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The first whiff of Gotham air was as liberating as it was nauseating. Adrien hadn’t expected the air to be different, but he supposed given the low air quality from the combined frequent gas attacks and general city pollutants, it only made sense. Paris had been in a similar if milder state of pollution before the excess of Miraculous Cures over the years had begun to impact the environment itself, cursing them with nearly eternally blue skies, and cleaner air than what should have been possible.
There were actually some studies on the phenomenon, most of which narrowed down to the fact that Ladybug had quintessentially altered the “luck” of Paris as a whole, to a given definition of “luck”. He was mostly glad his bad luck wasn’t a contagion the same way, although the Akuma attacks could be counted as recompense for the luck overload.
But yes, the nauseating smell of freedom.
It had taken two years of meticulous and collaborative planning for Adrien to arrange to leave Paris.
The general consensus has been that Adrien needed to escape his father’s watchful— neglectful, abusive— eye, and after a few weeks of deliberation, they’d concluded he’d need to leave Paris. The probability of him being spotted— of his father issuing a city-wide manhunt for him— was too high for him to be safe camping out at any one of his friends. He also distinctly didn’t wish to trade one prison for another, and while laying low at one of his friends wasn’t quite a prison, the restricted movement and general wariness of being pretty much on the run sounded just as miserable.
The chances of his father being convicted for anything were low, and even if he did take him to court and win, the inevitable media circus would be insane enough that Adrien genuinely didn’t think it’d be worth it, especially as he’d lose the protections from the press afforded to him by his wealthy father and minor status soon enough (not that they helped much as it was). He didn’t want to live his life as Adrien Agreste, the poor model who testified against his own father in court. He didn’t need for the world to know his baggage, or for that to be the first thing that came to anyone’s mind when they met him.
Another month told them he needed to leave Europe entirely, and three more told him America was his best bet. Further consideration and an unholy amount of research had him concluding— to the consternation of all his friends— that Gotham, New Jersey, was the optimal choice.
(Plagg supported his decision, but Plagg also had a maybe unhealthy attraction to Gotham as a city. Adrien suspected he might’ve had something to do with why it was… like that)
Gotham University had one of the best Physics programs in the country, had one of the largest hero/vigilante populations aside from San Francisco, had no ties to Gabriel or the Agreste brand, and— and this was maybe a dumb basis to decide— was Gotham city. As in, nobody-in-their-right-mind-moves-to-Gotham Gotham. Nobody would ever assume sheltered little Adrien Agreste would move to crime-capital-of-America-Gotham of all places, and with a few adjustments to his papers on behalf of Max (who was always down to commit crimes for a good cause), Adrien Lahiffe was enrolled and ready for his first year.
Adrien Agreste… quietly disappeared, one night, sparking a manhunt that would see no leads for months. People would riot and people would mourn and Gabriel Agreste would be fervent in his search for his missing heir, but to no avail.
So. Gotham.
Some searching and quiet squirrelling away of his allowance and minor crowdfunding among his friends (against his wishes) as well as more hacking on Max’s part (Gabriel Agreste and Lex Luthor, apparently, would be missing a bit of money, not that they’d feel it) had him set with an apartment and a bank account with enough padding to get him through university, though he would probably try to get a job at least part time just in case.
He… didn’t have much experience outside of modelling in terms of the workforce, but he could probably set up tutoring lessons with any number of the skills he’d been forced to learn, or find something beginner and minimum wage. Batburger was usually hiring, from what he’d seen online in his searches, so that could be a venue to explore?
He waved his hand, flagging down a cab. Loading his bags into the trunk with the help of the driver, he crawled into the back seat.
“Where to, kid?” The woman asked, glancing at him in the rear view. Adrien rattled off the address he’d memorized, and they were off, the driver navigating the mid-morning traffic with all the verve he’d expected of a true Gothamite cabbie. As she drove at speeds most definitely illegal and horn-honking the likes of which he’d never seen before, he gazed out the window at the passing scenery.
If Paris was cursed with eternal blue-skies, Gotham must’ve been cursed to exist in greyscale. There was a low hanging smog in the air, melting into the partly cloudy skies and obscuring part of the skyline. Buildings loomed, stretching into the sky in dark glass spires, and the streets were battered. It must’ve rained overnight, the way the sidewalks were damp and the curbs were laden with puddles.
Bright signs and billboards provided the only pops of colour— advertising tech, food, Wayne Enterprises’ latest invention— and gargoyles graced more rooftops than he’d seen in his life. Gothic arches, concrete riddled with cracks and stains, and, as they drove past, police cars heading the other way, lights flashing and sirens wailing despite the early hour— it was about as far from home as he could get.
Adrien could feel a smile stretching across his face. It was perfect. Purrfect, even.
The building he was let off at— and the driver was nice enough to help him get his bags out of the trunk, too— was an apartment building made primarily of brick and stone, rusted fire escapes visible along the sides. His new home was one of the units on the ninth floor, equipped with east facing windows and two roommates he had yet to meet.
“One small step for me, one large step for freedom.” Adrien muttered to himself, hoisting his bags up.
It wasn’t until he was in the elevator— a rickety thing that started its ascent abruptly and rattled the whole way up, and wow, was Gotham living up to its reputation or what?— that Plagg popped out of his shirt.
“So? How’s it feel?” Plagg asked, floating around Adrien in the cramped space. Adrien let out a breathless laugh.
“Honestly? Really good. It’s… I‘ve never been so far from home without my dad knowing exactly where I was. I almost don’t believe it’s real.”
That much was true. There was a sense of foreboding, warring with the sense of relief at finally being in Gotham. A feeling of anticipation, just waiting for his father to find him again, like he had a million times before. Adrien had never run so far, and even with the stark difference between the streets of Gotham and those of Paris, he still felt like he was scanning every corner for the car to take him home, for the Gorilla to find him and drag him home.
“Well, better believe it, cause you’re on your own out here! In Gotham city…” Plagg sighed dreamily.
Before Adrien could ask why Plagg seemed to have a crush on Gotham, the elevator doors squealed open. He was greeted with a hallway, Plagg flying back into his bag, and he lifted his bags up again as he set down to find unit 906.
“902, 904… Ah, here we go.” Unit 906 was at the end of the hall on the left hand side, and as he fumbled did his phone, he knocked on the door with the knocker twice. He shot off a text to the group chat the three of them had made, knowing he was probably the last to arrive.
Sure enough, he could hear movement behind the door, and the unlatching of a lock was all the warning he got before the door swung open, revealing a boy around his age.
The boy blinked. “Adrien, right?”
“Yeah. Nice to meet you…?”
“Tim. Here, let me help you with those.” With Tim’s help, he moved his bags into one of the rooms— the one closest to the kitchen, not for any particular reason, except maybe Plagg wheedling him about proximity to his Camembert.
His new room was probably the size of his closet back home, with high ceilings and a nice big window and sliding doors to the closet space. There was no furniture yet, so he set his bags down on the ground, not bothering to unpack just yet. Nearly all he’d brought was clothes and toiletries, the necessities he’d need to survive, as well as a few sentimental tokens.
His hand, almost unconsciously, drifted to the lucky charm Marinette had given him all those years ago. He drew it back before he could grab it, and instead spun on his heel, heading back out into the living room.
He hadn’t gotten a good look at the common areas on his way in, so he took a chance to study them now. His room was connected to the living room, right by the entryway to the kitchen, where someone was puttering around.
The living room itself was spacious, the same high ceilings as his room arched over wood floors. The walls were plain white plaster, giving way to six doors— two rooms and the bathroom on one side, the kitchen and his room on the other, and in the far wall from the entryway, a large window leading out onto the fire escape. The sunlight streaming in meant the overhead light was left off for the time being. His roommates had been here for just a few hours longer than him, and it showed in how many boxes were strewn around, both of personal items and discarded furniture packaging.
Tim was crouched on the ground, an upended coffee table in front of him as he attached its third leg, instructions spread out under his knee. Rock music could be heard playing faintly from the phone on the floor a few feet away from him, an artist Adrien vaguely recognized as one of Luka’s favourites. The fully assembled couch and bookshelf behind him stood as proof of the other boys ongoing battle to build as much furniture as possible.
Tim looked up as Adrien walked out of his room, shooting him a grin. “Hey. Wanna build a lamp?” He asked. “Percy’s taken over on making lunch, so we get to do the grunt work.”
The person in the kitchen— their third roommate Percy, apparently— popped their head out. Adrien took in the messy hair with a streak of white and caught a flash of sea green eyes as he narrowed his eyes at Tim.
“You looked me in the eye and asked me what the strainer did. Forgive me if that’s not the most promising thing to hear from the guy offering to make lunch.” Percy looked to Adrien. “I’m Percy, nice to meet you. Adrien, right?”
“Yeah. I guess I’ll start building lamps..?” Percy nodded, and disappeared into the kitchen once more.
Adrien looked to Tim, who was focused on attaching the final leg of the table and waved vaguely toward a pile of boxes near the windows. Adrien took that as an invitation to find the package with his lamp, and uncovered four different lamps in the process. He plopped down on the ground and got to building. He managed to build three of the four lamps in quick succession as Tim flipped over the coffee table and moved onto making a side table and started on an arm chair.
Before he could build the final lamp, Percy stepped out of the kitchen, laden with plates.
“Hope you guys like pasta. I made garlic bread, too, and by made I mean I threw some of the premade stuff in the toaster oven.” Percy stopped down to place the dishes on the newly built coffee table, and both Adrien and Tim blinked as they caught sight of the food.
Adrien was the one who voiced the thought they both had. “It’s uh, very blue.”
Percy simply nodded as he sat down with them, passing them forks. “Yeah. Don’t worry, it’s on purpose.”
Adrien debated asking for further elaboration before deciding he really didn’t care either way. “Cool.”
And that was that.