Chapter Text
They stopped in front of the gate. Adrien stared at it, then at the security camera mounted discreetly near the intercom. It was angled perfectly. Watching.
“Tell me I don’t live there,” he whispered under his breath.
“You live there,” Plagg confirmed.
Adrien let out a slow exhale. “That’s not a house. That’s a ,em>museum.”
“Feels like one too,” Plagg replied dryly.
Adrien stepped closer to the intercom. His reflection stared back at him faintly in the polished metal—blond hair slightly mussed, green eyes still a little too wide, shoulders drawn tight like he was bracing for something. Before he could chicken out, he pressed the button.
There was a brief crackle.
“Yes?” A woman’s voice filtered through—smooth, controlled, cold.
Adrien’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t loud or angry, but it felt sharp enough to cut. “…Hi,” Adrien said before he could stop himself.
There was a pause. A fraction too long. “…Adrien?” the voice asked.
“Yeah,” he tried to speak more confidently and swallowed.
Another pause. “You are late.”
The words were simple. Flat. But they hit like a verdict.
Why did that feel so heartbreaking? He didn’t even know the woman. He didn’t know anything about anything. But the response cut him. He felt offended on his past self’s behalf. The him with memories. “I—” Adrien faltered. What was his excuse? Akuma attack? Head injury? Memory loss? None of those felt like things you just said casually over an intercom. “There was an incident downtown.”
“I am aware,” the woman replied in clipped sentences. “The news has been covering it for the past hour. You were not scheduled to be downtown.”
Scheduled. How insulting. No questions after his well-being. No concern. It was like the only thing that mattered to the woman was what he didn’t do or doing things that hadn’t been approved by her first.
Adrien’s jaw tightened. “I know,” he said carefully.
The woman didn’t say anything for a long moment, the silence feeling oppressive. Evaluating. Measuring. Eventually, the gate clicked and slowly started to open when the woman spoke again. “Come inside,” the voice said. “Your father will speak with you.” Then the line went dead.
Adrien stood there for a moment, staring at the now-opening gate as something upset and rotten curdled in his gut.
Plagg patted his shoulder and asked quietly, “You okay?”
“No,” Adrien answered honestly but started walking forward anyway.
When he heard the gates close again behind him, he had to fight back a shudder. He was locked in a completely foreign place with only a little magical creature as a companion. The garden around him was pristine. Perfect hedges. Perfect pathways. Not a single stray leaf. It didn’t feel lived in at all. Just as the manor in front of him felt like a display, the courtyard felt the same. For show. Something carefully curated.
By the time Adrien reached the front doors, they were already open.
A tall man stood in the entryway dressed impeccably. Dark suit. Perfect posture. Hands clasped behind his back. His face was composed. Controlled.
Completely unfamiliar.
But there was something about the man—something in the sharp line of his jaw, the shape of his eyes—that felt like looking into a colder mirror.
“Father,” the word slipped out instinctively.
Before he could second guess himself and try to take the greeting back, the man frowned down at him, but didn’t contradict him. So…this was his father? What had Plagg said his name was? He also couldn’t recall what his last name was either, so he made a mental note to ask again later. His father continued to study him in silence.
His gaze flicked briefly to Adrien’s hair, his clothes, his posture—cataloguing. When the man finally spoke, it was sharp and unforgiving. Anger dripped from his lips as much as it painted the way he held himself. “You were unreachable,” Gabriel said at last. “Your bodyguard informed me you dismissed him.”
He had a bodyguard? That seemed a little overkill. Despite the thought, Adrien kept his face neutral and said “I needed some air.”
His father’s expression did not change. “Without security. During an akuma attack.”
It wasn’t a question. It honestly felt like more of an accusation and Adrien suddenly felt very aware of how large the foyer was. How small he felt standing in it.
“I’m fine,” was all he could think to say.
Father stepped closer and Adrien had to fight to keep still. The way the man had moved was necessarily fast or aggressive, but it felt threatening. He felt impossibly smaller in the shadow of the man in front of him. He stopped just within arm’s reach and examined Adrien’s face more closely; he had to fight the urge to step back.
“You appear…disoriented,” Gabriel observed.
Adrien blinked. “I’m not.” That was a terrible lie. His mind raced as he grasped for something else to add. “I…I got caught up in the commotion,” Adrien finished, forcing the words out before he could rethink them. “During the fight.”
The man’s eyes sharpened and leaned forward into his space. “Where?”
“Near République,” Adrien answered quickly, hoping that was a real enough location to sound believable. “Something came loose and I couldn’t dodge in time.”
Gabriel studied him for a long, uncomfortable moment. “You did not seek medical attention.”
It wasn’t phrased as a question, so he simply said, “No.”
A thin breath left his father’s nose. Not quite a sigh. Like the man was irritated. As if this was an inconvenience. “You will,” he said. “Immediately.”
Adrien blinked. That wasn’t what he’d expected. The whole thing was making him more confused.
Father turned slightly and snapped out a sharp, “Nathalie.”
A woman from the intercom appeared as if summoned from the walls themselves. She was poised, tablet in hand, expression cool but not unkind—just distant.
“Yes, sir?” It was the voice from the intercom.
“Contact Dr. Lambert. Adrien will be examined within the hour.”
“Of course.”
Adrien shifted awkwardly. “I really don’t think—”
His father’s gaze snapped back to him, cutting him off with a look. “You will,” he repeated. Not louder. Just final.
As silence fell over them, Adrien became hyperaware of everything—the polished marble under his shoes, the echo of his own breathing, the way the chandelier light reflected off pristine surfaces. There were no family photos on the walls besides a sober portrait of him and his father dressed in all black at the top of the stairs. No clutter. No warmth. The longer he stood there, the more he felt like this wasn’t a home. It was a cage.
Father’s eyes moved over him once more. “You are late for your fencing lesson.”
Adrien stared. “...What?”
“Your fencing lesson,” the man repeated, a faint crease forming between his brows, frown becoming more severe. “Today is Thursday.”
Right. Strict schedule. “Cancel it,” Adrien said before he could stop himself. The words hung in the air like something fragile—and dangerous. Shoot. He didn’t even think. What would he normally do? Probably just go to the lesson, right?
Nathalie’s stylus paused mid-tap.
Father’s expression went still. “Excuse me?” he asked, sounding genuinely offended.
Adrien’s heart started pounding again, but this time it wasn’t from falling debris or magical transformations. As much as it was probably the wrong thing to do, he decided to stick to it. He didn’t know how to fence and if he wanted to make it through this without his amnesia being completely found out, he’d have to stall. “I said cancel it,” he repeated, quieter but steady. “I’m not feeling well.”
Silence. It was heavy. Pressurized. And for a split second, Adrien wondered if he’d just detonated something invisible.
His father stepped closer again. “You don’t cancel lessons.”
Adrien swallowed. He’d have to tread purposefully and hope he didn’t mess up too many things for the him with memories. “Well,” he said carefully, “I guess there’s a first time for everything.” Plagg, hidden inside his jacket, went very, very still and he wondered if he’d crossed a line.
Father’s eyes searched his face—not angry exactly. Not yelling. Maybe…calculating? “You are behaving unusually,” Father said at last.
Adrien let out a humorless huff. He’d have to give the other man something else. “I hit my head.”
Another long pause and then—unexpectedly—Father inclined his head slightly toward Nathalie. “Cancel the lesson,” he said.
Adrien blinked in surprise.
Nathalie nodded once. “I’ll inform Monsieur D’Argencourt.”
The man turned back to Adrien. “You will go to your room and wait for the doctor.”
His room. Right. He had one of those. The only problem was that this was the first time in his memory that he was seeing the manor. Adrien hesitated then decided it was best for him to say something now lest it trigger something worse into happening. “I… don’t remember where it is.”
The silence that followed was different. It wasn’t sharp. It wasn't angry. But it was something. His father’s gaze hardened—but there was something beneath it. A flicker. Concern? Suspicion? Adrien couldn’t tell.
“You do not remember,” Father repeated slowly.
Adrien forced himself not to backpedal. “It’s fuzzy.”
Nathalie stepped forward slightly. “Sir, head trauma can cause temporary confusion and memory gaps.”
The man didn’t look at her. His eyes remained locked on Adrien. “How much,” he asked quietly, “is ‘fuzzy’?”
Adrien’s pulse roared in his ears. Everything? Almost everything? You, apparently?
But something in him screamed at him to not say that. There was something wrong. His heart squeezed in discomfort and his mind whispered, ‘Don’t trust him. Don’t tell him. It’s not safe.’ Why, he wasn’t sure, but he knew more firmly than anything else that he couldn’t say.
He took a breath. “Today,” he said carefully. “Mostly today.”
Gabriel held his gaze for several seconds longer, as if trying to see through him. Finally, he stepped back. “Nathalie,” he said, voice controlled once more. “Escort Adrien to his room.”
“Yes, sir.” Gabriel turned away without another word and walked deeper into the mansion, disappearing down a corridor swallowed in shadow and Nathalie approached him, her expression softer now that Gabriel was gone. “This way, Adrien.”
He followed her up the sweeping staircase, footsteps echoing. They walked for a while in silence as the woman led him down the halls, turn after turn. It was while they walked that he suddenly realized that he could have had Plagg direct him to his room. Too late for that now, he supposed. It would hopefully give him a little bit more grace while he found his footing and figured out how to mask and hide the extent of his amnesia.
Nathalie finally stopped before a tall white door and she opened it, waving him in. When he stepped inside, he nearly froze.
The room was enormous. Sunlight filtered through high windows. A grand piano sat near one wall. Shelves lined with books. A massive bed. Fencing foils mounted in a display case. A desk arranged with meticulous precision.
“Dr. Lambert will arrive within the hour,” Nathalie said gently. “If you need anything, ring.” She stepped out and closed the door behind her.
With the click of the latch sounded final and Adrien stood alone in the middle of the room, uncertain.
Plagg flew out of his jacket and perched on the edge of the bed. “That went… better than expected.”
Adrien kept his voice low. “That was better?”
“Trust me.”
Shaking his head, he slowly turned around, taking in more of the room. “…This is mine?” he whispered.
“Yep,” Plagg said. “All yours.”
Adrien turned slowly, taking it all in. Everything from the piano, fencing gear and spotless surfaces all the way to the almost-too-perfect arrangement. While this room had the most life out of everywhere else in this place, it still felt un-lived in.
He walked to the desk. Everything was aligned at right angles. Even the pens.
“Did I do this?” he asked quietly.
“You did,” Plagg agreed while he tilted his head. “It’s one of the few things you get to do for yourself.”
Adrien’s chest tightened as he stared. Everything about this felt depressing. When he couldn’t stand to look at it anymore, he moved toward the closet and opened it. Inside were rows of identical outfits. Crisp. Neutral. Predictable. Each one looked exactly like the one beside it. His stomach sank.
“…I dress like this on purpose?”
Plagg hesitated. “Not exactly.”
Adrien shut the door slowly and shook his head. He didn’t want this. And if that’s how he felt now, how much more must he have felt that before when he had his memories? Yet here he was, complaining, when he hadn’t had to deal with any of it yet. He could feel the guilt in his chest as his thoughts made their rounds.
He didn’t know his history. He didn’t know why things were the way they were. For all he knew, this could be a lot better than things used to be.
He let his gaze drift to the fencing foils mounted on the wall. Then to the piano. Then to his reflection in the tall mirror beside his bed.
Blond hair. Green eyes.
A stranger.
“Plagg,” he said quietly.
“Yeah, kid?”
“…If I really don’t remember anything…what does that mean for who I was?” Adrien asked tiredly. He glanced around the room again before settling his gaze on the kwami. “Do I get to decide who I am now? But if I do, then what does that mean for my life?”
Plagg studied him carefully and let there be silence for a few long moments. Maybe it was because he could tell Adrien had something else he wanted to say or maybe it was because Adrien used to do something similar before he lost his memories. Either way, the kwami didn’t say anything.
“I can’t let my father know how extensive my amnesia is, but I don’t know how to keep him from finding out,” Adrien admitted. “How am I supposed to keep it all a secret?”
“Kid,” Plagg frowned. “To be completely frank, I don’t think Gabriel is the one to worry about. Like I said before, you don’t spend a lot of time around him. Honestly, the people we’d need to worry about are your friends.”
Gabriel. That was his father’s name.
“My friends? I thought you said I didn’t get to be myself around them,” he asked with his brows furrowed.
The kwami shrugged. “They still know you better than anyone else in your life…well, outside of Ladybug and myself. You just act more reserved than you usually are.”
“How do I act, exactly?”
“You’re always polite and soft-spoken, raised to be well-mannered and reserved. I can’t remember if I’d mentioned before, but you’re a model, so you also have this practiced smile you’re expected to use when talking with even the most unpleasant people,” Plagg spoke softly but Adrien hung off his every word. “You’re more agreeable and non-confrontational than I feel like anyone should be, but I guess having a respect for authority is a good quality for people in the public eye to have.”
Adrien sank down onto the edge of his bed, mattress dipping beneath his weight. “Reserved and soft-spoken,” he repeated quietly. “So they know…a version of me.”
“Yeah,” Plagg said. “And they’re observant. Especially Nino. You’re both pretty close.”
Adrien dragged a hand down his face. “I don’t know if I can do this, Plagg.”
A soft knock at the door made both of them freeze.
Plagg ducked under the edge of Adrien’s jacket sleeve as his spine snapped straight and he called out, “Come in?”
Nathalie stepped inside. “Dr. Lambert has arrived.”
Of course he had.
Adrien stood, smoothing down his shirt that suddenly felt too stiff against his skin. “Right. Of course.”
The doctor was an older man with sharp glasses and an efficient air about him. He carried a leather case and offered Adrien a polite but distant smile.
“I understand you were caught in today’s attack,” Dr. Lambert said.
“Yes, sir,” Adrien replied as politely as he could manage.
When the examination finally began, it was thorough. Lights in his eyes. Follow the finger. Balance tests. Memory questions. Follow the finger. Squeeze my hands. Balance on one foot.
While standing with one foot in the air, Adrien fought to stay upright as he swayed slightly. The floor felt too far away.
“Any nausea?” the doctor asked.
“A little earlier,” Adrien admitted easily. “It passed.”
“Headache?”
Adrien nodded. “Yes.”
The man wrote down in his little notebook before asking, “Do you remember the incident?”
Adrien hesitated.
Plagg’s voice murmured faintly from beneath his collar, “You can say partially. You saw the debris.”
“I remember debris,” Adrien said carefully. “Something large fell. Then it’s…fuzzy.”
The doctor nodded, making another note. “What day is it?”
Panic flickered and he hesitated.
“Thursday,” Plagg whispered instantly.
Adrien repeated hesitantly, “Thursday?”
Dr. Lambert nodded, pausing his notetaking to look at him directly. “And the date?”
“February twelfth,” Plagg fed him the answer.
Adrien quickly relayed the answer. “February twelfth.”
“Who is the current mayor of Paris?”
His mind went completely blank and he desperately listened for Plagg’s nearly silent voice. “André Bourgeois.”
“André Bourgeois,” Adrien answered smoothly.
The doctor watched him for a beat too long and Adrien had to force himself not to swallow. After the uncomfortable moment, Dr. Lambert finally continued, asking, “What’s your name?”
Adrien nearly sighed in relief at that one and answered with confidence, “Adrien.”
“Your full name, please,” the other man requested.
Plagg whispered, “Adrien Émile Gabriel Donatien Athanase Agreste.”
It was only through sheer force of will that Adrien didn’t burst out in laughter. Was that seriously his name? It was so long! Regardless, he repeated his name for the doctor.
“And your father’s name?”
Adrien was grateful there was finally an answer he could answer on his own. “Gabriel Agreste.”
The doctor’s pen scratched softly across paper as he asked, “Do you know where you are?”
“In my bedroom. At home,” Adrien answered as he ran his fingers over the fabric of his pants.
“And where is home?” Dr. Lambert asked.
He could vaguely recall the walk here and relayed, “It’s near the Place du Châtelet and the Pont au Change, on the border of the 1st and 4th arrondissements.”
Dr. Lambert finally leaned back with a nod. “Very good,” he murmured. “Some short-term disorientation, likely from shock. But core identity and general memory appear intact. Mild concussion symptoms. I recommend rest, limited stimulation, and observation”
Observation. Adrien resisted the urge to flinch. He didn’t like the sound of that at all.
“Will he require hospitalization?” his father’s voice cut in from the doorway.
Adrien hadn’t even realized he was there.
Dr. Lambert shook his head. “No. But I would advise keeping him home tomorrow. Monitor for worsening confusion, nausea, severe headaches.”
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to Adrien. Assessing. He held his father’s gaze steadily this time and said lightly, “I’ll survive.”
Gabriel did not smile. “You will remain home,” he stated. “Your schedule will be adjusted.”
Adjusted. Like he was a meeting.
The doctor packed up and left shortly after. Nathalie escorted him out while his father lingered for a moment in the doorway. “You will rest,” he said.
“Compris, Père,” Adrien replied..
“If your symptoms worsen,” Gabriel added, “you are to inform Nathalie immediately.”
Not him. Who exactly was Natalie? An assistant? Something else? Adrien nodded anyway. “Okay.”
Gabriel gave one final searching look before turning and leaving, the door closing with a solid click.
Silence fell over the room again as he listened to the sounds of shoes on tile quiet and drift away. The order of the room with the dimming light outside made the space feel cold. He felt alone and small in a way that almost hurt physically.
Plagg reappeared near his shoulder. “Well. That could’ve been worse.”
“Yeah,” Adrien exhaled shakily. “You keep saying that.” He stood and began pacing but slowed to place a steadying hand on the back of the sofa as he wavered. He sighed in displeasure and muttered out, “Observation. That means they’re going to be watching me.”
“Probably,” Plagg agreed. “But that’s not new.”
Adrien stopped mid-step. “…What?”
“You’ve always been watched,” Plagg said simply. “Bodyguard. Staff. Cameras. Your father doesn’t like variables. Everywhere outside of this room has some form of security.”
Adrien’s stomach twisted. “So I’ve been living in a fishbowl.”
“More or less.”
He walked to the tall windows and looked out over the manicured grounds. The gates. The long driveway. The walls. All of this wasn’t protection…it was containment.
Everything he’d learned about who he was and the life he led, he detested. He was literally a prisoner in his own home and here he was, trying to fit back into it like a puzzle piece that belonged to a completely different puzzle. The very thought brought that bitterness back and he felt like running. Or shouting. He wouldn’t be picky.
Adrien let out a slow breath and shook his head. “I feel like I just cheated on a test.”
“You kind of did.”
Adrien tilted his head back, staring at the ceiling. “If I didn’t have you…”
“But you do,” Plagg cut in gently.
Adrien turned his head to look at the little kwami. “…Thanks,” he said quietly. There was more that he wanted to say, but he found anything he could say wouldn’t express what he was really feeling. The depth of his gratitude. How upset his life made him feel. All of it.
A faint vibration interrupted the moment and Adrien looked around, searching for the source of the sound.
“What was that?”
Plagg grinned pointing to the sidetable by the bed. “Your burner phone.”
Intrigued, Adrien walked over to the nightstand drawer. Beneath neatly arranged stationery and a planner color-coded within an inch of its life, he found a plain black flip phone. It buzzed again as he picked it up so, flipping it open, he scanned the message.
‘Hope you made it home alright. Text if you need anything!’ The text was short, but as promised, it came from a contact already saved to the phone. What he couldn’t figure out was what the name was supposed to be.
Adrien stared at the screen longer than necessary before turning to Plagg with a raised brow. “What does TLOMNL stand for? Or is it just a keyboard smash?”
“Ha!” the kwami barked out. “You wish it was a keyboard smash. Your reasoning was that if anyone found the phone, you didn’t want anyone figuring out who she is, so it’s shorthand for ‘The Love of My Nine Lives’.”
For a long moment, Adrien let that sit with him before slumping down into the side of the bed, phone gripped tightly in one hand, the other hand over his face as he died. His cheeks burned hot as he groaned. “Why am I like this?”
Plagg cackled. “Oh, this is nothing. You’ve been worse.”
Adrien dragged his hand down his face slowly. “Worse than secretly programming my secret superhero partner’s contact as a dramatic declaration of eternal devotion?”
“Yes.”
“…I don’t want to know.”
“You really, really don’t.”
Adrien groaned again, then forced himself upright. He stared at the tiny screen like it had personally betrayed him.
His chest tightened unexpectedly as he stared at the message as it waited for his response patiently. Because…she checked on him. Chat Noir. The apparently flirty idiot in leather. Him.
Even without his memories, that did something to him. Something that felt warm in his chest.
Adrien swallowed while he stared at the blinking cursor in the reply field. What do you even say to someone you apparently love but don’t remember loving? His thumbs hovered awkwardly over the keypad. He had no idea what their texting dynamic looked like. Were they formal? Casual? Was he dramatic here too?
Typing carefully, he wrote out a message and sent it off before he could overthink it too much more. ‘Made it home safe and sound! Slight headache but I’m okay. Had a doctor check on me and everything.’
He stared at it. “Plagg,” he said quietly, eyes still on the screen. “What if I can’t be who she needs me to be?”
Plagg floated up to eye level. “Kid. She doesn’t need perfection. She just needs you.”
“But I don’t even know who that is.”
“Then figure it out,” Plagg said with a small shrug. “You get a rare chance most people don’t. You get to rebuild yourself on purpose.”
Adrien looked around his room again—the precision, the expectations, the invisible pressure pressing in from every polished surface. Hmm…Rebuild himself.
“What if I find that I don’t want to be who I was? Or that I hate who I was before all of this? ” he asked.
Plagg’s expression didn’t change. “Then you don’t have to be that person.” The simplicity of it startled him. “You’re not your father’s schedules,” Plagg continued. “You’re not the modeling contracts. You’re not the fencing lessons. And you’re definitely not the version of yourself that thinks you have to shrink to be acceptable.”
Adrien stared at him.
“You were brave before,” Plagg said. “Not because you weren’t scared. But because you kept choosing to show up anyway.”
Silence settled between them and Adrien looked back down at the phone as it buzzed again.
‘Good! I’ll cover our patrols for now, but you’re welcome to join if you need an out,’ Ladybug texted. ‘I’m glad you’re okay.’
Adrien’s heart stuttered and read that line three times.
That warmth from before filled his chest again and he decided then that maybe he could handle this amnesia thing. Because, maybe he didn’t remember loving her. But something in him—something instinctive and bone-deep—leaned toward her anyway.
He closed the phone gently and let it rest in his hand. “…I think,” he said slowly, “even if I don’t remember the past…I still feel like I can relearn some of this.”
Plagg smiled softly, letting the words settle heavily in the quiet room and for the first time since waking up on that sidewalk about to be crushed, something inside him aligned.
Maybe he didn’t remember who he had been. But he knew one thing with absolute certainty. When Ladybug had looked at him on that rooftop—worried, steady, trusting—he had wanted to be someone worthy of that look. And maybe that was enough to start with.
Adrien laid his head back against his bed, staring at the ceiling.
“…Okay,” he murmured to himself. “I’ve got this.”