4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I do not own Miraculous Ladybug.

Lucky Us

By: Princess Kitty1

Chapter 4

Sunday brunch used to be tradition in the Agreste household. Adrien's stockpile of childhood memories were full of it. There he was at six years old, choking on the adorable bowtie his mother had picked out for him. And look, there he was at nine, amusing himself by squeaking his nice shoes together until his father snapped at him to cut it out. But he tolerated Sunday brunch and its annoying dress code because he knew that no matter how busy his parents were during the other six days of the week, they would always have Sunday to come together as a family.

Then his mother died, and Sunday brunch, like his father's kindness, became a relic of the past.

So when his father materialized from literally-anywhere-else to call Adrien to a mandatory Sunday brunch, he figured he must have succeeded in making Gabriel think he was an alcoholic. After all, only a substance abuse problem could summon Gabriel Agreste from the throne of his fashion empire.

Or a tattoo, but Adrien planned on saving that for an emergency.

His phone chimed as he lathered his face and neck with shaving cream to do away with the beard his body kept trying to grow. Sunday was the one day of the week that Ladybug had to sleep in, and she did not take it for granted. He unlocked his phone with the knuckle of his pinky finger.

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 201515 seconds ago

Oh my God

I feel like a sandbag.

How did I sleep for twelve hours?

Chat, why did you let me sleep for twelve hours?

x.x.x

Adrien smiled and picked up his razor. She should have known better than to ask questions like that. Now he'd have no choice but to reply with a joke about bringing her breakfast in bed.

How different would his mornings be if he was in a relationship with Ladybug? A hazy picture formed: himself, stretched on the floor of a small apartment, napping in the sun… sketches of outfits fluttering in the breeze from the open window… Plagg's nails clicking on tile in the kitchen… Are you going to laze around all morning, chaton? …and cracking one eye open to smile at… a silhouette obscured by blinding sunlight.

Adrien glared at himself in the mirror. Even without a face to match the words on his cell phone screen, he was happier in his fantasy than he was now. Pathetic.

Once he'd shaved and achieved a level of presentable his father would approve of, he went into his closet for something Sunday brunch appropriate. He hadn't forgotten his mission. No time to make a statement by wearing a Hawaiian print t-shirt—something else he kept around for emergency purposes—and sandals. He put on a pale blue Oxford shirt, white slacks, and a navy blue blazer, grateful that Plagg was too sleepy to come rub himself all over his master's legs.

Adrien grabbed his sunglasses and wallet on his way out of the room. He had plans to meet his best friend Nino Lahiffe at Le Grand Paris after Sunday brunch, and the sullen weather of Thursday and Friday had given way to an obnoxiously cheerful weekend. The sun burst through every open window in the Agreste mansion, making Adrien wince. He'd have to be careful not to do that around his father. Couldn't be sent to rehab for a problem he didn't have.

He took a deep breath before he entered the dining room. Gabriel Agreste sat at the head of the table like he always had, an empty chair on either side of him. He lifted his piercing gaze to his son's, and Adrien, mission-minded, smiled at him. Time to kiss some serious ass. "Good morning, Father."

"It's almost noon," Gabriel replied, which was as close to a friendly greeting as Adrien was going to get.

He walked over to the chair on his father's right side and a serving girl appeared out of thin air to pull it out for him. "No, it's—ah, thank you." He sat down, wishing his father didn't instill such fear in his employees. When Gabriel wasn't around, Adrien pulled out his own chairs. In the next few seconds, half a dozen plates and bowls were arranged in front of him, containing everything from fruit to croissants to sanitized water to dip his fingers in. Adrien tried not to look annoyed as he broke a grape off a clump and popped it into his mouth.

Gabriel wiped his hands with a cloth napkin. "Perhaps," he said, rolling the word around his mouth like it tasted funny, "I was a touch insensitive the other day."

Adrien almost choked on the grape. "What?"

"If there is something that is causing you stress—say, enough to develop an excessive enthusiasm for wine—it ought to be discussed. Between the two of us." He added the second part as an afterthought.

Adrien straightened. "Father, I'm not an alcoholic."

Gabriel arched one perfectly groomed eyebrow. "Is that so?" He paused. "Then where have you been disappearing to this week?"

Crap. What could Adrien tell him that didn't sound like a cover-up for a trip to the local pub? "Just taking walks around the neighborhood," he said. "It's good exercise. Fresh air. Helps me clear my mind." That wasn't a lie. He did take walks, get fresh air, and clear his mind. But did his father really need to know about the delicious pastries and the nice girl who baked them? "Anyway," he cut in, figuring it was time to take over the conversation. "How is work going? Have you decided whether or not you're going to hold a design contest this year?"

He kept his voice as level and uninterested as possible. If his father suspected the contest might bring him any sort of joy, he'd call it off without further consideration.

Gabriel went into business mode. "I have given it a lot of thought. The interns produced by the last two competitions were disappointing, to say the least. Stubborn and unwilling to learn. I blame myself for leaving the selection in the hands of someone else."

Adrien picked up a croissant, his expression neutral. "Fall's a busy season."

"Indeed. Busy again this year." Gabriel took a sip of coffee. "No, I think I would rather hold off on the competition than bring another incompetent, upstart designer into the label."

Behind his poker face, Adrien screamed. "Let's not be hasty. The competition's always brought you—us—good publicity."

"I am aware of that, Adrien, but I simply won't have the time."

Crap, crap, crap. This was not going the way he wanted it to. He chewed a bite and reviewed everything he knew about his father before he selected his next words. "If you say so," he said, and threw in a half-shrug for good measure.

Gabriel, who was in the process of spreading jam on a slice of bread, paused. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," Adrien said, "except that you had a lot of enthusiasm going into these competitions, and to back out now because you're too busy?" He shook his head. "The journalists will eat you alive."

"You believe it is in my best interest to prioritize the competition."

"I do."

Gabriel stared him down. Adrien continued to eat like he hadn't said anything out of the ordinary. After a moment, his father resumed spreading jam on his bread. "Nice to see that you have not abandoned all of your sense," he said. "I will reconsider."

Adrien nodded solemnly. "It'll be good for us."

He maintained his composure throughout brunch, playing the part of the good son and asking permission to be dismissed so he could meet up with Nino in a timely fashion. Once outside the mansion, he slipped on his reflective sunglasses, walked through the front gate, made it out of range of the security cameras, then punched the air with his fist.

It wasn't a complete victory, but he'd take it.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 201519 minutes ago

Good afternoon, Sleeping Beauty! I toyed with the idea of emailing you until the notification sounds forced you out of bed, but I got caught up in fantasies about how adorable your sleeping face must look. Had I been there in person, I might have swept a lock of hair away from your forehead before wandering into the kitchen to make us breakfast. Then you would have had to get up to extinguish the smoldering remains of my good intentions.

I am not a chef, buginette, but for you I'd do anything.

x.x.x

When Adrien reached his reserved table at Le Grand Paris twenty minutes later, Nino took one look at him and let out a low whistle. "Dude," he said, "you didn't walk here dressed like that, did you?"

Adrien removed his sunglasses and looked down at his clothes. "There something wrong with this?"

"Yeah. How many women did you send to the hospital along the way?"

"Come on, Nino."

"I'm serious. If you had one more shirt button popped, you'd have incited a riot. Figure out how to turn the model off before you kill someone." Nino grinned and bumped his fist. Adrien put his phone on the table to avoid sitting on it, then took the seat opposite him. "How was Sunday brunch? Your pops hold an intervention for you yet?"

"He tried," Adrien said. "It might have been touching if he did it because he actually cared." He shrugged out of his blazer and a pretty, young waitress all but ran to take it from him, nearly tripping over herself in the process. Adrien and Nino watched her hurry off to the coat rack.

"It mystifies me that you aren't getting laid every night." Nino shook his head. "How many years has it been since you even dated someone?"

Adrien's phone chimed and his eyes darted to the screen. One new email from Ladybug. He covered the screen with his hand to keep Nino from seeing it and slid the phone out of sight. "Casual dating or a monogamous relationship?" he asked. In the case of the former, he'd had a thing with a model two years back, which ended because he was tired of smelling like her cigarettes. In the case of the latter, well…

"Adrien!" A cloud of familiar perfume engulfed him before a pair of sticky, glossed lips pecked his cheek. "You didn't tell me you were coming today."

"Hey, Chlo."

Chloe gave his neck an affectionate squeeze and shot Nino a flat look. "Nino."

"Chloe." Nino nodded.

Adrien extracted Chloe's arms from around his neck. "Going somewhere?" he asked. She was certainly dressed the part: a striped yellow sun dress, strappy sandals, and a Gabriel brand clutch.

"Retail therapy with Sabrina. Being cooped up in this hotel with the leather-and-sweat stink of that geezer Jagged Stone has given me a migraine. How long are alligators supposed to live, anyway?"

"Fang's a crocodile," Adrien said.

"Same difference." She rolled her eyes and waved vaguely behind her. "He's over there giving an interview and I swear my head is throbbing just standing in the same room as him."

"You sure you're not just hungover?" Nino suggested.

"Nobody asked you." Chloe took Adrien's sunglasses from his shirt pocket, snapped them open, and put them on. "Text me later, Adrikins," she said before breezing out of the restaurant, turning the heads of several rich older men as she went.

Adrien unfolded a cloth napkin to wipe the lip gloss off his cheek. "Okay, I only dated Chloe because she was my best friend, and everyonesays you should marry your best friend."

"Everyone has not met Chloe Bourgeois." Nino picked up the restaurant's menu. "Maybe all of this is hypocritical coming from me, the perpetually single DJ Bubbler, but between the two of us you have a much better chance at finding a nice girl to settle down with."

"That's not true," Adrien protested.

Nino lifted his head and raised his eyebrow at him. He opened his mouth to speak again, but his gaze shifted past Adrien's shoulder and his face went slack, words forgotten, mouth hanging open in mid-thought. Adrien recognized that expression. It was Nino's pretty-woman-at-eleven-o'clock face. He hunched his shoulders and leaned forward. "What does she look like?"

Nino kept staring. "Brown and thickset with a very intriguing mole."

Adrien turned around. "Where?"

"Dude!" Nino hit him with his menu.

"Whoa, Chloe was right, it's Jagged Stone!" Adrien looked back at Nino with a huge grin. "I've never seen him this close before."

"Yes, awesome, now turn this way before she notices us."

"Do you think he'd be annoyed if I asked him for an autograph?"

"Adrien, I swear to God."

A few tables away, the woman in question stood up and shook hands with both Jagged Stone and his purple-haired manager. She wore glasses and semi-formal attire, a brown leather satchel slung over her shoulder. To Adrien's great surprise, he recognized her. His brow furrowed as he watched her put a small recording device into her bag. Where had he seen her before?

She turned towards them and her eyes met his.

Nino made a sound like someone had just stepped on his foot and covered his face with the restaurant menu. Adrien grabbed the menu and lowered it to the table with a loud smack as the woman approached them. "Hey," she said, "you're Adrien Agreste, right?"

Adrien put on his friendliest smile. "Yeah. Have I seen you somewhere?" He hoped that for Nino's sake she didn't interpret that as a pick-up line.

"I frequent Tom and Sabine's bakery," the woman said. She held her hand out to him. "Alya Cesaire, entertainment journalist for Zag Weekly."

Adrien's eyes widened. Of course, she was Marinette's friend. He remembered seeing them talking at the counter sometimes during his "official" visits. But he wasn't supposed to know her beyond that, so he shook her offered hand and played innocent. "That's right, the bakery. It's nice to meet you." He gestured to Nino, who had gone unnaturally stiff, his back straight and an expression of pure panic frozen on his face. "This is my friend Nino Lahiffe, better known as DJ Bubbler. He composes the music for our fashion shows."

Alya offered her hand to Nino. "Hey."

Adrien kicked him under the table and Nino hurried to shake her hand. "Yes, my name is Nino!" he barked.

Alya's brow creased, but she was polite enough not to point out the strangeness of his reply. She turned back to Adrien. "So, off the record, a few of us are dying to know: Is Gabriel Agreste holding another design competition this year? We've heard rumors, but nothing concrete."

Adrien perked up at the question. He saw, clear as day, the rest of his plan unfolding before him, a previously hidden path springing up to take him directly to his heart's desire. "My father is absolutely holding a design competition this year, and you can put that in print. Quote me on it. I'll even pose for a photograph if evidence is necessary."

Alya laughed. "It wouldn't hurt," she said, digging into her leather satchel for her camera. "But maybe we want to keep the dining table out of the shot?"

"Good call." Adrien winked at Nino, stood up and dragged the chair over a few inches, then sat down in it, draping his arm over the back and crossing a leg in the most casual model pose he could think of.

"Perfect," Alya said after she took the shot. "And the competition—it's set in stone?"

"It is a sure thing," Adrien emphasized as he scooted the chair back to the table. "We just haven't decided on a date yet."

"Awesome." She pulled out a small silver tin, from which she drew a business card. "Our print story for next week is the Jagged Stone interview, so I'll upload this to our website in the meantime. Could you give me a call when the competition details are hammered out? I'd love to do an official interview."

Adrien took the card and threw her the rehearsed model smile. "I'll do that," he said. She thanked him and excused herself, reiterating that it was nice to meet them both, then headed for the exit. Once she was gone, Adrien held the card out to Nino. "Got her phone number for you."

"Yeah, after you flirted enough to make her think you're the one interested, you jerk," Nino said, but he took the card and ran his finger over the raised text. "By the way, has your dad really decided to go through with the competition?"

"Nope," Adrien said cheerfully.

Nino stared at him. Adrien picked up the restaurant's menu and browsed it without a care in the world. "Dude," Nino said, "dude, holy shit. He's going to kill you."

"This mushroom omelet sounds delicious."

"It was nice knowing you, man."

"Or maybe a salad instead…"

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 20151 hour ago

That's very sweet of you.

But stay out of my kitchen.

My week was stressful enough.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20153 minutes ago

It must have been for you to get drunk on a Tuesday.

(By any chance, does this have something to do with that guy who isn't me?)

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 20152 minutes ago

I wasn't drunk.

I was eighty percent sober.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20155 minutes ago

Let us consult the archived messages of Tuesday evening:

"Omg Chat shut uuuuuup I'm gonna pee. If I pee my pants because of yor stupid jokes Im never spekaing to you again."

Forty percent sober, at best.

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 20151 minute ago

You're right.

I'd have to be at least that drunk to laugh at anything you say.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20152 minutes ago

Meowch! That hurts, My Lady. You have inflicted a fatal wound upon my fragile kitty heart. It's a good thing I still have five of my lives left or you'd be short one comedian.

Scratch that. I have no lives left. I've sealed my own fate, and I am a dead man walking. When my soul has departed for the next life, will you remember me fondly? (Don't ask.)

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 2015Just now

As fondly as most remember their deceased pets.

I may even cry a little.

Hey, so they're showing one of my favorite movies on the free movie channel at seven.

You should watch it with me and judge my horrible taste.

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20152 minutes ago

It's a date. ;D

x.x.x

"A date?" Marinette cried before her yo-yo hit her in the face. "Oww!" She dropped both the yo-yo and her phone on the couch and reached up to rub her nose, tears pricking her eyes. Eleven years later and it still hurt. Why had she wanted to pick the darn thing up again? "Get your mind out of the gutter, chaton," she grumbled. But she couldn't help the smile that teased the corners of her lips.

The doorbell rang. She forced herself up from the couch and wiped bread crumbs off her sweatpants. Had she not been expecting Alya, she'd have panicked and run to make herself presentable, but her best friend was not in the habit of judging her. Well, at least not on the only day of the week she had off.

Alya burst in before the door was more than half open. "You won't believe the morning I just—what happened to your nose?"

"Yo-yo."

Her eyes widened. "Whoa. If you're going to start dual-wielding those things again, I need to come over more often."

Marinette walked past her to the couch, where she'd set up a lazy Sunday command center complete with pillows, sketchbook and colored pencils, and a plush blanket for added comfort. "Don't get your hopes up," she said. She lifted her hand off her nose. "Is it bruising?"

Alya cringed. "Some concealer will leave you good as new."

Marinette dropped into her nest of pillows. "Great." She cleared a space for Alya, making sure there were no bread crumbs on the couch cushions. "You were saying something about an unbelievable morning?"

"Right!" Alya kicked off her shoes and sat down. "So, interviewed Jagged Stone, which was great. He's eccentric but he's not a jerk, you know? And Fang is surprisingly cuddly. Jagged loved the scone you sent him, by the way. In his own words"—Alya spoke in her best English—"this is flippin' awesome!"

Marinette gasped. "He did?"

"Refused to wait until after the interview to finish it. He kept talking with his mouth full."

She grabbed a pillow and screamed, kicking her legs in the air. "Jagged Stone likes our pastries!"

"And I gave him your address, so if he walks through the front door someday, who do you love?"

"Queen Alya, the greatest journalist in Paris." Marinette grinned at her. "You're the best."

Alya held up a finger. "There's more to the story," she said. "I wrapped up the interview and made to leave when who did I spot seated on the other side of the room?" She paused for dramatic effect. "Adrien Agreste."

Marinette's grin fell off her face. "Y-You did?"

"Mmhmm. And what's more is he recognized me from the bakery." Alya dug her elbow into Marinette's side. "If he could remember me when I haven't even spoken to him before today, his memory of you must be much better, don't you think?" She plowed on without waiting for a reaction. "Anyway, he was there with his, uh, interesting friend, so I took the opportunity to ask him if there was going to be a design competition this year, and he said absolutely yes. He told me to put it in print. Do you know what this means?"

"There's going to be a design competition this year?" Marinette tried.

Alya grabbed her by the shoulders. "You have to enter. No buts, no excuses. This is your dream we're talking about." She let go and picked up the sketchbook and colored pencils, thrusting them at Marinette. "If I have to quit my job to run this bakery while you get your shit together, so help me, I will."

Marinette stared at the page full of outfit designs for Tikki. She'd gotten a little carried away and drawn up an entire fall line which, with some adjustments, could easily be made for people instead of dolls. "I don't know, Alya." It was one thing to design for fun, another to try to make a career out of it, to expose herself to the scrutiny of her fashion idol in the hopes of being deemed worthy enough of his time. And besides, she didn't have the best track record when it came to luck.

The determination on her friend's face melted into sympathy. She'd always had the uncanny ability to read Marinette's thoughts. "Listen," she said, "it's just nerves. You're not unlucky. Superstitious, maybe, but unlucky?"

"Then why is it that every time I want something—every time I really try and really care—I get screwed over?" Marinette took back her sketchbook and laid it on the sofa, blinking away tears that sprang to her eyes. Her parents nicknamed her Ladybug because she brought them good luck, but when she was the one who needed that luck, where did it go? She wanted to laugh at the cruelty of it. The only place she could truly be Ladybug was online, where reality didn't apply and her bad luck couldn't reach her.

"Marinette…" Alya pulled her into a hug and rubbed her back. "You can't let fear of disappointment stop you from living."

"I know," she muttered into Alya's chest. But even as she said it, she thought of fifteen-year-old Marinette, curled up on her bed with a splint around her wrist, smothering bitter sobs with her pillow and thinking, I could have been a champion.

And twenty-four-year-old Marinette, standing in a sunlit apartment with a smile on her face, claiming to understand though she didn't understand at all.

"I won't make any promises, but…"

"You'll think about it?" Alya said.

Marinette nodded and pulled away from her. She needed to change the subject before her lazy Sunday became a full blown pity party. "So," she said in a not-so-innocent tone, "how was Adrien?"

"If by that you mean how hot was he,your best friend's got you covered." Alya reached into her satchel and withdrew her camera. "You are so lucky he offered to pose for a photograph, or else you'd have owed me big time for whatever dumb excuse I came up with to get one."

Marinette took the camera.

And spent the next five minutes giggling in octaves she hadn't known herself capable of reaching.

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 20152 minutes ago

Have you ever looked at someone and immediately felt the need to repent for your sins?

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 20159 minutes ago

When we meet in person, I'll let you know.

By the way, this movie sucks. It has totally changed my opinion of you. I'm not sure I can bring myself to marry you anymore. In fact, I think I need to end our friendship right this second, because I cannot bear the offense of having been forced to watch this terrible movie. It is a blight upon the glowing history of the cinema, and an affront to mankind.

x.x.x

LadybugRE: 20151 minute ago

You love me. :-)

x.x.x

Chat NoirRE: 2015Just now

It's over. Goodbye, Ladybug.

(I do.)

To Be Continued

A/N: Fact: Girls will always sneak pics of hot guys for their friends.

The first season of Miraculous Ladybug is over! I can't believe I've only been in this fandom for less than two months. That's the power of a good story, eh? If you are exclusively watching the English dub, or waiting until the Origins episodes premiere in France, have no fear. My author's notes and this fic are spoiler free. My Tumblr, however, is not.

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