#scarf thread

    Adrien glanced at the scarf he’d tried to throw in his little temper tantrum just now. He picked it back up, feeling more guilty about throwing the scarf than about hitting Plagg. This particular gift had been one of Gabriel Agreste’s more thoughtful moments as a father. Adrien knew it was immature and ungrateful, but some birthdays, he’d wondered if his dad knew anything about him at all. Pens were nice and all, but not necessarily the first item on his wish list.

    The gift had his father’s creative influence written all over it in its simple, yet refined design. And yet it was still different than most of his work, with its bright and inviting color, and the fact that, by its very nature, the scarf was designed to comfort and keep warm. It made Adrien think his father had saved this particular kind of work for those he cared about. Never sharing it with anyone else.

    The thought cheered Adrien a little bit at as he tried to push his father’s latest diatribe to the back of his mind. “Do you want to end up some public mockery like the Kardashian’s?” He’d used that scathing tone that never failed to cow Adrien immediately, “How many times do I have to tell you? You are the company you keep! What would your mother think of your friends?“ That had been a low blow, and they both knew it.

    The words struck Adrien like a sucker punch to the gut, setting off an overwhelming mixture of grief, shame, and anger that had him grinding his teeth and swallowing hard at the same time. 

He had a few choice words for his father about that, but he didn’t dare say them. They’d be spiteful words meant to cut his father down, and that was something that really would disappoint his mother.

    Instead, he’d stormed off without a word, stomped up the stairs, and slammed the door to his bedroom hard enough send a small shudder through the expensive frame. He flushed with embarrassment at the recent memory and groaned. He sat up and clutched his scarf harder than before. ‘Oh god, why did I do that?’ He thought. Now, not only would he have to apologize to his father for not taking his career seriously, but he’d have to apologize for his childish behavior.

    He had started unconsciously clenching the scarf so tightly, he was practically strangling it when he noticed something strange about the texture underneath one of his fingers. He shifted his finger back to find the spot again. There! Right along the seam, there was some raised stitching. Hardly noticeable, invisible, really, unless you were worrying the thing the way Adrien had been.

    Curious, Adrien pulled the edge of the seam up and brought the scarf closer to get a better look. What he saw twisted his stomach and made his eyes widen in disbelief. He shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut as if to clear the confusion, then opened them to peer at the spot on the scarf again. The sight hadn’t changed though, and a renewed sense of anger and something else Adrien didn’t care to acknowledge welled up in his chest, making it feel constricted and almost painful.

    Adrien would recognize the signature on the scarf anywhere, and it was not his father’s. It had been on his classmate Marinette’s bowler hat at that competition. He wouldn’t forget that after one of the most difficult, if not the most interesting photo shoots of his life. She’d said she used that signature on all her work. Which could only mean one thing.

    Adrien sat up abruptly, his melancholic state from earlier burned off with his sudden surge of outrage. He was out of his bed and out the door before he could have any second thoughts. He marched down the stairway straight to Nathalie’s office, his jaw set and his eyes narrowed. His fist banged loudly against her heavy wooden door. He waited impatiently for only a few seconds before pounding on the door again, the deep sound echoing around the hallway.

    He was slamming his fist against the door for a third time when a hesitant voice cut in from behind him, “Ah, Adrien, if you’re looking for Miss Sancoeur, she’s not here.”

“What!?” Adrien snapped and whirled on the unfortunate housekeeper, “What did you say? ”

“I, ah,” the housekeeper, Aldric, stammered, “I only meant that Mr. Agreste sent her out on an errand and I don’t think she’ll be returning soon.”

    Adrien paused for a moment, unsure how to react to that. The moment didn’t last long, though, and Adrien quickly turned on his heel and marched to the back entrance. He didn’t care didn’t care how hard he slammed the door on the way out, he was going to get to the bottom of this.

    He was going to talk to Marinette.

    Adrien’s angry train had lost a lot of steam along the way to Marinette’s. It wasn’t exactly a short trip by rail to her place, and it gave him plenty of alone time to second guess himself. He wondered if maybe he was blowing this thing way out of proportion. Maybe he had jumped to conclusions. Wasn’t it possible his father had commissioned Marinette or something? While it made the gift a tad less special than before, it at least meant his father had gotten him a gift.

    The more he thought about it, the more he was sure his initial reaction had been out of line, and he already felt a little rueful for thinking so ill of his own father. His dad didn’t deserve all that. He had worked hard to support Adrien all is life in his own way. And why was Adrien making such a big deal out of a birthday gift anyway? It wasn’t like he was five or something.

    So why wasn’t he taking the first train back home and forgetting this ever happened? He glanced at the glaring evidence on his scarf and he knew why. He just wanted to be sure, he assured himself. Besides, this way was the best way. He wouldn’t have to reveal to his father’s face that he’d been so faithless. Marinette would probably confirm his commission theory and he could have a good laugh at his overreaction later.