THREE MONTHS LATER, ADRIEN'S LIFE had completely changed.

He thought back to his eighteenth birthday, what he'd pictured for himself come May, and marvelled that it had turned out so different. Apparently, that was adulting lesson one: nothing went according to plan.

By now, the hospital receptionist knew Adrien by face. She was speaking on the phone and waved at him as he strode past the counter. He smiled in return, taking his sunglasses off (it wasn't that sunny outside, but it helped hide him from ravenous fans). The flat fluorescent lights above, the smooth linoleum, every turn in the corridors, was familiar. The way to Emelie had imprinted itself in his head over the months.

Half an hour into sitting with her, a doctor walked past the private ward and saw Adrien inside. She poked her head through. "It's a school day, Adrien."

"Oh, hello. Class let out early. And I'm still studying," he said, gesturing to the textbook on the small coffee table.

Sometimes he studied, sometimes he read a book aloud or spoke to Emelie about Marinette. There was always so much to say about Marinette. Adrien tried to visit his mother once a week, but this was his first visit in two weeks. His life was (unfathomably) even busier after the trial. This type of busy was the good kind, rather than the old kind—the flurry of a life full of freedom, love, hope and memories demanding to be made.

"We're going to start the first round in June," the doctor was saying. Adrien had elected Emelie for the ultrasound trials with low expectations. It was the medical school of the local university running the trials. Though the method was theoretically sound, in practice no-one had definitively been woken from a coma with the technology. The most achieved thus far was a 'heightened consciousness'; a few finger twitches corresponding to yes or no, a blip on a neuroscan.

But of course, he had to try. That was what loving someone meant. Never giving up hope, even when the odds were bleak. In some twisted way, his father had taught him that.

Adrien had only spoken to Gabriel once since his imprisonment, and not entirely willingly. Adrien was eligible to assume the Agreste estate while his father was serving his sentence. He had wanted to leave the process to his lawyers and his father's lawyers to fight about, but in a move that shocked them all, Gabriel agreed to all their terms under one condition: he wanted to speak to Adrien. Just once.

In that meeting at the prison, during visiting hours, Adrien had given curt updates on his life. School, his friends, Marinette, and Emelie. He'd told Gabriel that he was signing off on the trial as Emelie's next of kin, and that they might have been able to get her medical aid sooner if he hadn't locked her underground for so many years.

At that, Gabriel had dropped his head. "I still don't think medicine will be able to help her. Her issue is magical—"

"—if you are trying to justify what you did—"

"I'm not," his father sighed. "That is not why I wanted to speak with you. I just want to know that you're happy."

Adrien swallowed. Some naïve part of him had hoped he would get an apology today, but it was clear that his father's choices still made sense to his father. Even if he had hurt so many people, including his son. He didn't know if he ever wanted a real relationship with his father again. Maybe one day it would be possible, but not with this version of Gabriel.

After a beat of silence, he said, "I'm getting there."

"I will try not to make that process harder for you."

What fucking irony.

Adrien stifled his scoff, and smiled blithely. "Thank you, father."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The Camembert sat only one metre away. There, on the teacher's desk.

Teasing him.

Plagg inched his snout out of Adrien's breast pocket. The pungent, ripe scent grew stronger. More delicious. So delicious. Plagg craned even further, until Adrien's knowing palm landed on his face and gently pushed him out of sight.

At the end of the week, the senior class of Francois Dupont would graduate. The school year was ending. Classes were letting out earlier, the windows thrown open to golden sunlight and clear blue skies. Adrien's final exams were all done which—to Plagg—meant that he should be able to walk away from the stiff, boring hellhole that was high school. But no, even with no more homework, no more exams, and no more reasons to be in a classroom, Adrien was determined to come back (taking the bus, now that he wasn't coddled by a team of carers) whenever possible.

The kwami remembered Adrien's first day back after the sentencing had been delivered. His holder was modest by nature, so his genuine wish was for everyone to act like everything was normal. No welcome back party, no fanfare, no red carpet. This wish was only partly granted. While there hadn't been a school-wide celebration, there had been a potluck to commemorate Adrien's return to classes in person. In the caféteria, dozens of students had come up to greet Adrien.

Plagg supposed it made sense. After all, Adrien had been confined to the hotel, kept from his friends, for many months. What the hotel had in comfort, catered dining, and aged Roquefort on call, it lacked in things Adrien liked. What the classroom had in sentimental value and friends, it lacked in anything Plagg liked. Except the Camembert. His Camembert.

This little session in Miss Bustier's classroom was a celebratory graduation potluck, much like the previous one. Adrien purloined the Camembert from what Plagg considered his rightful personal stash, without asking first. How rude. Marinette brought pastries from her parents' bakery. Alya brought a pot of savory stew which paired perfectly with the crispy bread Rose baked. Nino forgot about the potluck and had to order pizza to be delivered to the school.

"...bought flights this morning," Alya said. "I had to bite the bullet because airfare will only get more expensive the longer I wait."

"Oh, no!" someone said.

"Don't leave us," another pleaded.

"We still have the whole summer!" Alya said. Nino, his arm around her shoulders, pulled her closer to kiss her temple.

The class' reaction to Alya leaving was the same as their reaction to everyone else leaving.

Crying. Laughing. Hugging. More crying.

They'd spent an hour snacking and talking about their high school memories, looking at old photos, videos and memes from the class group chat, reflecting on what a crazy year it had been with Adrien's trial, and wishing each other well for their lives after graduation.

Only a few people were travelling abroad to study: Alya to New York, Sabrina to Dublin, and Nathaniel to Melbourne. Most were staying in Paris and beginning university in September, like Marinette with her fashion design course, Nino with his Business Management and Music Production double major, Kim with Exercise Science, Juleka with Music Composition, Max with Software Engineering and Mathematics. Adrien, too, would study in Paris (majoring in Physics) but starting in the spring semester. He'd decided that it was the best thing for him to take a personal break after the investigation.

One day after a therapy session, he'd said, "I want to process one big change before signing myself up for another," or something or blah.

As a result of therapy, that senseless human invention, Adrien was becoming very introspective yet talkative. He was misunderstanding the 'intro' part of introspect. He involved Plagg in his innermost thoughts more deeply than Plagg had ever wanted to be involved. Agonising over whether to take an extra semester off or even an extra year or none at all, worrying about being 'left behind' on some arbitrary life path that existed only in his imagination, talking about milestones and employable majors and five-year-plans.

All that heartache would pass in the blink of an eye (to an immortal kwami, that is).

Thank Creation Plagg could now delegate Adrien responsibilities to Marinette.

It was strange that his holder was courting Tikki's holder.

Whenever Adrien was in Marinette's company, he didn't bother Plagg too much. He would provide Plagg some nourishment or stimulation and this would be occupation enough for a few hours. The most disruptive parts of the new relationship were:

Having to see the other kwamis much more frequently whenever Adrien visited the bakery. There was a reason Plagg was the lone wolf of the kwamis, opting not to return to the Miracle Box with Marinette. All his counterparts were incredibly annoying. Loud, rambunctious, prone to mood swings, prone to arguing, prone to stealing Plagg's food stashes, prone to messing with his toys, prone to crying when he swiped at them in warning and tattling to the Guardian.

And:

Adrien and Marinette sometimes removed their Miraculous when in each other's company. Usually this happened when Marinette visited the mansion, where no other people or kwamis were around. Usually an hour (sometimes longer) later they would put them back on, red-cheeked and smiley. Plagg still had no idea where they went or what they were doing when he was hanging in a timeless, spaceless void. Tikki had her theories, but she also blinked into oblivion when the Miraculous were off. So she couldn't really observe and say for sure.

Now, Marinette and Adrien were sitting at her desk, looking over the pictures of Adrien she had downloaded from the Internet. Marinette had her head in her hands, inky hair falling loose over her shoulders. Adrien was scrolling through the folder and laughing, kissing her periodically on the cheek even though she tried to hide. Adrien was fond of teasing Marinette about her crush on him, Plagg noticed, in a doting manner.

"I think they are planning a surprise party for us," was Tikki's leading guess.

"Huh?"

"That's why we can't be around and they take their Miraculous off."

"Do you think so?"

"Of course, Plagg. Look at them." Plagg glanced at Adrien's gleeful face and Marinette attempting to wrestle the mouse from his grasp. "That's why they are so excited."

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

The cool rush of air on her cheeks.

An elastic force at the end of her fingers.

Then concrete beneath her feet, bent knees gracefully absorbing the impulse of Ladybug's landing.

She stretched to her full height and glanced around their rendezvous spot. Upon finding it empty, her fist clenched in triumph.

"Four minutes late," a low voice said. Damn it.

Startled, she spun around and saw Chat Noir slink out from behind the rooftop door. His arms were crossed and he melted from the dark corner like a shadow with piercing green eyes.

"You took a shortcut."

"I did not."

"You must have," Ladybug argued. Otherwise how could he have beaten her?

Chat Noir took the implied corner-cutting personally. "I, an agent of peace and justice, would risk the safety of Paris by not completing my assigned patrol route?"

Ladybug rolled her eyes. "Spare me."

"Look. Proof." Chat Noir pulled out his Cat Phone. The GPS system had tracked his movements while he was conducting his scouts. His looping route throughout the streets painted his side of the Seine green. All quiet, on all fronts. Ladybug twisted her mouth into a displeased scowl, but there was little more she could say. He'd run the whole course, faster than she did.

"I could swap you the twelfth arrondissement for the sixteenth," he said, in a magnanimous tone which at once charmed and annoyed her.

"Are you kidding me? No. The twelfth is further east than anything."

"Then I'll take the seventeenth and eighth, too," Chat Noir purred, "but you will still lose. No matter which way we split the city up." His hand lifted to her cheek. He brushed along her face, moving to her hair, and twisted a loose strand of her ponytail around it.

"You must have hit your head, kitty," she said, ignoring the tingling hyper-awareness that sprung up whenever he was about to touch her fully, "because your memory seems to be faulty. Remember last week?" She'd dominated all their patrols that week.

He raised his eyebrows. "Remember the week before?"

Ladybug scoffed and let the issue drop.

They could argue the whole night long without either budging an inch. She was secretly glad that, despite becoming her boyfriend, Chat Noir still teased and competed with her the way he had when they had just been partners and friends. Instead of sacrificing one dynamic for another, they'd simply added more dimensions to their relationship. Sometimes she was overcome with the enormity of how much she loved him, and how much he loved her, and all they had survived together, and felt grateful but greedy. Surely one girl was not allowed so much.

Chat Noir touched her upper back, below her shoulder blade, at the very moment she cupped his face. She didn't know how long they kissed for. His hands moved all over her body, from back to waist to hold her face desperately close to his. All she knew was that when she parted, the stars were spinning slightly. "Fine," she whispered, breathless. "I will take twelve next time."

Chat Noir smiled softly and kissed her once more, plush and intentionally cute, on the lips. She rose to kiss him on the cheek, and then they were hugging each other, swaying.

"I can't believe it's all over," Ladybug said. Not just high school. Not just the trial. Everything that had defined their lives until this summer. The routines, the sense of fear and uncertainty; a completely new chapter for themselves and for Paris lay ahead.

"I know." Chat Noir pulled away to meet her eyes. "Nino is trying to keep it together for Alya, but he doesn't know what he will do without her around."

"They can take Space Potions and be together in ten minutes."

"But it's not about the physical distance," Chat Noir said. "Not for Nino, at least. Up till now, her friends have been his friends. He knows everything that happens to her because he's always there. He's worried she'll make new relationships and memories that he's not a part of anymore."

"Alya is worried about the same thing, you know. She's very torn, even though she's made her decision." With an F-1 visa and plane tickets, there was steadily less doubt that she would be leaving at the end of the summer. "She doesn't want to leave her friends and family, but as her best friend I know she is not the sort of person to spend her whole life in one place. She's always hunted the big stories, as long as I've known her."

Ladybug rested her head in the crook of his neck. Contrary to what her juvenile self had believed before she knew him better, he didn't wear Adrien, the fragrance, or any other fragrances from his father's line. Nor was that particular scent modelled on how he smelled, which made her feel foolish for spraying it all around her room when she was fifteen. In fact, he didn't like most perfumes. He smelled like plain soap, citrus shampoo, a musky aftershave, and skin and sweat and young man. She loved it.

Chat Noir took Ladybug's hand and led her to the ledge of the rooftop. He hung his boots over the side, kicking them absentmindedly. She tucked one leg underneath herself and let the other dangle in the air. "Do you think you could ever leave this city?"

Ladybug took in the view before her. The twinkling multicoloured lights of buildings and windows. The streets lit up like golden veins. People still strolled them; something about summer just made the nights feel safer, more active. The Eiffel Tower rose like a beacon above the skyline. Somewhere in the distance, the sound of a violin drifted into the clouds. Everyone she had ever loved came from this city. The person she was, everything she knew—how to lead, to endure, to take leaps of faith—Paris taught her.

"If I did, I would have to come back," she answered. "I don't think I could ever be away from her for long. Paris is my home. But vacations and maybe even a year abroad, perhaps. What about you?"

"Paris is my hometown, and I do love this place, but it's not my home," Chat Noir said.

"That's fair. I know your memories here are different from mine."

"I meant, you're my home, bugaboo." Ladybug turned her head, smiling at the nickname.

Chat Noir put his hand over hers, the size and warmth of it comforting. "Wherever you went, I would simply have to follow."

Ladybug leaned over to rest her forehead against his cheek. She liked whenever Chat Noir said things like that. There's no-one else I'd ever want to be with. I want to know you better than anyone else does. Wherever you went, I would simply have to follow. As opposed to merely saying he loved her, these specific declarations of love gave her a sense of hope and security for their future together, new and uncertain as it was.

Chat Noir wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close. They sat like that, beholding their chaotic, glistening mess of city, for a few beats of silence.

"And given your slowness," he added, "I would probably beat you there."