst Bridgette fiddles with the lenses, Allegra disappears briefly into her mother's closet and returns wearing a pair of ivory heels at her friend’s request; it is off-white, and plain enough to not steal the attention from the dress in terms of colour and brightness. By then, Bridgette has set up the camera in the sitting room. Allegra plaits her hair into a sleek braid, and then they spend hours taking photos. 

It is mundane in one sense, but not joyless. Allegra finds in the simple act of being looked at to be a kind of comfort. If her parents had not been so determined for her to be equally STEM smart, which she is increasingly aware of her struggles with it, she would be a teen model already. 

The passion is visible in Bridgette too, in the way she photographs at Allegra in anything that is slightly fashionable. Since before they even spoke in middle school, she knows Bridgette has always admired her, and that is whether from afar or simply walking past.

Allegra doesn't mind. She enjoys being in the spotlight. 

Moreso, she enjoys the company. 

In an apartment too big for three people in Paris, the other two are often absent. Leaving the place too much for Allegra sometimes.

After the photoshoot, they head to Allegra's room. She pulls on a pair of worn sweats in preparation for her later dance class, and Bridgette spreads out on the floor, the tablet opens before her, already arranging the photos into a digital collage. Sketches of variations before the final decision, colour palettes and studies, notes. Or annotations , as Bridgette calls it. She arranges them with her inspiration photos, including butterflies, flowers, and basically everything related to Spring, laying out the full design process for her portfolio. Allegra watches.

Allegra only wishes she could have these imaginative visions. Instead she seems to only be the result. She performs like she is told. She follows the choreography, but her male dance partner, Matteo, is always the one leading. The vision in her life always seems to be someone else's.

Bored now, she sits behind Bridgette and starts braiding her pigtails absentmindedly. We're in high school and you're still wearing pigtails , she thinks to herself, though not unkindly.

Bridgette doesn't flinch or turn around. She's too focused on adjusting the placement of the images. "Finally, I have the time to get this done," she says.

As if reading her mind, Allegra adds: "You've been procrastinating for a while."

"Yeah," Bridgette sheepishly laughs, and explains why without telling the truth. "Just juggling school and the bakery, I almost forgot about the deadline for the submission."

She shuffles in her position. She can see the pictures of herself, ones of her staring into the camera and others staring away, her chin tilted slightly, expression unreadable. She knows it's herself, but there is something unrecognisable about her. How is it possible that she can give off the impression that she is a confident individual comfortable in her own skin when that is simply not the case? How can one's mind not correlate with their expressions and exterior appearance?

"And now you can focus on the tests."

Bridgette glances back, eyebrows raised. "That's not something I expected you to say."

Allegra leans back, letting the first of Bridgette's braided pigtails fall gently against her shoulder. "Well," she says, "my papa is a doctor."

Bridgette swipes to a new page, importing more images. "I only have Biology, History, and Geography left," she says, then in that moment, she brushes a loose strand of hair from her cheek. "You?"

Starting on the second pigtail, Allegra gently separates the strands with her fingers. "Same, except swap Biology for Maths," she murmurs, looping one section over the next. It is obvious in her tone that she isn't particularly excited for it.

"Excited about your competition in Vienna?"

"Mmn, so-so. Honestly, I'm only stressed because my teacher is stressed. But she's always like that."

"I remember that time she scolded you for blinking too hard."

"Yeah, she's just strange."

"And Matteo?"

"Don't know," Allegra says flatly. "Don't care." She lets the second pigtail drop from her hand, watching it swing gently against Bridgette's shoulder before falling still.

Bridgette tilts her head slightly and says, "You braided them too perfectly. Now I'll have to keep them in all weekend."

"That's a good thing," reassures Allegra.

"Today is hair wash day though…" Bridgette's ahoge droops as she says this, to which Allegra answers with "that's life". Setting her tablet aside on the pink rug, Bridgette finally looks up and says, "You need to go in an hour."

"I know," Allegra sighs, flopping onto her back and letting her limbs sprawl. Her braid brushes against her cheek, but she doesn't bother moving it.

Bridgette narrows her eyes. "Have you even packed your things yet?"

When Allegra doesn't answer, Bridgette gets up for her. She crosses the room, opens the left door of the closet, and pulls out Allegra's pink duffle bag from the shelf. She takes out Allegra's dance practice top and bottom, which she notes were unfolded and are wrinkled, and a pair of simple black heels worn out from practice. 

Still on the floor, Allegra stretches her legs one at a time, pointing and flexing her feet lazily.

Knowing where it is, Bridgette opens the right door and her body stills in awe, staring at the dress. A deep, stunning red. This is the one that Allegra will be wearing on stage in the Vienna City Hall. The backless silhouette glides into view. The bodice, made from stretch net, is veiled in intricate lace and glitters with a constellation of fire opal, siam, and scarlet crystals. It is complemented by bugle beads, catching the light with every imagined movement, and the fringe accents are neatly attached. The dress is enhanced by three layers of petal-shaped skirts made from satin chiffon. Each hem is rolled to perfection.

To pair with this dress luxurious ostrich feather boas would drape over her arms. She also has a pair of silver heels that Bridgette would prefer not to know the price of. 

"Ostrich feather boas," Bridgette practically breathes out the words. Her eyes sparkle, and her hands tremble slightly as she touches the fabric. 

Allegra raises her hand from the floor and flicks her wrist lazily. "Only the essentials."

"I can't wait to see you in this."

"I'm going to look ridiculous, like an actual ostrich. But red."

"No way, Allegra!" Bridgette practically shoots back, her ahoge standing uptight. "You're going to look stunning!"

"Uh-huh."

Bridgette lightly stomps one foot and points at her. "Oh, come on! Weren't you super excited about this? Weren't you even nervous about this? You wanted to do really well, didn't you?!"

"Yeah, I am. But I'm just too lazy right now to show my emotions."

"You're impossible." Bridgette almost falls to her knees at this. Arms slumped at her sides in disbelief. "You haven't got burnout, have you?"

"No, it's too late for that."

Bridgette still cannot quite wrap her head around how much Allegra's parents invest into dancing. One of those dresses easily costs five thousand euros—and Allegra enters a major competition every year. Sure, they sell the dresses afterward, but to have this amount of money ready at any time is astonishing. Once she had mentioned the price to her papa over breakfast, and he nearly choked on his cereal before launching into a full rant about how much he could expand the bakery with that kind of money. 

"You're gonna look so beautiful when you wear it," Bridgette stares back at her friend. "You have to take lots of pictures."

It'll be broadcasted on TV," Allegra responds, almost too casually. "You'll see everything."

"What's Matteo wearing?"

"Black suit. Nothing exciting."

"One day," Bridgette says, almost to herself, "I want to make a dress for you."

Allegra sits up a little, resting her weight on her elbows. "I can't wait for that day," she smiles.

Bridgette knows that, for Allegra's parents, image often seems to matter more than family. It has always been that way. She suspects they only enrolled Allegra in dance in the first place to have something impressive to show off. Now, even though they pressure her to focus on academics in the same way they did, they are in too deep to pull her out. Dance has become part of the brand. From what Bridgette hears, all of Allegra's relatives and family friends know her as the dancer.

"Can you imagine if I got possessed by Papillon?" Allegra suddenly asks as she sits up, and Bridgette swears she feels a shiver at the suddenness of the question. "He would probably give me the most gorgeous dress. Like… silk, with proper diamonds, something magical. I'd look absolutely divine while causing mayhem."

Shaking herself out of the sudden shiver, she sets Allegra's duffle bag next to the door. "Don't joke about stuff like that, Allegra."

"Gee, chill. I'm not wishing for it. I'm just saying, I do think Dawnbreaker's outfit was quite good, and I think you'd agree too."

She huffs, crossing her arms. Her ahoge bounces slightly with the motion, like it's as annoyed as she is. "I wouldn't want to fight you."

Then she tenses, almost forgetting that she has to keep her identity a secret.

"I mean I wouldn't fight you of all people. You'd be dead the second I blast you, and knowing you, you'd definitely come to me and scream 'Allegra, this isn't you! Listen to me, I'm your best friend, Bridgette!'" Allegra elucidates in an exaggerated tone, moving her arms in the air. "Whereas Ladybug and Cat Noir would definitely beat the crap out of me. I know myself, I'm difficult to deal with. Think about it, if you became his victim, he'd give you the best sewing machine in the world." At this, Allegra raises a finger, a smug painting her face. "A dark couture queen. You'd be unstoppable. Just sewing and destroying lives."

"So I'd use it for evil," Bridgette ponders. She's not sure how she feels about that.

"Nah, nah, actually you wouldn't. I take back my words. You'd just sew away. Papillon wouldn't even get into your head if he tried. 'Evil Couture Queen! You are to defeat Ladybug and Cat Noir!' he would say, and you'd say, 'I'm not done sewing yet!'." 

Bridgette can't help but laugh as Allegra does her impressions.

♡

It used to be that Maman and papa would come and see every recital and showcase. For two intelligent and generally admired individuals, having a daughter that made people turn their gazes at every move she made was valuable to them.

This was when she was doing ballet, and she had been for a few years. Maman would come well-dressed, with her hair done professionally at a salon, so that she and her daughter could look beautiful together. Papa would have his eyes on her every move, and when they made eye contact, he would wink.

She doesn't remember when they stopped, but at one point it was obvious that they did. She was nine, maybe ten. She had just proudly danced as Aurora from Sleeping Beauty, her biggest role yet. And after her final curtsy, the applause was scattered. Her head scans the audience with a wide smile, hoping to find her papa with a wink. Clapping and cheers and the sound of cameras snapping pictures overwhelms her ears. 

But in the audience there was no maman, and there was no papa.

"Do they even know you're the lead again?" whispered Charlotte, another girl from the studio, as they unpinned their hair backstage.

Allegra pretended not to hear.

"Seriously," said Sophie, louder now, tossing her slippers into her bag. "It's always you. Maybe if I had blond hair, I'd get lead, too."

When it comes to these shows, everyone longed for the leading roles. Allegra was no different, and she was forced to push herself harder each time her peers did the same. Ballet wasn't just dance. It was competition, and Allegra would be lying if she said she did not enjoy the thrill of hearing her ballet instructor announce the lead role, and for it to be her name each time as though she had won a game. Of course, that joy eventually soured under the bitterness of others. She knew that whenever a girl her age offered a compliment, it was nothing more than false.

At eight, Allegra figured something out: if she showed she cared, they would eat her alive. 

After the audience had dispersed, and the staff had begun to clear up, and she and her peers slipped out of their costumes, her papa would arrive to take her home. It soon became routine. He spoke more of the burdens of work than bothered to ask of her performance, and by the time they returned, her maman was already in bed. 

Thus their evenings unfolded: in presence the three of them, somehow together yet always at a distance.

At school, it was much the same. She would lose a friend over something dumb—petty quarrels about who claimed the better seat at lunch, or which girl had borrowed a favoured pink pen without asking. She supposes it all made sense in hindsight. They were all elementary school kids. Allegra, by then, had learned not to turn her head, not to involve herself in these dramas. She told herself she didn't need them, when there were more important things to focus on. Though in truth, there was only one thing and most would guess it was dance.

Strangely, this detachment worked in her favour. Girls started going up to her, with the wish of befriending her because "she was so cool" for being unbothered. Older kids in school let her in their circle. Younger kids passing by always told her she was pretty. The boys all started crushing on her even though she never had any interest.

Her golden blond hair never lost its brightness, even as she aged and every other blond girl she knew had their hair darken or dyed. 

Impressively, she even kept her tan even during the cold Parisian winters, and that was apparently something to be admired about.

♡

"Now you will make a lot of friends in middle school, and have a lot of fun," her papa told her the morning before middle school, leaning forward just slightly. Just by his expression, Allegra can already tell that he had some advice to give her that 'he wished he followed when he was younger'. "But make sure you start making time for studying, because high school will be more different than you think. And after that, you have university."

Allegra listened absently, her spoon stirring the cereal as she now had no real interest in eating.

Her mother, a well-known astrophysicist, had dreams of her daughter pursuing a career that is equally scholarly yet passionate. "Maybe you want to join a Math club," she suggested, dropping into a chair beside Allegra.

"I already have ballet," Allegra said quickly, before taking another spoonful. "And Maths is lame."

She swore her mother's eyebrows twitched in mild disbelief. "Your papa and I both enjoyed math, and science, in school."

"Well…" Allegra slumped her shoulders, staring at her own reflection in the spoon. "I hate math and I don't want to do that."

Setting down his coffee with a soft clink, her papa cleared his throat. "You want to start thinking of your future, Allegra. What do you wanna be?"

"A dancer."

"A real job," he said gently but firmly. "Think."

"I don't know," she muttered, now looking ahead but not directly at her papa, suddenly wishing the conversation would disappear like the steam from his mug.

"You can be a doctor," he offered.

Crossing her arms, Allegra huffed before she answered, "I don't want to be a doctor. That's boring. I know it's boring because you look bored all the time."

She knew her parents put a constant, heavy pressure on her.  Dancing was never going to be a long-term goal, a career option, at least not in their eyes. Indeed, this was ironic, since they were the ones who had signed her up for ballet and gymnastics.

Having a doctor for a father and an astrophysicist for a mother can be quite daunting, especially when she is a single child. It meant that she would have to achieve higher. She may not be compared to a sibling the way other kids do, but if she did, and her sibling proved to be more promising than she did, then Allegra would simply not know what to do.

She could see the way irritation seeped into their smiles when someone complimented her looks, and to them it was something that might distract from what really mattered. They would mention how alike Allegra looked to her mother, with her bright blond hair, and her papa, possessing his clear blue eyes. Although it was clear as day that she would look more like her mother if she took better care of her skin, and more like her father if he regularly groomed himself. "But we were busy," she recalls them repeating often, "and work is really important."

Being an astrophysicist, Allegra's mother did not have a lot of time for Allegra. She couldn't make it to Allegra's gymnastics and ballet performances, and later, most of her ballroom dance competitions. It was Allegra's father who took her to her extracurricular activities.

She remembered one birthday in particular: her mother had just flown home from a conference in the States, and for once, both her parents were there. They were about to bring out the cake until her papa's phone rang. It happened to be that one of his clients had an urgent health issue, and just like that, he was out the door.

Being an only child, Allegra learned early how to be alone.

♡

Bridgette makes her way home from Allegra's house, following along the pathway to her bakery underneath the light of mid-afternoon. Her hands tucked into her jacket sleeve, feeling the cold of November. The brown satchel bag with her belongings slings over her shoulder, the zip on it barely closing due to the amount of stuff she had brought, and Bridgette certainly was not bringing more than one bag.

"I wonder what Felix is doing right now," she mutters to herself.

No sooner have the words leave her lips that a small, familiar presence stirs from the inside of her jacket. Then, the kwami pops its head out of Bridgette's pocket. "You really do like him, don't you, Bri?"

"I—" Bridgette nearly jolts, her ahoge springing upright like an exclamation point, "I think I'm making progress on becoming his friend!" To emphasise her point, she slams a fist lightly against her chest. "After all, he said he would let me borrow his book."

" If he finds it," reminds Tikki.

"Oh yeah, the French copy." At this, her shoulders slumps and her ahoge droops. "Ah, he'll probably never find it and I'll never be able to read it and understand Cat Noir and befriend Felix by common interests simultaneously."

"Don't fret, Bri. I'm sure he will find it." Although the kwami says it with uncertainty. "You are Ladybug, after all. Your good luck charm will work in your favour." 

Bridgette looks down at Tikki's bright bug eyes. A fond smile tugs at Bridgette's lips as she lowers her hand to gently stroke the top of Tikki's head. The kwami leans into the affection.

"I never realised how popular the book was," says Bridgette. "Can you believe that Cat Noir and Felix have both read the same book? And Cat Noir can speak English really good!" 

Having Cat Noir as a male companion who she can't help but become close with (of course, it is only a necessity for her if she wants Cat Noir to work with her), and attempting to befriend Felix, it isn't before long that she draws some similarities between them. Despite the fact that the two act as though they come from two different worlds. For one, they are both blond, and two, somehow share the same interests in reading. And three, well… that is pretty much it, isn't it? But somehow, it feels as though the two are more alike than Bridgette initially assumed.

Suddenly, Bridgette pauses in her steps. 

Tikki gives her owner a look, wondering what kind of knots she is trying to tie together in her head.

No way…

The world seems to shift around her, the ordinary moment stretching thin with sudden realisation.

The only other person she knows to have blond hair and green eyes is Andrien. Although he was never exactly a weirdo in middle school, having been quite extroverted and friendly with everyone except for Bridgette. She shakes her head, her ahoge frantically turning left and right in absolute refusal. 

She would rather put Andrien in the past. There are plenty of people with blond hair and green eyes, she just doesn't know that many personally. It is in the same way that a combination of black hair and blue eyes is pretty rare in Paris as well.

Yeah, that's what it is!

She should have learnt from Andrien not to pursue someone who does not return the same sentiment. However, on occasions, Felix has shown kindness in his actions. It may be the delusions, but she sees it in the way he helps her collect the fallen beads, even though he was annoyed with her, or in the way he insisted on getting her bandaid when she tripped, or how—albeit reluctantly—offered to find her a French copy of 'Jekyll & Hyde'. Not once has he made life difficult for her simply because she tried to be kind. He himself doesn't seem to be the type to enjoy other people's suffering. Even Cat Noir at times has offered words of kindness when he notices she is down. There is no way Andrien would ever be Cat Noir.

Then again…

Well, it certainly can't be Felix, she thinks.

"There's no way Cat Noir's a weirdo in civilian life…" Tikki, upon hearing Bridgette speak again, deadpans at this. "But, I'm not exactly the same person Ladybug is either."

"The power of the miraculous is meant to make you different to your civilian self," states Tikki in a matter-of-factly tone. "You are not meant to be easily identified, therefore it is not just your appearance that changes." 

She hums at this, turning her head to look toward the rooftops above when she reaches the street, where she and Cat Noir have swung and leapt and fought side-by-side so many times. And it has only been three months since they became superheroes. The days have gone by swiftly, and although the changes that come with the new school term are not subtle, she feels as though she hasn't really changed. Even if she is now a superhero, as Parisians refer to her as. 

"I wonder if he gets bullied," she says softly, almost absentmindedly. "Maybe that's why he doesn't really have a role model besides a character in an English novella."

"Suppose if that is the case, perhaps being Cat Noir is an outlet for him. It could explain why he does not take it as seriously as you do," says Tikki. "It is Fate, after all, that has chosen him as the wielder of the cat miraculous. You should truly have nothing to worry about."

"Says you," Bridgette teases as she pokes Tikki on the forehead. The kwami's antenna swings left and right in joy. "I still recall you were in tears the day I met you."

"I was very afraid, Bri. But I knew things would turn out well in the end, knowing you were fated to protect this city."

Bridgette cannot help but frown slightly at this, her steps slowing as she processes the words. "Tikki, you always mention 'Fate', and that I am destined to do these things. How do you know that 'Fate' is right? Is it a kind of being?"

"Fate, as I have discovered previously, is an omniscient, unseen being. You can only hear it. But the only one who can hear Fate… is Null."

"That powerful kwami you mentioned before," Bridgette mutters, turning onto a familiar street that informs her that she is fifteen minutes away from home. She sighs with relief, hoping to get home sooner. She should have put on extra layers, but knowing herself, she would sweat from walking too fast and she did not have the room to put them in her bag.

"Will I ever get the chance to meet him?" she asks.

"Previous holders have come close to him," Tikki says thoughtfully. The pause between this and her next sentence is long. "I imagine you'll be no different. Although… I hope you'll do more than just meet him."

"That raises the bigger question," she murmurs. "Will I even be able to defeat him?" Her ahoge droops with a soft sway, mirroring her uncertainty. "This is all so confusing," she sighs.

Up ahead, a pigeon stands squarely in the middle of the sidewalk—one Bridgette hadn't noticed until now. 

Without a word, Tikki ducks swiftly into the safety of Bridgette's pocket, her antennae disappearing beneath the fabric. 

"Nope," Bridgette mutters, freezing mid-step. "Not today. Please."

Her eyes lock cautiously onto the pigeon, which has not moved. It just stands there, chest puffed slightly, feathers fluffed against the breeze like it owns the block. Bridgette has known many intimidating pigeons in her life. 

The one thing that hugely separates Bridgette and Ladybug is Ladybug's strong, much more strong, sense of justice. Ladybug knows all pigeons to be victims of Monsieur Pigeon, whereas Bridgette vividly recalls the trauma of being attacked by flocks of pigeons twice on her first day of high school. Whilst Bridgette does give people the benefit of the doubt, often she feels as though she was at fault. On the other hand, Ladybug, although once uncertain, has grown into a determined individual, ready to tackle solutions at her own hands.

The pigeon tilts its head to the side, one beady eye fixed on her.

Bridgette tilts her head in return, perfectly mirroring the bird's angle.

"It may be harmless," whispers Tikki.

Bridgette inhales deeply, steeling herself. In the entire twenty seconds she holds her breath, the pigeon does not do anything. Finally, she exhales, slow and quiet, as if letting out even a puff too loud might provoke it.

"…We're cool," she whispers, and adds in the same hush, "Stay in your lane, and I'll stay in mine!"

Then, to her dismay, her ears pick up on the sound of an obnoxious laugh in the distance, sharp and grating, stretching into a familiar cawing cackle.

She turns toward the sound, her head angling upward as her eyes scan the sky.

And there, hovering above the city, she spots him.

Monsieur Pigeon.

He stands tall with exaggerated pride, arms firmly planted on his hips like he's the hero of his own ridiculous story. Beneath him is a dense cloud of pigeons flapping their wings in perfect formation, carrying his weight as he sails across the sky across Paris. 

Just for how long will he enslave them?

She glances back at the lone pigeon still blocking her path.

Its head twitches. A low coo bubbles from its throat.

Then its eyes flash crimson.

Without warning, it launches toward her with a sharp flap of wings and a shrill screech.

Bridgette jumps back.

"Not again!," Bridgette pleads, spinning around and sprinting down the street.

She dodges obstacles of bins, lampposts, fences and bicycles, swerves around a startled pedestrian, and leaps over a fallen scooter as the pigeon barrels after her in hot pursuit. All around her, Parisians scatter, ducking into shops and slamming doors shut, now well-trained by far too many akuma attacks. Bridgette then makes a hard turn into a narrow alley and spots a large, empty black bin. She dives inside, pulling the lid down just in time.

Breathing hard, she listens. Wings flutter past; the sound fades.

Inside the darkness of the bin, she exhales, pulling the satchel bag over her head and leaving it in, and whispers, "Spots on."

Moments later, she kicks open the lid and leaps out in full costume. Yo-yo materialises in her hand. She swings it upward, latching onto a ledge, and launches herself toward the rooftops.

It isn't before long that Monsieur Pigeon spots her. She stands out, very vibrantly. And soon the two engage in their typical fight. He sends her wave after wave of pigeons. Ladybug counters with various weapons that would hold them off, although not hurting them, including a large net, shield, and a spring-loaded umbrella. Just enough to render them weak to throw them in the other direction, and have them rest as she takes down Monsieur Pigeon.

Cat Noir joins in halfway through, dealing with the pigeons one by one with his black storm. 

By now they have gotten used to a routine, and it seems that even Monsieur Pigeon and the Mime indulge in it. That is, the one who will take Ladybug's miraculous is Monsieur Pigeon, and the one responsible for Cat Noir is the Mime. And vice versa, Ladybug is usually the first to enter the scene when Monsieur Pigeon arrives, and so it is the same with the other two.

Finally, spotting an opening, Ladybug charges forward. Monsieur Pigeon barely has time to screech before she grabs him by the chest. With one sharp turn and a mighty throw, she hurls him high into the air. She watches him flail in practically slow-motion as the pigeon cloud he once stood on scatters.

"Go home now, Monsieur Remier!" she shouts after him. "I'll see you some other time! I need to go home and wash my hair!"

Cat Noir raises a brow, watching the man spiral out of view. "Was that... personal?"

♡

Cat Noir lands in one of the narrow back alleys of the city, where it opens up to the backdoors of the shops, and the sides of the roads are lined with large black bins. 

"Claws in," he says, detransforming.

Plagg stretches, floating lazily. "Man, I was in the middle of a well-earned five-hour nap after boxing this morning."

"Come on, Plagg, I'm on the last chapter of Part Two," Felix tells the kwami as he adjusts his collar, urging him to get home so he could continue 'Crime and Punishment'. 

He had been held up in the Apollo Sporting Club, since Kim would not let Felix go without a conversation, especially after Claude and him successfully presented their research presentation. When he finally got home, he had spent the rest of his time gripping onto the heavy book, flipping the next page eagerly.

"You know," Plagg drawls, "I think you've started to enjoy being a superhero."

Felix does not slow down. "Not true."

"You've been living your life, kiddo," presses the kwami. "And you haven't even mentioned your plans for making Ladybug fall in love with you lately."

"Trust me. When I have a plan, I act on it immediately."

♡

Allegra arrives at Ballroom dance Paris, despite the ongoing pigeon attack, where her lessons take place. 

The studio stood in a modest building just beyond the main road, its tall windows looking out toward the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower rising on the opposite bank.Inside, paneled walls stretched upward, seemingly giving it more space than it actually does. One side is entirely covered in mirrors, doubling the light and space, and the other side incorporates large windows that sees out the traffic and river.

Matteo, standing at five feet nine, has curly brown hair and brown eyes. Hearing the sound of the door opening, he instantly turns his head with a smile.