Now
Every time you sat in front of your easel you thought about him. The way his face would lighten up when you would show him a new painting, or the way he took up painting after he lost his memory to feel connected to you again.

You'd only been back in Paris for a few weeks. You settled in nicely with the Dupain-Cheng family. They were so kind and hospitable to you, but your selfish side still wished for your own room.

You glanced down at your palette that held steady as it rested against your paint-splattered jeans. It was always so marvelous to you the way the paint all brushed together in random places across the palette. It wasn't even the designated piece but it still became an artwork of its own, especially when you really got into this.

Your eyes flickered up at the canvas. It was finally finished after weeks of tweaking.

A small smile tugged at your lips, it finally hit you that this piece was complete. When you started, you weren't entirely sure where you were going with it. You began when you were sad, longing for the life you used to live.

The background came first, painting the night sky across the white board with an array blues and black. The stars came next, always bright and dominating in the pieces you included them in.

Surprisingly though, the stars weren't your favorite part about this piece. It had taken a long time but you meticulously sketched two hands reaching for each other—doomed to never connect again.

Morbid, you knew that.

But you had your reasons, conscious and unconscious of course. Being back in Paris caused a whole ridiculous array of feelings. When you looked at this painting you saw yourself, sitting here right now, reaching for the girl you were when you were sixteen.

It wasn't hard to decipher why you felt like this or why you hand decided to bring it to life.

There was nothing special about the girl you were when you were sixteen. The only thing she has that you don't is a grandfather with memories.

If those hands reaching out to each other could one day reach, maybe he'd remember more that just a feeling.

With a sigh, you pulled out your lonely phone and swiped open your camera.

Holding it in focus, you snapped a picture and sent it to your grandfather with no context.

You glanced down at the photo, noticing how your background almost blended in with the real night sky.

Your grandfather replied almost instantly, sending back his own new abstract painting. With a smile, you stood and hearted the message.

You removed the canvas from the easel and began to pack up your slide to move under the umbrella.

You had many worries about moving your little studio to the balcony above Marinette's room, but the smell of the paint wafting in her room made her sick, so it wasn't like you had a choice.

The rain was always a concern, you wanted to leave it all out to dry but the rain ruins everything you touch.

The other worry was Chat Noir.

When you were creating, you wanted zero distractions. The earbuds that played your playlist of music from all over the world helped block out the distractions, but the cat hero was notorious for bothering you on the rooftop.

To your surprise, the boy hadn't made an appearance, only when you were without your brush and canvas.

If it was intentional or not you wouldn't complain.

There was no rain in the forecast tonight, but that didn't stop you from making sure your painting was safe enough to dry outdoors.

It was going to be apart of your portfolio, so you wouldn't take any chances.

**
—Adrien
Adrien would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy seeing your reactions, whether he was witnessing them as Adrien, Chat Noir, or a simple by-passer.

When he first met you, it was like you were some sort of stone wall. Every move you made was incredibly poised, which contradicted your long and muscular body.

He never saw you smile, never chatted much with anyone.

In a way, you reminded him of himself, with a worse attitude.

He remembered the first day he talked to you. You had been scribbling in your notebook, rewriting the notes from the class over and over again.

You flipped him off before he had a chance to say a word.

You never liked him much as Chat Noir either, which he never really understood. He didn't know why he started visiting you as the hero, maybe he hoped you would give him the time of day.

He was proven wrong, quickly. You began to hate his flirty and mischievous side even more than the perfect boy persona he exhibited.

Since you've been back, he's visited you more often than you were aware.

He would often perch on a nearby rooftop, watching you paint.

He knew if you or anyone else saw him that he'd be labeled a stalker, but there was no obsessive reasoning behind it.

When you painted, you had an expression that was exclusive for those moments. Not only did he marvel at that, but the work you created was outstanding. If he was the head of the art school you wished to attend, he would accept you in a heart beat.

Adrien has seen you in so many different ways over the time you knew each other but he was certain that was his favorite version of you. There was just something about the way your eyes lit up when you did something you loved, no matter how serious you were.

He hated you for so many reasons, but seeing you like that made him feel like maybe it would be worth putting those feelings aside.

But alas you made it very clear to him on that day two years ago, that the foundation the two of you had rebuilt would stay crumbled forever.

—Y/n
"Why do you keep harassing me?" You hissed as Stompp kept jumping up and down on your cheek. It was entirely too late but the little kwami never ran out of energy.

Ever since you've been back, you have been entirely reluctant with Stompp.

You knew he was itching to have you suit up again, he adored the days the two of you fought villains together. But after everything that happened as a result of your hero work, you just didn't think you ever wanted to feel that rush again.

You were much more content hiding behind your easel.

So, yeah. When it came to Stompp you had been more withdrawn than you wanted to be. You were just so anxious that he would ask you to be his holder again, and you weren't sure what your answer would be if he asked.

"Because I'm hungry and the guardian is sleeping and you are the only one who knows what I like." Stompp talked so fast, that you were sure if this were some book than the author would write everything he said as a run on sentence.

"Just go grab a croissant from the bakery." You waved your hand at the kwami who flew to your face and poked you in the eye.

"You're a little demon, you know that?" You asked as you sat up, rubbing your aching eye.

"Shush!" Stompp urged you. "If you speak any louder than the rest of my brethren will awake and force you to feed them!" He whisper-screamed.

You dragged yourself out of the futon, slipping on your slippers before essentially crawling to the stairs.

"Idiot." Stompp grumbled.

You smiled gently as you made your way back down to the main level of the little building. You were delightfully surprised that Stompp was simply hungry. He was being more respectful of your feelings than you expected of him. You were thankful for that.

But as you opened up the fridge you stopped and wondered if he even wanted to have a holder anymore.

The loss of my grandfather's memory affected more than just you, sometimes you were forgetful of that.

You didn't like that you didn't have the answer to your wondering. Could a kwami really not want to partake in something it was created to do?

Who knows?