The earliest memory Adrien has is of dancing.

He is three and his mother carries him in her arms, gently swaying to a tune she hums herself. He grips the front of her shirt in one chubby hand and a lock of hair in the other, happily giggling as he basks in the greatness that is her attention.

"You like it when we dance, huh, sweetie?" He has all but forgotten the sound of her voice now, but what he does remember is the lovely feeling he felt when he heard it- like sunshine bursting through the window of his heart. "It's fun, isn't it?"

"Yes!" His toddler self would tell her, bouncing in her grip, letting go of her hair in order to clap excitedly. "More! More! Dancing!"

Then she would respond to his words by twirling, skipping along the room in a way that has him squealing. A hop step would have her dress flaring out and him exclaiming louder, her own tinkling laugh harmonizing with his own. And sometimes, when the planets align and the moment is just right, his father would join them, guiding them into a clumsy waltz that left Adrien feeling whole and loved.

At thirteen, such happy memories are scarce. More often than naught, he passes the days, weeks, months on autopilot, mind in a daze while his body moves by muscle memory. Gone is his mother and their times spent together, his father becoming so distant that it's as if he lost two parents that fateful day instead of one.

He lives and breathes as instructed, following a planned schedule that only fits in what his father deems important. Every step, every heartbeat, is calculated and he sits and watches them solve his life as if he is merely a single variable in an equation with only one answer. Most of his time is spent modeling for his father's company or studying, no remembrance of dancing or fooling around to waste his time.

It's a surprise he takes it up again.

More surprising is that he has Chloé to thank for it. She takes her place as one of the few lifelines in a world controlled and dictated by adults, and he decides to stick with her the moment he realizes it. While people make plans, she makes orders; she is a force that demands to be listened to and will not bow down to the rules set by others- it's inspiring in a way, her self appointed superiority.

It's this take charge attitude that has her storming to her father one day and convincing (threatening) him to talk to Adrien's. Later that day he finds himself notified through text that his schedule has changed, a new block opening in between gymnastics and fencing. And that's how he ends up in ballet with her.

It's then, amidst the mirrors and banisters, that he realizes his passion.

Dance.

Ballet turns into ballroom, then to swing, from there jazz and hip-hop. Anything he can get his hands on, he dives into it- waltz, tango, breakdancing, jitterbug, it doesn't matter- and he loves it all. He wants to try a little of everything, spend hours learning and practicing, while ignoring the pressures of society and those instilled on him by his father.

Given this one freedom, he's more compliant, more involved with the photoshoots, more of a better son - or, at least, that's what Natalie says to ease his father. And, luckily enough, his father accepts it and Adrien's given this small leeway.

By seventeen, he's delved into so many genres, he starts to get creative. He mixes everything together, finding his place in the rhythm of life behind closed doors. To the outside world, he is his father's son, proper and obedient to the dot, but there, in the safety of his room, he is solely him, Adrien.

He can dance and jump, be as wild as he wants, and have no one judge him. It is a freedom that has him flying, feeling powerful and capable of anything. Like a switch, he is changed; breezy smiles replace stiff shoulders, daring moves work over insecurities, and a light heart clouds the picture of a broken home- all because of dance. It liberates him, continuing to do so when everything else fails.

It's that reason why, when destiny beckons to him with spots and swinging hips, he goes willingly.

His father's out of the country for a week, so he's given laxity for the time being.

The watchful gaze of the household staff are dulled with his father's absence, no one in any hurry to follow orders than can't be enforced by a piercing stare and suffocating silence. He doesn't mind the noticeable decrease of activity of the mansion, nor the way that even Natalie gives a brisk synopsis of his schedule and makes herself scarce, because though it leaves him thoroughly alone, it gives him room to breath and think and act as his own person.

As with anytime his father is away, he takes advantage of the lapse of immediate responsibilities and sets out into the world. And by world, he means the ballet studio three blocks away from home to visit Chloé.

Like always, he's going by heiress's schedule, so that means waiting in the side studio as she changes. According to Sabrina, she's just finished her session with her private tutor (an absolutely wonderful routine, if her words are anything to go by), so he'll have to wait until she's presentable.

He chats with Sabrina for a while before her attention diverges to her phone, which leaves him to fiddle with the piano in corner. His fingers slide across the keys, lingering when he reaches the last one. Tentatively, he hits a note before looking up, wary of Chloé coming back from the back room early- he didn't need more of her glorifying him- and is glad to see that the two are still alone.

He starts and finishes a mediocre rendition of one of his father's favorite pieces.

"There's this new dance group getting media attention all around Paris," Sabrina gushes from her seat on the ground, startling him (he didn't even notice when she had moved), effectively breaking through his daze. "Have you see it yet?"

"No," he says, abandoning the instrument and leaning closer when she tilts her screen in favor of his position. "Are they any good?"

A arm loops itself through his and a pressure is applied to his side. Chloé, silent in her sudden entrance and smelling of a perfume closely resembling one from his father's line, smiles coyly up at him. "Not as good as you."

He tries to edge away, but she follows. "I'm really not that good."

"Oh, don't be absurd! You're one of the best in the class! Even Daddy thinks so!"

"Ballet is a little different than street dancing, Chloé." Not that he himself is limited, but he's never partaken with dancers outside of studios. The aspect of going against someone who's been dancing since they were children and didn't need the strict structure of teaching to do it, and out in the public no less, is too frightening.

Chloé has more confidence in his abilities than him. "You've had the best teaching money could buy- alongside me that is- and nothing some street urchins could shovel up on camera can beat that."

"I guess we'll have to see." He waves towards Sabrina's phone, effectively prying himself away and focusing on the screen before Chloe can complain. Thankfully, the other girl gets the hint and presses play and they have no choice but to let their attention get captured.

The background is nothing noteworthy, just a plain college building with muddy colors. An afternoon light highlights the lighter shades, making it more homey and eye catching than it really is.

However, before scrutiny can focus on the less than impressive appearance of the scenery, figures swagger their way into the picture. There can't be more than fifteen of them, varying in both height and build, and they start to move to a song that Adrien recognizes from the radio.

It's… amazing.

Dressed in school uniforms, they dance in perfect formation and move with fluidity that can only come from extensive practice. Everything about them is empowering and he follows their movements with bated breath, wondering what they're going to do next.

The group loses dancers as they get closer to the school behind them, an invisible force striking them down one by one. What was smooth becomes jerky, every step a struggle until half of the group are lying on the ground, seemingly immobile and useless against the strings that tie them down.

There's one girl left standing, jerking like a marionette doll, fighting off the pull trying to ground her and making her way closer to the school; each step is a battle in the name of her friends and she powers through all of them with strength that's inspiring. She's brighter and stronger and Adrien finds himself cheering her on; red against white and black, spirit against submission, she is everything he wants to be.

When the rest of her group rise up as one, movements synchronized and fake in a way that reminds him of his photoshoots, he's drawn in more than he should be. It's a show, presenting the injustice of the real world, where the strong fight off those who abandon dreams and hopes. The dancers surround the girl, encompassing her in a tight circle like a cornered animal. Slinking forward and latching on her, they finally make their goal and, before she can reach the school's door, she falls.

Near what Adrien assumes is the end of the dance, the camera pans out, roaming over the dancers once last time before focusing on the building.

The video stops not because it's done, but because Chloé rips it out of her friend's hand, glaring at the screen angrily. "What."

The reaction is understandable. Adrien raises his eyebrows at the words painted on the school's side: SAVE COLLÉGE, FRANÇOISE DUPONT- BOURGEOIS MAY STEAL THE BALLOT, BUT NOT OUR VOICE. It was a statement, and a bold one at that, if he saw one; a personal attack upon the mayor's name and credibility, a radical move that would surely gain friction- was already gaining friction, if the number of hits the video had already gotten was anything to go by.

Sabrina fumbles when Chloé tosses the phone away. "Ugh, who do they think they are?"

Her friend pushes up her glasses. "Well, they're, ah, calling themselves 'The Miraculous.'"

But Chloé doesn't appear to hear her best friend, already deeming the dance group and what they fight for not worth her precious time and energy. The blonde rises from her seat, kicking away the foot stool so that she can stand on wedged heels and teeter towards him.

"I don't care who they are, they don't know who they're dealing with. Daddy could have them arrested with a snap of his fingers." The blonde goes on to exaggerate her father's power and Adrien takes the time to look up the same video on his own (not to see more of the girl, he convinces himself, but for the dances in general).

He's more than surprised when he comes across an extensive blog.

"Looks like it's to save a school," Adrien says, scrolling down and finding a picture to go with the video. An article below it tells of the unjustly closure of the public school not too far from his home. "Isn't this the one you went to?"

Chloé sniffs disdainfully, not bothering to look. "It wasn't even a good school. The only reason I went was because Daddy said it would give him better standing. More votes, or whatever."

The blogs gives resources and states that the school will be turned into another luxury hotel- the second of an upcoming chain that will undoubtedly be expensive and frivolous and beyond the price range of most of Paris. It is not surprising that, when he looks up the proprietor, an André Bourgeois shows up.

Gabriel Agreste is on the list of benefactors in support of the new establishment.

It is years of practice and control that he stops his lip from curling in a grimace. Chloé, misinterpreting the expression that does flitter across his face for all of a second, tilts her head up and continues on her spiel with more vigor. Only Sabrina, a fellow comrade in this exorbitant friendship, understands when he sends her an eye roll behind the other's back and offers a infinitely small smile in response, attention snapping back to Chloé when she turns (no one the wiser).

By the third verse of the same song Adrien finds himself losing interest and soon it's only the manners his father('s staff) has instilled in him keeping up the pretense of listening. His mind goes back to the video, replaying the dance moves repeatedly, trying to break them down. He's seen countless videos, whether they're tutorials or breakdowns, but those moves are something else.

His phone still displays the blog and, inquisitively, he scrolls up to see the latest post. There's a petition asking for signatures and a donation box, all in support of their cause. He's just about to click the link provided when something catches his attention.

It's an upcoming event, a show, and at the bottom, a date's highlighted.

Today's date.

"Coming, Adrikins?" Chloé's at his side again, bringing him close with her palm digging uncomfortably into his bicep.

Adrien blinks. "Hmm?"

"Daddy gave me a new credit card to break in." She brings out the plastic card from her purse, waving it as if the sight will sway him. "I'm thinking of buying the entire mall."

"Sorry," he says, gently pulling himself out of her grip, "I'm going to have to catch up with my tutor so I can make up for the back-to-back photoshoots tomorrow. Maybe some other time?"

A pathetic lie, but it would have to do. One day without him won't hurt her, the number of times he's refused to go along with her plans few and far between, so he's only partially guilty at the put out face she makes. She did make him wait after all.

"Well, alright, but only if you promise to take me out to dinner next week." She smiles, lip gloss shinning unnaturally bright in the light.

He nods as he backs away, sending her a trademark smile in response, ever polite and polished. "Of course. I'll tell Natalie to schedule it."

This satisfies her and she smirks, giving him a side eye that he knows she practices in the mirror. "Good."

He takes his leave then, shutting the door and making his way calmly to the elevator at the end of the hall. His footsteps are muffled against the carpeted floor, untelling of the giddiness coursing through him, and by the time he finally makes it to the lobby he's already made his own plans.

When he arrives at the train station, he hopes that all his troubles are worth it. Time spent searching for a time and place on the blog had been difficult, hidden as it was with an expertise he lacks. It's a public event, yes, but only to those who won't put a stop to it and, he realizes, not just anyone was supposed to be able to find it. Adrien isn't even sure he, the close friend of the mayor's daughter, is supposed to know about what was going to go down that evening.

A flash mob in the middle of one of Paris' busiest stations.

Though it doesn't matter because, as Adrien sits at an empty bench in the middle of the station, he starts to think that, maybe, he's been fooled. Five minutes until the designated time and still nothing; no unusual persons exhibiting odd behaviors or grand stage setup that indicates anything out of the ordinary was going to take place. Sure, occasionally, someone would send a glance his way, but he assumes it's in regard to his likeness to the giant poster plastered on the wall behind him and not in suspicion of the knowledge he holds.

"Anyone sitting here?"

Startled, Adrien nearly falls out of his seat at the voice, but manages to catch himself and cover it with a casual stretch as he turns.

It's a boy his age, tall and tan skinned, with thick rimmed glasses that settle over a hooked nose. Despite it being summer, his worn sneakers and pooling jeans lead Adrien to think he came fresh out of school, complete with a bulking backpack in his grip.

"Oh, uh, no, you can sit here."

"Cool."

He sits and Adrien feels unnerved because, like clockwork, he begins to politely ignore him in favor of their surroundings- just as if he was at work. Feeling extremely awkward, he checks his watch not once, but twice. When he determines that no time has passed since the last time he had checked, Adrien sits back and wonders if he should say something, start a conversation about… anything really- only, thankfully, he doesn't need to. The boy takes the reins, pushing words between them as if it's the easiest thing in the world.

"What's with that cat?"

Adrien faces him, confused. "Cat?"

The young man nods at something over his shoulder and Adrien turns- and immediately scowls.

There is a black shape taking residence next to a trash can a little way down the path, sprawled out on the tiled floor. When Adrien stands the cat stops it's ridiculous movement, eyes immediately snapping to him. Like he knows he's been caught.

Well, this would explain the weird stares he's been getting.

"Plagg, oh my g- what are you even doing here?" He stomps over to the animal, reaching to grab the fur on the back of his neck, only to grasp air. Like always, Plagg doesn't want to be held, and runs from him.

"It's yours?" the boy asks, twisting in his seat in order to watch the cat successfully evade another attempt at capture.

"Unfortunately, yes," he grumps, lunging forward, only to miss and crack his knuckles against the ground. That doesn't help his mood, properly embarrassing himself in front of however many strangers arriving and leaving the station. "Though I can't tell you why he's even here and not at home."

Plagg doesn't seem affected by the pointed glare sent his way, flicking his tail carelessly as he bounds away and under the bench. It's a wonder that no security has come and chewed out Adrien for having a pet on the platform, but, besides a few other pedestrians, no one takes notice of the small scene he's creating.

"He must have followed you here."

Adrien notes the humor in the stranger's voice, but is too frustrated to comment. He kneels and glowers at Plagg, who, in return, growls at him.

It isn't going to end well, he knows, but he reaches out nonetheless. He sees the hiss before he hears it, and then there's a flash of teeth. By the end of the ordeal, he's supporting the usual number of scratches and holding a very disgruntled cat.

Being the regular victim of Plagg's tantrums, Adrien keeps his grip even with the teeth and claws catching his skin. "Ow! That's it. No more Camembert for you." He immediately gets a bemoan that borderlined on a mewl and wide eyes are turned toward him. "I mean it, no cheese."

The other boy finds that funny too, his laugh friendly and his smile reaching his eyes. He offers Adrien his hand. "Nino."

Adrien can't help the smile he sends back, and is pleasantly surprised to find that it's genuine- not the close lipped fake thing he plasters on during photoshoots, but one that shows teeth and is halfway toward a laugh. Despite Plagg's frustrated sounds at being manhandled, he's able to rearrange them so that he can grasp the hand. "Adrien."

"Well, Adrien, you seem like a really cool dude, so I gotta ask… how much do you like to hear?"

"Uh…" Adrien hasn't gotten far in interaction with anyone outside his tutors and household servants (they are formal and precise and have no need of anything as ambiguous as useless questions or a well-timed pun), so he doesn't know how to properly respond. Years of isolation has Adrien looking at Plagg for some sort of explanation, realizing a moment too late that he was just a cat and wouldn't understand anything outside his unnatural love for cheese. He sits. "I'd love to keep my hearing, if that's what you're asking."

"So you're totally cool with loud music?"

"Yeah, I guess."

Nino smiled. "Good." Without further ado, he lifts his backpack onto his lap, unzipping it in the same manner as one of Adrien's father's accountants would their suitcases, with professionalism and efficiency. A black, rectangular box is conjured up and placed with care on the young man's lap, followed soon after by two folded stands.

It's only when two bulking speakers are lifted up and out of the seemingly too small backpack that Adrien decides to speak, "Um, what are you doing?"

"Setting up," is the obvious answer.

The speakers are attached to the stands, which wobble as he awkwardly leans over the bulk in his care to arrange them. Adrien automatically reaches out to steady one and push it into the place the other was aiming for, careful for his hands not to stray too long on the equipment.

"Thanks."

"No problem." Plagg tries to bat the newly mounted fixture, probably thinking it's a new toy, but Adrien readjusts his grip on the animal yet again and sends a warning glare that demands obedience.

Nino is too busy fiddling with a phone to notice. The screen, large enough that if Adrien leans over just so he can distinguish words, shows a list of what is presumably music; there is a flick of a finger and it is scrolling endlessly, scrimping over a selection that, he doesn't doubt, is top notch. Then, with the familiarity of man who breathes the stuff, a song is chosen. Headphones materialize out of thin air and are settled comfortably around his neck, finishing the look with such finality that it's a surprise Adrien didn't notice their absence in the first place.

Then there is a noise, like an electrical pop, and everything around them is coming alive. The speakers hum as power flows through them and the box, now open and unveiling itself to be mixing console, is highlighted in blue and red. A few knobs and sliders are adjusted, the lit up bars on the scale at its top flickering in accordance.

Nino grins at him before putting his headphones on. "Enjoy the show."

The music starts off faint, slowly raising in volume until Adrien can pinpoint the vocals of a song he vaguely remembers. There's a beat somewhere in the mix, synchronizing to his own heartbeat as it soars, flying up and above the clouds in a way that makes him feel weightless. High as he is, he doesn't notice his foot start tapping.

Then Adrien hears the ticking.

He looks up at the giant clock above the entrance, knowing full well that what he's hearing isn't coming from it. He's about to ask Nino what's happening when something stops him.

A man stills in the middle of throwing away his cup, staring vacantly at him.

All around him people freeze, like a camera snapping at just the right moment and capturing them within the timeless borders of a picture. Texting, talking, whatever they're doing, it ends- just like that. Life itself seems to stop just as the music swells, expanding in the space it's given and taking reign of the bodies that submit to its power.

It doesn't take long for the realization to spread across the station, other Parisians pausing in their daily routines to observe the event that's beginning to take place. Their attention gravitates toward the clearing in front of Adrien, interest sprouting on their faces as they take in the living statues rising from the crowds.

Beside him, Nino flips everything off, and every dancer slumps like a puppet.

The music starts up again, all the stillness from before gone in an instant. People move out of the way, unconsciously making a circle around the group of individuals currently moving to the notes marching out of the speakers. Kids excitedly tug on their parents' hands, squealing in delight at the commotion, and phones throughout the square are brought out, flashes flickering as pictures and videos alike are taken. He can feel the buzz of excitement in the air, palpable enough to coat his skin and seep into his pores.

A woman struts through the mass of people, slipping into the niche made for her at the front. He watches her and her red midriff, bright and attention grabbing in the sea of dark colors, with rapt attention; eyes follow the sway of her hips in time with the music and the way her hands slide down her front as she slowly drops to the floor.

His breath hitches. It's her, the girl from the video.

The voices fade and stutter, courtesy of Nino, who is in his own world, blending a new song into the mix.

The dancers move accordingly, limbs popping and bodies jutting to the faster tempo. Heads snap to the right at particularly heavy beat, chests rising with the stutter motion of their hands. Then there is a collective gasp from the audience when a body is flung into the air, bending in a dangerous looking flip, and caught seconds before they become an indistinguishable splat on the ground. The stunt marks only the beginning of their spectacular show, a simple precedent to gravity defying flips and twirls that leave even Adrien breathless.

Something touches his cheek and he jerks back, blinking as he tries to comprehend the swarm of transparent spheres floating around them.

"The bubbles were my idea," his companion, whom he's almost forgotten about in this surprising turn of events, calls over the music blasting from the speakers. "Adds a nice touch, don't you think?"

Adrien merely nods, in such a stupor that has nothing to do with the globules of air and everything to do with the quickstep the dancers accomplish, ending it with a spin and a body roll. His face must show it because the young man sitting next to him laughs and nudges his shoulder, good natured in every way.

The girl in red pops up again, demanding attention as she saunters through the sea of dancers, going up when everyone is down, spinning when they're still, and proving to be a one of a kind. While everyone else follows routine, she plays with the beat, letting it move through her.

Flawless is the only thing that comes to mind when Adrien watches her footwork, each step where it should be, and, when she spins, he's downright floored. Perfect, she's perfect.

She doesn't come close to him, but he wishes she would, so he could assure himself that she's real and not a figment of his imagination. A part of him, growing larger and larger with every passing second, wishes he was brave to do what they're doing, brave enough to take those steps forward and join them- join her.

Then, as suddenly as they appear, they're gone.

The music cuts off, leaving Adrien reeling, and normality ensues. He watches as the dancers merge into the accumulated crowds, dissipating as if they had never been there in the first place. Like a wild dream, even the girl in red, whom he hadn't let out of his sight since her grand appearance, is lost.

Something nudges him in the side. It's Plagg, trying to gain his attention. More importantly, it's him trying break free of his hold to hit the speakers again. Nino notices this time and carefully pulls them closer and away from the cat.

Keeping a careful eye on the feline, the DJ asks, "How was it?"

"It was…"

"Awesome? Mind-blowing? Life changing?" The boy says with a grin, looking immensely proud.

The best thing he's ever seen, Adrien agrees, mind slowly catching up with his heart. He must have said it aloud because Nino's smile grows bigger.

Then, "You have a phone?"

"Yeah." The question has him pondering if any videos will be up yet and if he'll have enough room on his phone to save them all. He hopes so.

There's a minute or so where Nino looks at him expectantly, waiting. "This is where we exchange phone numbers, dude."

Adrien blinks. "What?" The other boy extends out his phone and it take a second for the blond to understand what's being asked of him. "Oh, I- yeah, er, sorry." Patting down his pants, he fishes out his phone from a pocket and, quickly unlocking it, hands it over.

Nino must be one of the most easygoing person Adrien's ever met because he brushes past his awkwardness and exchanges their numbers, handing the device back to the blond a few moments later with the same casual smile. "You seem cool, so if you ever want to hang out, just give me a call."

Adrien nods and somehow doesn't manage to screw up the first fist bump he's ever given, even with Plagg getting antsy and trying to climb up his shoulders.

Nino stands, shouldering the backpack he didn't see being packed up, and sends him a salute. "Well, I gotta go. Catch you later."

"Yeah, see you."

Then the DJ is gone, swallowed by the still buzzing crowd, and Adrien is left alone with his jerk of a cat.

He doesn't have the power to move yet, his brain still trying to comprehend all that had happened. Going out without telling his father, swapping numbers with Nino, promising to hang out without any regard to his personal schedule- for once, he's happy.

"A friend…" Delighted, he laughs. "I think I just made a friend," he tells his cat excitedly.

Plagg nips his ear.

The response is good enough to lift his mood even higher. And so, with a bounce in his step and a cat in his arms, he makes his way home.

He has scheduled photoshoots the next three days, taking up his entire time from morning to evening, and the new contact in his phone is left untouched.

Adrien wants to get away from the photographers and designers, thoroughly pampered and suffocated, but he doesn't know how. This desire is new in feeling. Never before has he ever wanted something so badly that he's considering ideas to thwart his father's work; usually he just suffers through it, ever the good son. The only time he can recall a photoshoot being canceled is when Chloe had abruptly barged on set and demanded that he go shopping with her, using her high social standing to bully the crew into giving him the very much needed day off.

"Are we close to finishing?" he asks, poised and back straight to make it seem like he's not itching to be out of their proximity and anywhere else.

Catherine, the makeup artist assigned to him today, pauses in the act of brushing a tinge of blush to his cheeks. She steps back and takes a look at him, eyebrows furrowed. Instead of calling him out on his impatience like he suspects she would, she gives slight nod. "Yes, just about. This is the last set."

This appeases him enough to discard his plan of faking sick and follow the instructions given to him by prissy and stressed visionaries alike, finally set free half an hour later.

Gorilla, ever faithful, is there to drive him home and Natalie, ever prepared, is there to hand him a printed copy of his schedule for tomorrow. He finally makes it to the comfort of his room just as the sun is setting, dumping his bag on the floor with a tired sigh. He greets Plagg with a quick scratch under the chin as he digs out his phone from his pocket, eyeing the 'No New Messages' notification the screen projects.

A few taps and he has his contact list open, the latest one clicked and a new conversation brought up. Yet, unsure fingers hover over the screen, quickly erasing whatever words are typed out.

After the third attempt, which ultimately fails as he struggles for something to say, he tosses his phone and throws himself onto his bed. He groans into his pillow, burying his face in hopes of merging with the comforter and forgetting his lack of confidence.

A familiar weight jumps on him, small footsteps walking along his back until it reaches his shoulders. Groaning again, he makes a halfhearted attempt at swatting the intruder, except he can't reach. "Plagg…"

His cat ignores him and, rather than leave him be, starts to knead his neck.

"Get off," he complains, "I'm already a social disappointment, I don't need you to treat me like a scratching post."

Plagg beds down in the space between his shoulder blades and starts to purr softly. The deep rumble is relaxing enough that his muscles start to untense- obviously it's been the cat's plan all along to offer this support, not because he likes Adrien, but to make him a more comfortable napping place.

"Why is this so hard?" he asks the room at large, voice muffled.

As expected, there is no answer. God, he's such a loser- can't even send a text message like a normal person.

He's still wallowing in the aura of his own lameness when, minutes later, his phone chimes. Thankfully, no one but Plagg is there to witness the way his body jolts at the sound, unsettling the both of them to the ground, and how he desperately crawls to his nightstand. The phone is in his hands even as Plagg hisses his displeasure and Adrien brings the screen close to his face.

It's a message from Nino.

u free?, the text reads.

Yes, yes, he's definitely free. He answers as such, already sending before he has time to consider how desperate it looks to reply so fast.

Nino's response is quick, but more laid back. sweet. im down at shell shock. u heard of it?

No, he hasn't. One quick internet search and he comes up with the right place. It's a bar. Nothing too special, if he's going by the picture, but it's a neighborhood favorite.

u down to swing by?

His experience with bars are minimal, practically nonexistent. There wasn't any point of going out anywhere when there wasn't anyone to go out with, and now his lack of socializing is ultimately coming back to bite 's no doubt that his father and, through him, Natalie would prohibit him to go out on such short notice and at such a late hour- and to a bar of all places. Being an Agreste meant he had to keep up a good public image, one expected of his social class and refined upbringing.

People like him went out to galas and dinner parties, not to bars in the middle of Paris. People like him...

I'll be there, he replies, feeling a little rebellious, just send me the address.

Nino messages him the address and one look at it tells Adrien that it's a reasonable walking distance. He could do this. Sneaking out and getting back before anyone noticed, it would be a piece of cake.

At least, he hopes it will be.

A quick glance at his clothes, far too perfect to be casual, has him changing into an unassuming pair of black jeans. He doesn't bother switching shirts, simply shrugging on a dark sweater over it to hide its refined quality and company logo. His oldest pair of sneakers look too clean, but there's nothing he can do about that.

He throws a look to Plagg, now curled on his pillow and watching him with an unfaltering gaze. "This is what normal teenagers wear, right?"

He gets a yawn as an answer.

"Yeah, you're right, I'm fine- I look fine."

Adrien turns to look in the full length mirror hanging on the wall; his reflection frowns at him, somehow still looking far too put together. He purses his lips in thought, and, after some consideration, runs his hands through his hair, ruining the style from his last shoot; the gel sticks to his fingers, but works to his advantage and keeps his hair in a perpetual crows nest.

A baseball cap is shoved on his head to complete the look. Better, he thinks, fiddling with the small details in his nervousness. It's a far cry from his usual appearance, and he hopes that he won't be recognized on sight.

Turning off the security system is the last thing to do and it's almost too easy to disable it, no one around to catch him tiptoeing to the controls and entering the designated code. With it comes the realization too, that what he's doing is actually happening. Sneaking out had never been an option he considered, only a daydream where he imagines himself a hero slipping into the night, a secret identity to be kept.

No one would know where he is, or that he'd left. He would be free from every responsibility, a teenager without the load of expectations and standards set on him. That fact sets his pulse racing, a thrill taking over at the notion that he had a night to himself, even if it turned out to be short lived.

He's halfway out the window when he looks back. Plagg has remained in the same position and doesn't look like he's going to move anytime soon. "Stay here."

A single, lazy blink is given, but Adrien's suspicious nonetheless. "I mean it. Stay. Here."

He didn't need another repeat of the train station incident. Why the cat even followed him there is a mystery. Around the house was fine, expected even, but outside? He'd gone to photoshoots and the like and it never happened. Obviously, his cat just likes making trouble.

His foot fumbles when he lowers himself from the windowsill, inching away from the safety of home and out towards the uncharted frontier of the world. He takes a deep breath, forcing his frantic heart to calm.

The last thing he sees of his room is Plagg's green eyes watching him take his first leap toward freedom.

A/N: Been thinking about this AU for a while and the entire craze that recently went through the fandom has revived the urge to write this. So, thank you starrycove. Also, the song "Beat Calls" by Scott & Brendo greatly inspired this chapter.