#(hinted)

They miss each other.... (it’s okay because they’re dating in the present and are going to get married)

Influences by that Eastside song :0

//A/N: hey there @bball4ever!! this is your secret santa reporting for duty! :DD i hope you like it and have the happiest holidays! ♥

word count: 544 (i can’t believe i managed to stay under 550) AO3

It’s been a while since they’ve all had a day off. Meetings left and right, clogging their schedules. Exams and part time jobs taking up the rest. It was slowly eating away at their sanity.

Another hectic morning followed, filled with a rundown of schedules over quick toast and coffee. Prompto had spent the last night with them in the Citadel for convenience reasons since he had a photoshoot early morning close by. All their recent meetups had some kind of convenience factor: studying together, eating lunch together at some run-in place since they were headed in the same direction, but never anything that lasted longer than just a few hastily exchanged words.

It sucked.

summary: after adrien’s father makes the decision to ship him out of paris to pursue his modeling career, he spends a night on the roof with some unexpected company, and a cold bottle of champagne.

pairings: ladrien yall

sidenotes: note that both adrien and ladybug are around 19-20 years old, and the legal age for drinking in france is 18. there wont be any heavy drinking in this story, but yeah.  also PLEASE GET ME OUT OF IN THE HEIGHTS HELL. Anyways heres a smol story au based off of my favorite song, champagne.

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“What…what are you doing here?”

Ladybug was a sight to behold, the lights of the city giving her a strong, almost golden silhouette lingering behind her. He had said goodbye to her earlier that day – as Chat Noir, whom she had no knowledge of him being one and the same with – which was why it was strange for her to appear on his roof like this.

He and Ladybug never really had a defined relationship, not as Adrien, anyway. They’d seen each other, spoken a few times, but it really didn’t go beyond him being a blushing, embarrassed mess and her being smart and beautiful as she always was.

“I have a going-away present for you…I heard that Paris was going to be losing one of its most talented models…” she told him curtly. His eyes widened and he sat up a tiny bit, her presence waking his every cell, demanding his utter and complete attention.

She slowly kneeled down next to him, a dark, olive green bottle with winding gold cover atop it, concealing the precious insides like a treasure chest.

“Champagne?” He inquired aloud, fingers ghosting across the gold wrap.

She was the only person to bother with him like this – sure, he’d gotten tears and letters from fans, but nothing like this – no drinks, no somber reminiscence that he could take with him throughout his trip across the sea.

Ladybug cared, and she didn’t even know him.

And he thought his tearful goodbye to her as her best friend was bad. He could already feel pathetic tears pricking at the back of his eyes.

“Thank you.” He thanked her gratefully, lifting the bottle from her hands and getting straight to work on the foil surrounding the cork.

“So,” she began, a little bit sensitively, “America, huh.”

“Yeah.” He mumbled, focusing only on the foil, which was being quite troublesome to him, sticking to all the wrong places.

“Do you know a lot of English?” She asked him, small talk almost annoying him. He wanted her to get to the point. She couldn’t have come here solely to bring him a nice bottle of champagne – could it even be possible that she knew his secret identity, and that was why she was here?

He’d been careful throughout the course of his life as Chat Noir to cover most of his tracks – but there’d been near slip-ups before, and times when he believed her to be suspicious, but nothing solid.

“Yeah, I know English. I’m all set. I’m leaving first thing in the morning.” He sighed, the bottle being extremely frustrating as he messed with the wire cage trapping the cork to the bottle.

“That early…” she breathed out, staring into the void of Paris, as if it were her leaving for good instead of him. It was funny – he would normally be overjoyed at the attention she was giving him personally, but all he could feel was a dull numbness in his heart. He was being forced out of Paris – his own home – to follow a career he barely enjoyed.

She turned to him suddenly when he made a grunting noise, the cage finally relinquishing it’s treasure – the sealed cork.

“Are you alright, Adrien?” She asked him, relentless, ocean blue eyes boring into his with gentle curiosity.

“I just…need to open this…” he grumbled, fastening his hand to the bottle tightly and pressing it against the tense muscles of his abdomen.

“Adrien…please.”

He looked up at her, taken by surprise. The concern in her voice was filled with raw concern, and something he recognized all too well – agony.

“Please…before you go, will you go for a walk with me? Just to see the city, just one last time?” She pleaded with him. He was completely wiped off the grid – why was she acting like this around him? When he was chat Noir – the Adrien she knew – the only response he got was sad, empty, speechlessness. Now it seemed like she was full of feeling – desperate to convey them to him in the best way she could.

He looked back down at the bottle, lusting for a taste to remember, and ignored her.

“I just need to open this goddamn bottle…”

“Adrien…”

“I can get it, just let me-“

-Adrien,”

“Almost have it, just give me a minute-“

“Adrien don’t go.”

He froze, his thumb poised on the cork, aiming out at the sky hesitantly.

He turned to her, her face was red – not in an embarrassed way, but like she’d been holding all of this in for a long time, and she just needed him to respond.

“…What?” He asked her, fingers frozen in time as his eyes locked on hers, which were shiny like the surface of a glass vase, containing the bluest lilies he’d ever had the pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“Don’t go,” she repeated, more insistently.

“…why?” He asked her, why did she care? Why did she care about the empty poster-boy of Paris, why was she so determined to stand her ground, yet she dismissed Chat Noir, the person she’d known forever, with a simple goodbye?

“I don’t want to lose you.”

He almost dropped the champagne off of the roof.

“You don’t know me.” He said, voice so cold it bordered on cruel.

“I don’t…I mean, I do. I do.” She told him, sturdily pointing to her heart. It took him a moment to realize exactly what she meant, until he realized she was pointing to herself.

This could only mean that he knew Ladybug for who she really was – somewhere in his groups of friends, acquaintances, strangers – he had met and known Ladybug’s secret identity. She knew him.

“I’m lost my best friend today,” she started slowly. “I didn’t know what to say – I didn’t give him a proper goodbye, and…I think I’m going to regret that for the rest of my life.”

His heart swelled at her mention of him – she must have been distraught, of course, after years of partnership, he had to just up and leave her. Of course she had no idea what to say. He suddenly felt guilty, and he rested the bottle beside him tiredly.

“I can’t lose you, too.” She concluded.

He’d never seen Ladybug so open – ever. She was vulnerable, for once in her life, the strong, beautiful, ladybug had let her guard down for him. If he wanted to, he could crush her, with ease. Or he could cherish her, as he always longed to do.

Ironic, that this was all happening at a time when he could do nothing about it.

“I don’t want to lose you, either.” He informed her, voice hollow as he searched for the right words to tell her how he felt. He never did tell her he loved her – he knew that would be too painful. But now he was having second thoughts.

“Then stay,” she begged him, reaching for his hands and pulling them close to her heart. She made it sound so easy, her voice was warm and soft and persuasive – he wanted to believe her with all his heart, which was pounding like the beat of a drum. He was so close to her, he could feel the warmth of her chest from inches away.

“I…can’t.” he said, looking away and back towards the champagne, a distraction, at most.

“Why not?”

He froze. Why not? Why not? What else did he have to do with his life? No plans, no future, no parental support – it had always seemed like America, or nothing.

He was the plastic model that everyone wanted – that America wanted, why shouldn’t he go?

Ladybug, of course. His eyes drifted back to her pleading eyes and he felt emotions tug at the opposing sides of his heart, logic, or love, logic, or love…

“I’m…my father…” he struggled to answer her properly.

“Your father is not you. What do you want, Adrien?

Logic or love, logic or love?

“I don’t know.” His voice lost audibility at the final word. He was lost, maybe he always had been. Maybe that’s why he had been drawn to Ladybug – a beacon of light, something to lead him through the dark path that his life had always been.

“It’s going to be alright,” she told him, but the tugging whine in her voice indicated incoming tears, and that it wasn’t going to be alright. Her hand slipped around his shoulders and he was too distraught to be excited by the physical contact. Her head rested on his shoulder and she inhaled several times, like she was trying with all of her power not to cry.

“Just know…” she mumbled against his shirt. “I want you to stay…I don’t care if it’s selfish…”

He sighed. “You know I can’t.

“Why not?” She persisted, lifting her head again to look him in the eyes.

“It’s…for the good of the company, for my career…”

“What about you? What about…what about…”

“Ladybug, please. Don’t make this harder on me.” He looked down darkly and was tempted to remove her hand from his shoulder, but he craved the warmth she offered and prayed that she would stay with him, to be his final memory of Paris.

“I’m not, I just want you to stay so bad,” she choked back a sob and it felt like a knife was being slowly pushed into his heart. God – he hated to see her cry.

He ached to hold her, and this time, he wasn’t strong enough to stop himself. He darted out and snatched her into a tight, desperate hug, he wanted to hold onto her forever, he wanted her to anchor him to France, to home. They always did say home was where the heart is – and she’d held his from the moment they first locked eyes.

She reciprocated the mood of the hug easily, her hands clawing at his back like she could keep him there forever, and if she let loose, even in the slightest bit, she’d lose him for good.

“Please, don’t be mad at me,” he begged, praying her last memory of him wouldn’t be out of spite.

Her words were hushed and repetitive. “I wish…I wish I could be mad….”

But she wasn’t.

She lifted her head from where it had been resting on his shoulder, eyes a bit puffy, and leaned forward in one swift, clean motion, silencing the space between them and giving hi what must’ve been the greatest giving away present ever.

A kiss from the girl he loved – a kiss from the girl who would never know.

It was quick, too quick, her lips were like electricity and velvet, he wanted to stay that way with her – undoubtedly intimate and open. He returned her kiss, pushing against her in an almost aggressive way this was his last chance to hold her, to touch her, and kiss her…

She pulled away, ending the most memorable moment of his life with a pleasant breathing noise.

“Ladybug…” he spoke, finding no words good enough to describe his feelings, his feelings for her.

“I know I’m too late.” She whispered to him. Without warning, she leaned forward, slowly kissing the corner of his lips with a gentle purchase. His eyes closed in indulgence. He’d always wanted this, his heart was practically overflowing with thoughts and notions, things he could barely express with the way her presence stifled his ability to speak.

She pulled away and held his chin with her hand.

“Remember me,” she said to him. “And remember - there’ll always be a place in my heart – in Paris, for you.” Her hand slowly relinquished its grip and she stood up, in a breeze, and she was gone before he could muster another word, another protest, another prayer.

Love or logic. Logic or love.

Home – or future?

He reached for the champagne numbly, popping the cork off with ease and gently waiting to take a sip of the cooled, bubbly drink brought to him by her.

He shut his eyes as the flavor graced his tongue. It tasted like celebration, and reminded him of the essence the city carried. His eyes fixed on the Eiffel Tower, one of the most beautiful landmarks in the whole world, practically sprouting in his backyard.

He smiled slowly, hand tracing the outline of a lucky char that had been given to him by a girl a long time ago. He didn’t know why he’d kept it all this time, just a silly child’s bracelet…but she had given it to him with such good intentions, he couldn’t bear to part with it. It was one of his most prized possessions – it reminded him of the kindness that he received from Paris.

His future, his career, everything he’d ever need was in America. Everything he knew and loved was in France.

He smiled again and savored the taste of the champagne.

He had made his decision.

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