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eeveeeHis father's fingers touched him lightly as the measuring tape was held up, in that blink of a second before it dropped with a whisper.
"Ninety," his father muttered, and Adrien let his shoulders drop as he kept his pose, skin tickling in anticipation of his father's thumb pressed into his back, his arm joint, his elbow. He was so busy and helping out with his work like this was pretty much the only thing Adrien could do for him. He realised that he was smiling and tried biting it down, even if his father probably didn't notice; he was already kneeling to measure the inseam of the leg.
It was a ritual older than Adrien could remember, and he knew every motion his father would make in advance. He always took his measurements in the same order, and Adrien had long since made a game out of trying to guess how he'd grown before his father announced the results for Nathalie to take note of.
Eighty, he thought.
"Seventy-nine," said his father and climbed to his feet, rolling up the measuring tape. The moment was ending; he'd retreat into his office to work. Maybe to fit new designs; maybe to alter some of Adrien's normal clothing, which inevitably grew too tight every few months. Adrien didn't allow himself the disappointment of having to watch his father's back again, but reminded himself of that in a few days' time, he'd be required to stand for the proper fitting. If they were new designs, there would be a photo shoot, and maybe he could talk his father into having it at home, maybe he would even be there to watch himself, to direct how he wanted Adrien to display his creations?
He startled at a touch to his belly, and took a second to realise that his father had pressed his hand flat against it, with a small frown.
"Adrien, what's this?"
"What?" he asked, frozen in befuddlement as his father lifted the hem of his t-shirt to pinch the flesh of his stomach.
"This won't do for a model. Mind what you put in your mouth."
His father didn't even look back up as he turned around and disappeared down the hallway with Nathalie on his heels.
-
His father had always fussed about his looks. It was probably because he'd made the clothing himself, with all the time and effort that required. When he was younger, he'd pick Adrien's outfits every morning, take him out to have his hair cut, instruct every photo taken of him. And once his father had quit, there had been professional stylists taking over the job in the moments that mattered.
Adrien supposed he looked good all made-up and airbrushed, and he supposed he was cute enough even outside of posters and billboards. There had been nights when he'd lain awake and dreamed that his father wasn't a celebrity and that his own face wasn't plastered all over the country on regular basis, and that he could take off his mask in front of Ladybug without having to give away his name and his adress.
He didn't need to see her entire face to tell that she was beautiful, but remembering how he regularly got to admire Ladybug's perfect figure brought about the dreadful knowledge about how little Cat Noir's own outfit left to imagination.
He pinched the same roll of skin that his father had, as he stared at himself in the mirror.
"Do you think I'm fat, Plagg?"
"The way most people seem to be understanding that word, I wouldn't say so," Plagg yawned, floating lazily around him.
"I didn't have this gut before," Adrien said to his mirror and touched his bum, trying to feel if it felt any flabbier than he remembered it being.
"More space for delicious camembert," said Plagg philosophically, and Adrien gave up on asking any advice from a supernatural creature who daily consumed his own mass in cheese. He pulled his jeans back on, and felt the shame burn as he had to suck his stomach in to close the top button, and saw how soft flesh was pressed into an unsightly muffin top. It wasn't too visible under his shirt, but it would be inevitably revealed the next time he was asked to lean over in front of a camera.
-
His breakfast looked the same the next day, and Adrien stopped eating with half the food left, and pushed his chair back.
"Please finish your meal," Nathalie said, face never twitching.
"I think it's best if I don't," said Adrien knew that his smile was awkward and unsuccessful.
"Your meals are prepared to cover the nutrients your body needs to grow and keep healthy. If this is about your father's comments yesterday, I suggest you limit the out-of-house snacking."
Unspoken between them was that any break in routine would be reporter to his father, would mean that one of them would be get some kind of talking to about him keeping with his diet, and Adrien surrendered.
"I'll do that, then," he said, and hated himself a little for how delicious it tasted.
-
Marinette smelled like newly baked bread whenever she came to school. The scent always faded during first period, was back when they were back after lunch if she'd gone home to eat. It was a little like Ladybug, actually; his sense of smell was keener as Cat Noir, and Ladybug also carried sharp notes of crust and sugar and buttery pastries. Maybe she lived in a bakery, too? And Marinette dutifully reminded him of Ladybug every morning, and he liked sitting in front of her because he liked that nice smell of freshly baked goods.
Like any glutton would, as if the food he was served at home wasn't enough for him.
Their eyes met as she ran panting in the classroom just ahead of Miss Bustier. She waved at him with a frantic smile, and he lifted a hand and tried to return the gesture, and wondered if anyone had noticed him getting fat.
Or, fatter. He was hardly a pig, but when the only he could do was to be Cat Noir and help his father by looking good while showing off his clothing, then the extra lining was going to be a problem. Not for Cat Noir, he hoped, though it probably wouldn't help his chances with Ladybug -but his father had no use for him like this.
The day went on as usual. He went home for lunch, and it was as tasty as it always was even if Adrien felt greedy for being so happy about food. He wondered if his father would say anything about how he ate, but figured that if so, and hoped he wouldn't need to. The afternoon classes passed as they did every day, and Adrien got into wondering if Mr. D'Argencourt had noticed anything. Or if anyone else in fencing class had? Nobody had said anything about it to him, but then he hadn't even noticed it himself. He hoped it wouldn't be affecting his performance, just to double his father's disappointment in him.
"So, uh, my dad was wondering if anyone would like to try out these new pastries he's thinking about maybe selling..."
And there was Marinette, smelling even more like a bakery with a basket in her arms and an expectant smile as she looked at the class milling around between classes. She was greeted with the expected cheers of sugar-deprived youth, and her smile widened in pleasure mirroring her classmates' joy. Adrien's belly stung as Nino dumped down beside him with a treat that looked positively sinful, and he pulled out his phone as a voice in the back of his head reminded him that this was why, this was why. One more period until fencing class. No news alerts about supernatural villainy, no unusual weather phenomena, no unexplainable -
"Adrien? There's one for you, too."
Marinette's basket was empty save for a single sugary pastry, and Adrien had to force himself to pull his eyes away as he smiled with what he hoped came across as natural and inoffensive.
"No thank you."
Mariette wilted before his eyes, and he realised that maybe she would take this the wrong way.
"Well, of course he wouldn't want to waste his tongue on something from your bakery," Chloe said, and that at least seemed to relieve Marinette of her disappointment, as she turned to level an icy glare at their classmate.
"You don't seem to have a problem eating from it yourself, Chloé!" Alya snapped, but Chloe merely shrugged at having her hypocricy pointed out.
"As my father always says, you should show kindness to those less fortunate than you and gracefully accept the fruits of their labour. Now Dupain-Cheng can boast about having served the me, the mayor's daugther. You're welcome, by the way." She bit into her pastry with relish.
"I'm sure it's delicious, Marinette," Adrien said and climbed to his feet, seeking refuge in the restroom until he was almost, almost, late for class.
-
Fencing classes ended up cancelled that afternoon, together with the latter half of his science class. The akumatized form of the owner of the city's most fashionable chocolaterie whose old car was no longer allowed due to new air pollution regulations turned the streets into chocolate, and navigating on ground was soon impossible.
Mr. Clairmont was embarrassed, but grateful, and insisted on gifting his saviours with a box of the most exclusive pieces in his selection. Ladybug accepted it with unease, and once they'd retreated to the relative privacy of the rooftops, she thrust it at Cat Noir with little ceremony.
"You like this kinda stuff, don't you?"
She'd been uncharacteristically snappish during the entire ordeal, and Adrien suspected her day had not gone much better than his.
"Milady, I couldn't possibly - "
"I get enough sweets back home, and I can't share this with anyone - they'd want to know who gave it to me and it's always a mess when they think I've got some - ugh, whatever."
"I haven't got anyone to share it with, either."
"Then eat it yourself, that's never been a problem for you!"
There was a horrible moment where he wondered if Ladybug, too, thought of him as a glutton, and in the seconds it took him to get his breathing under control and press his emotions down to somewhere he could manage them later, she must've seen it in his face. She looked almost worried, and there was suddenly a completely different diversion needed to steers this conversation off to other topics than him eating sweets.
"Are you okay?" she asked, and Ladybug, if nothing else, had never been anything but honest with him. Adrien Agreste might had to be the son his father expected, but Cat Noir was nobody's business. Ladybug already knew about his feelings, and there was little Cat Noir could do to make her like him any less.
"Do you think I eat too much?" he asked, and he couldn't make it out like a joke, not when he's staring at her feet and crossing his arms. "Someone - someone pointed it out to me. That I'm putting on weight."
"Huh," said Ladybug, and when he looked up, she was scrutinizing him with a small frown. "I can't tell. I'm usually too busy to be staring at your waistline, you know. I mean - " she cocked her head, but never finished the sentence.
He felt like he could still feel the soft belly under Cat Noir's skin, but it was hard to tell what was real and what was paranoia, by now.
"Well, I think - " her miraculous blinked in warning and she never finished the sentence. "Just take the chocolates, okay? I really can't bring that home without some third degree. Later, yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied, and got three blocks away before Plagg collapsed into his palm and Adrien Agreste was left alone on the street, in jeans that were digging into his waist and with a box of some of the most expensive chocolates money could buy.
-
The chocolate box stood in lonesome solitude on his desk. He hadn't seen his father since the night before, and Nathalie had been busy on the phone when she'd let him inside. No-one had given him a third-degree about coming home with three hundred euro worth of candy. Adrien had eaten Clairmont's chocolates before, on several occasions. He knew how the pure, bright taste of cocoa was a world of difference from your average Snickers bar. He'd felt the satisfying crack of well-tempered chocolate, felt it melt on his tongue and stain his teeth all sweet and rich.
If he stretched the definition, he supposed he could claim that Ladybug had gifted him the chocolates, but even he wasn't pathetic enough to try and talk himself into that delusion. So his lady wasn't into sweets - better remember that, Romeo, stick to the flowers.
"Ninety," his father muttered, and Adrien let his shoulders drop as he kept his pose, skin tickling in anticipation of his father's thumb pressed into his back, his arm joint, his elbow. He was so busy and helping out with his work like this was pretty much the only thing Adrien could do for him. He realised that he was smiling and tried biting it down, even if his father probably didn't notice; he was already kneeling to measure the inseam of the leg.
It was a ritual older than Adrien could remember, and he knew every motion his father would make in advance. He always took his measurements in the same order, and Adrien had long since made a game out of trying to guess how he'd grown before his father announced the results for Nathalie to take note of.
Eighty, he thought.
"Seventy-nine," said his father and climbed to his feet, rolling up the measuring tape. The moment was ending; he'd retreat into his office to work. Maybe to fit new designs; maybe to alter some of Adrien's normal clothing, which inevitably grew too tight every few months. Adrien didn't allow himself the disappointment of having to watch his father's back again, but reminded himself of that in a few days' time, he'd be required to stand for the proper fitting. If they were new designs, there would be a photo shoot, and maybe he could talk his father into having it at home, maybe he would even be there to watch himself, to direct how he wanted Adrien to display his creations?
He startled at a touch to his belly, and took a second to realise that his father had pressed his hand flat against it, with a small frown.
"Adrien, what's this?"
"What?" he asked, frozen in befuddlement as his father lifted the hem of his t-shirt to pinch the flesh of his stomach.
"This won't do for a model. Mind what you put in your mouth."
His father didn't even look back up as he turned around and disappeared down the hallway with Nathalie on his heels.
-
His father had always fussed about his looks. It was probably because he'd made the clothing himself, with all the time and effort that required. When he was younger, he'd pick Adrien's outfits every morning, take him out to have his hair cut, instruct every photo taken of him. And once his father had quit, there had been professional stylists taking over the job in the moments that mattered.
Adrien supposed he looked good all made-up and airbrushed, and he supposed he was cute enough even outside of posters and billboards. There had been nights when he'd lain awake and dreamed that his father wasn't a celebrity and that his own face wasn't plastered all over the country on regular basis, and that he could take off his mask in front of Ladybug without having to give away his name and his adress.
He didn't need to see her entire face to tell that she was beautiful, but remembering how he regularly got to admire Ladybug's perfect figure brought about the dreadful knowledge about how little Cat Noir's own outfit left to imagination.
He pinched the same roll of skin that his father had, as he stared at himself in the mirror.
"Do you think I'm fat, Plagg?"
"The way most people seem to be understanding that word, I wouldn't say so," Plagg yawned, floating lazily around him.
"I didn't have this gut before," Adrien said to his mirror and touched his bum, trying to feel if it felt any flabbier than he remembered it being.
"More space for delicious camembert," said Plagg philosophically, and Adrien gave up on asking any advice from a supernatural creature who daily consumed his own mass in cheese. He pulled his jeans back on, and felt the shame burn as he had to suck his stomach in to close the top button, and saw how soft flesh was pressed into an unsightly muffin top. It wasn't too visible under his shirt, but it would be inevitably revealed the next time he was asked to lean over in front of a camera.
-
His breakfast looked the same the next day, and Adrien stopped eating with half the food left, and pushed his chair back.
"Please finish your meal," Nathalie said, face never twitching.
"I think it's best if I don't," said Adrien knew that his smile was awkward and unsuccessful.
"Your meals are prepared to cover the nutrients your body needs to grow and keep healthy. If this is about your father's comments yesterday, I suggest you limit the out-of-house snacking."
Unspoken between them was that any break in routine would be reporter to his father, would mean that one of them would be get some kind of talking to about him keeping with his diet, and Adrien surrendered.
"I'll do that, then," he said, and hated himself a little for how delicious it tasted.
-
Marinette smelled like newly baked bread whenever she came to school. The scent always faded during first period, was back when they were back after lunch if she'd gone home to eat. It was a little like Ladybug, actually; his sense of smell was keener as Cat Noir, and Ladybug also carried sharp notes of crust and sugar and buttery pastries. Maybe she lived in a bakery, too? And Marinette dutifully reminded him of Ladybug every morning, and he liked sitting in front of her because he liked that nice smell of freshly baked goods.
Like any glutton would, as if the food he was served at home wasn't enough for him.
Their eyes met as she ran panting in the classroom just ahead of Miss Bustier. She waved at him with a frantic smile, and he lifted a hand and tried to return the gesture, and wondered if anyone had noticed him getting fat.
Or, fatter. He was hardly a pig, but when the only he could do was to be Cat Noir and help his father by looking good while showing off his clothing, then the extra lining was going to be a problem. Not for Cat Noir, he hoped, though it probably wouldn't help his chances with Ladybug -but his father had no use for him like this.
The day went on as usual. He went home for lunch, and it was as tasty as it always was even if Adrien felt greedy for being so happy about food. He wondered if his father would say anything about how he ate, but figured that if so, and hoped he wouldn't need to. The afternoon classes passed as they did every day, and Adrien got into wondering if Mr. D'Argencourt had noticed anything. Or if anyone else in fencing class had? Nobody had said anything about it to him, but then he hadn't even noticed it himself. He hoped it wouldn't be affecting his performance, just to double his father's disappointment in him.
"So, uh, my dad was wondering if anyone would like to try out these new pastries he's thinking about maybe selling..."
And there was Marinette, smelling even more like a bakery with a basket in her arms and an expectant smile as she looked at the class milling around between classes. She was greeted with the expected cheers of sugar-deprived youth, and her smile widened in pleasure mirroring her classmates' joy. Adrien's belly stung as Nino dumped down beside him with a treat that looked positively sinful, and he pulled out his phone as a voice in the back of his head reminded him that this was why, this was why. One more period until fencing class. No news alerts about supernatural villainy, no unusual weather phenomena, no unexplainable -
"Adrien? There's one for you, too."
Marinette's basket was empty save for a single sugary pastry, and Adrien had to force himself to pull his eyes away as he smiled with what he hoped came across as natural and inoffensive.
"No thank you."
Mariette wilted before his eyes, and he realised that maybe she would take this the wrong way.
"Well, of course he wouldn't want to waste his tongue on something from your bakery," Chloe said, and that at least seemed to relieve Marinette of her disappointment, as she turned to level an icy glare at their classmate.
"You don't seem to have a problem eating from it yourself, Chloé!" Alya snapped, but Chloe merely shrugged at having her hypocricy pointed out.
"As my father always says, you should show kindness to those less fortunate than you and gracefully accept the fruits of their labour. Now Dupain-Cheng can boast about having served the me, the mayor's daugther. You're welcome, by the way." She bit into her pastry with relish.
"I'm sure it's delicious, Marinette," Adrien said and climbed to his feet, seeking refuge in the restroom until he was almost, almost, late for class.
-
Fencing classes ended up cancelled that afternoon, together with the latter half of his science class. The akumatized form of the owner of the city's most fashionable chocolaterie whose old car was no longer allowed due to new air pollution regulations turned the streets into chocolate, and navigating on ground was soon impossible.
Mr. Clairmont was embarrassed, but grateful, and insisted on gifting his saviours with a box of the most exclusive pieces in his selection. Ladybug accepted it with unease, and once they'd retreated to the relative privacy of the rooftops, she thrust it at Cat Noir with little ceremony.
"You like this kinda stuff, don't you?"
She'd been uncharacteristically snappish during the entire ordeal, and Adrien suspected her day had not gone much better than his.
"Milady, I couldn't possibly - "
"I get enough sweets back home, and I can't share this with anyone - they'd want to know who gave it to me and it's always a mess when they think I've got some - ugh, whatever."
"I haven't got anyone to share it with, either."
"Then eat it yourself, that's never been a problem for you!"
There was a horrible moment where he wondered if Ladybug, too, thought of him as a glutton, and in the seconds it took him to get his breathing under control and press his emotions down to somewhere he could manage them later, she must've seen it in his face. She looked almost worried, and there was suddenly a completely different diversion needed to steers this conversation off to other topics than him eating sweets.
"Are you okay?" she asked, and Ladybug, if nothing else, had never been anything but honest with him. Adrien Agreste might had to be the son his father expected, but Cat Noir was nobody's business. Ladybug already knew about his feelings, and there was little Cat Noir could do to make her like him any less.
"Do you think I eat too much?" he asked, and he couldn't make it out like a joke, not when he's staring at her feet and crossing his arms. "Someone - someone pointed it out to me. That I'm putting on weight."
"Huh," said Ladybug, and when he looked up, she was scrutinizing him with a small frown. "I can't tell. I'm usually too busy to be staring at your waistline, you know. I mean - " she cocked her head, but never finished the sentence.
He felt like he could still feel the soft belly under Cat Noir's skin, but it was hard to tell what was real and what was paranoia, by now.
"Well, I think - " her miraculous blinked in warning and she never finished the sentence. "Just take the chocolates, okay? I really can't bring that home without some third degree. Later, yeah?"
"Yeah," he replied, and got three blocks away before Plagg collapsed into his palm and Adrien Agreste was left alone on the street, in jeans that were digging into his waist and with a box of some of the most expensive chocolates money could buy.
-
The chocolate box stood in lonesome solitude on his desk. He hadn't seen his father since the night before, and Nathalie had been busy on the phone when she'd let him inside. No-one had given him a third-degree about coming home with three hundred euro worth of candy. Adrien had eaten Clairmont's chocolates before, on several occasions. He knew how the pure, bright taste of cocoa was a world of difference from your average Snickers bar. He'd felt the satisfying crack of well-tempered chocolate, felt it melt on his tongue and stain his teeth all sweet and rich.
If he stretched the definition, he supposed he could claim that Ladybug had gifted him the chocolates, but even he wasn't pathetic enough to try and talk himself into that delusion. So his lady wasn't into sweets - better remember that, Romeo, stick to the flowers.
