BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The insistent sound of the alarm finally succeeded in piercing Adrien's sleep. Groaning, he forced an eye open and squinted blearily at the clock on his bedside table. It was 7am.

7am. On a weekend.

7am on a weekend in the school holidays.

One day, Adrien decided as he turned off the alarm and flopped dramatically back onto the bed, he would just say no to Nathalie when she gave him his weekly schedule. See how she liked that. Just 'no'.

He imagined the look on his father's face and shuddered. The thought was enough to get him out of bed, yawning and slouching in a way that would probably have given Gabriel Agreste a heart attack if he'd seen it. Adrien lifted up his pillow and poked the tiny black ball under it until it uncurled. Two green eyes glared furiously up at him.

"If I'm up, you're up," said Adrien.

"I don't have a photoshoot at 9," hissed Plagg.

"Right. And I don't have to supply you with an endless amount of Camembert."

He ignored the muttered stream of curses in several languages that Plagg directed at him and headed to the bathroom, pulling off the tatty t-shirt he slept in on the way. In just his boxers (Agreste ones, of course), he grabbed the tube of facewash that his father insisted he used every time he showered from the sink, giving his reflection a cursory glance as he did so.

Then he paused, blinked, and looked closer.

A horrified yell echoed through the Agreste mansion.

"Adrien? Adrien!" Nathalie hammered on his bedroom door, her voice slightly muffled but clearly alarmed. "Are you all right?"

Adrien was so busy staring at himself in the mirror that he didn't even register it when she broke with protocol and came in to check if he was okay. She found him frozen there, mouth slightly open and eyes wide in dismay.

"Adrien, what's the matter?" snapped Nathalie, both relieved that he was clearly in one piece and irritated that he had worried her for nothing.

The boy didn't say a word. He turned to her, slowly, one hand lifting his tousled hair back from his face.

Nathalie gasped and took a step back, pressing a hand to her mouth.

"I have," said Adrien, unnecessarily and very slowly, as if the words pained him, "a spot."

There was a moment of silence.

Adrien looked back in the mirror. It was even worse than he remembered. It was so big it seemed to be taking up half his forehead. It looked, he thought miserably, as though the biggest, meanest, ugliest mosquito in the world had taken a bite out of his skin, and then that he had had a bad allergic reaction to the bite. Or perhaps like he was dying from some obscure disease. Didn't the Black Plague give you giant boils?

Adrien never got spots. It was like some unwritten rule, a part of his very DNA. His skin was always flawless, a combination of good genes and impeccable skincare. Sure, occasionally he committed the mortal sin (according to his father) of looking tired, but other than that, there was never anything wrong with his face. And certainly no spots.

He thought now that perhaps all the spots he had ever been destined to have had simply joined forces and presented themselves in the raging volcano that now sprouted from his forehead.

Nathalie, as horror-struck as he was, stared at him for a while; then, gathering her wits, she said: "I will – ah – speak to your father." She left him, the tap-tap-tap of her shoes much faster than usual.

Plagg, intrigued by all the fuss, came to see what was going on. He took one look at Adrien's face and howled with laughter.

"All right," muttered Adrien, "it's not that funny."

Plagg wheezed. "It looks – like an alien – is coming – out of your head," he gasped.

Adrien fought the urge to swat him with the facewash – which, apparently, was totally useless. He leaned closer, inspecting the monstrosity on his face. Now that he was aware of it, he could feel it, a taut point of pain beneath his skin that throbbed angrily whenever he moved his eyebrows. It was clearly the type of spot that would refuse to be squeezed – rather, it lurked angrily under the surface, fiery red and malevolent.

He sighed and turned on the shower, remembering just in time to lock the door in case Nathalie came back sooner than expected. He was pretty sure he was about to be inspected by Gabriel, and being half naked and unclean wasn't going to do him any favours.

When he came out of the shower he checked his reflection again, just in case the steam had somehow magically shrunk or got rid of the spot. It hadn't.

He got dressed in gloomy silence, wondering what his father would say. He didn't have to wait long.

"Adrien?"

"Yes, Father?"

"Come out here, please."

Adrien, dragging his feet, opened the door.

Gabriel Agreste was the master of the poker face. Adrien had once witnessed an intern throw a full-on tantrum in front of him, culminating in a stapler being lobbed at his head. Gabriel had simply stood there, his expression perfectly polite, and then said, "I trust I will be reimbursed for that."

As he looked at his son now, however, one eyebrow rose. If Adrien hadn't been sunk in misery he would have been astonished. He hadn't even been sure his father could show emotion.

"I see what you mean," said Gabriel to Nathalie.

She hovered beside them, eyes tight with anxiety. "He has a photoshoot in an hour!"

"Not looking like that, he hasn't." Gabriel considered the spot, head tipped slightly to one side.

"They could style his hair over it," suggested Nathalie.

"It's too low down."

"Perhaps some concealer—"

"We'd have to lay it on with a spade."

"It could be Photoshopped out?"

"You know my feelings on airbrushing, Miss Sancoeur."

Nathalie blanched. "Sorry, Mr Agreste."

"Perhaps it could be lanced…"

"Father!"

"Adrien, what have you been eating? This can't possibly have appeared out of nowhere."

"Nothing!" said Adrien, desperately. If his father found out that Marinette's parents, Tom and Sabine, had started offering him pastries whenever he happened to pass the bakery he wouldn't live to see another day. Besides, one or two pastries couldn't explain the outbreak. It defied logic. "Maybe it's just hormones?" he offered weakly. After all, he was coming up for sixteen – prime acne age.

"Hmm." Adrien could practically hear the gears whirring in Gabriel's head. "Well, it can't be helped. Adrien, I will reschedule today's shoot for Tuesday morning. In the meantime, you will consume no sugar and apply teatree oil overnight. Do not touch your face."

"Yes, Father," said Adrien wretchedly, feeling that nothing would ever be as humiliating as this. Then he perked up marginally as the realisation dawned. "Does this mean I can go out today?"

Gabriel gave him a cold stare. "If you feel comfortable with the world seeing you with that… then on your own head be it."

He turned and walked, straight-backed, down the corridor towards the stairs. Adrien looked after him with narrowed eyes, wondering if maybe…

No, he decided. He must be wrong.

Gabriel Agreste couldn't possibly have just made a pun.

Adrien: Can I come hide at yours today?

Nino: I thought you had a shoot all morning.

Nino: Why do you need to hide?

Adrien: It got cancelled.

Adrien: Either a monster is trying to hatch something on my face, or I have a spot.

Nino: Are you serious? You never get spots.

Adrien: Yeah, apparently they took revenge. It looks like my whole forehead is swollen.

Nino: It can't be that bad.

Adrien: You'll see.

Nino: Me, Alya and Mari are going to the park. You'll have to come with.

Adrien: I'm not sure I can face being in public right now.

Nino: Aw, c'mon dude. It'll be fine.

Nino: If there are any paparazzi around you can hide behind Mari.

Adrien: Very funny.

Adrien: I'll be there in 10.

Adrien: Just don't say I didn't warn you.

Adrien rang the buzzer and waited for Nino to open the door, one hand hovering over his forehead. He'd swept his hair as far down as it would go and it had at least covered some of the redness, though the worst of the spot was still visible. It was probably visible from space.

Nino appeared, looking at him sceptically.

"Go on, then," he said. "Show me."

"Not here!" hissed Adrien. He felt Plagg snigger in his shirt pocket and wished he'd left the damn kwami behind. "Let me in! I need to borrow a cap."

"What do you mean, you need to borrow one? Didn't you have one at home?"

"My father would rather die than allow a baseball cap over his threshold." Adrien pushed past Nino and headed straight for his room, still holding his hand over his face.

"Dude, you've gotta let me see." Nino tugged his hand down, and then backed away quickly. "…Woah."

"Thanks," said Adrien sarcastically.

"Your head is growing another head."

"Again, thanks."

"Or maybe it's a tumour."

"Nino…"

"It probably has its own brain."

"NINO."

"Smarter than you, I expect."

"I swear…"

"It could probably get a PhD in physics."

"Are you done?"

Nino took pity on him. "For now. Here." He handed Adrien a cap.

Adrien put it on, tipping it as low as he could over his forehead. Nino looked at him critically.

"Tweak it sideways a bit."

"Ow."

Nino winced. "Sorry. That does look better though. I can't really see it from here now."

"Good."

Nino's phone buzzed, and he checked the message. "Alya and Mari are already there – they're getting icecreams. Want one?"

"No… I'm avoiding sugar," Adrien said dismally. The thought of seeing two pretty girls, even if they were just Alya and Marinette with whom he spent plenty of time, was not particularly appealing.

"Can't really blame you. Let's go."

Predictably, Alya was the first to demand why Adrien was wearing a cap that hid most of his face and avoiding eye contact with anyone.

"Do you have a black eye? Who'd you get in a fight with?"

"No," Nino told her, "he's just conducting a science experiment on his skin."

"What? Let me see!"

Adrien groaned. "Please, don't make me repulse you."

"Leave him alone, Alya," said Marinette quietly, her cheeks pink for no reason that Adrien could fathom. He looked at her, gratefully. "Are you okay, Adrien?"

"It's just a spot," he said, trying to sound casual. Both girls looked horrified.

"A spot?"

"You don't get spots!"

"Are you dying?"

"Does it hurt?" Mari, of course.

"Yeah," he answered her. "Feels like my brain is trying to climb out of my head."

"I have some witch hazel in my bag," she suggested shyly. "My mum swears by it. Whenever I get a spot I use it and within a few hours my skin has normally calmed down. Do you want some?"

Adrien hesitated. On the one hand, if he said yes he had a chance of relief. On the other, he would also have to show two of the prettiest girls in the class the abomination that had taken root in his forehead.

On balance, he thought he might as well just embrace the mortification. Perhaps he should set up a stall and charge two euros a peek.

Marinette was already digging through the bag she always carried. Adrien never failed to be astonished by what she managed to keep in there. He was pretty sure it was enchanted to be bigger on the inside. She produced a small bottle of liquid and a cotton pad and waved them at him. He took a deep breath.

"Okay. Promise me you won't laugh or throw up?"

"Promise," said Mari immediately. Somehow, he believed her.

He took the cap off.

Alya whistled, and Marinette said: "Ouch, that looks nasty, Adrien!"

Her sympathy made him feel slightly less hideous. He submitted to her ministrations, letting her dab the spot gently with the witch hazel, which felt surprisingly soothing. Marinette's hands were so gentle it didn't even hurt, and he remembered that she was a baker and a seamstress – no wonder she had such nimble fingers.

"Okay, done. Just let it dry, and you can put your cap back on. Here." She pressed the bottle and a couple of clean cotton pads into his hands. "Maman has more at home. Apply it again in a few hours."

"Thanks," he said wholeheartedly.

To his relief, conversation shifted to everyone's summer holiday plans, and his spot appeared to be forgotten. They were in the middle of discussing how to fit a trip to the beach around Adrien's rather full schedule when screams broke out from across the other side of the park.

Adrien whipped round, the others following suit. Alya somehow already had her phone out and was filming. How did she do that? From where they were sitting, they could see an enormous figure, nearly two stories high, yelling indistinctly and swiping at anyone in its path.

"Akuma," said Marinette sharply. "C'mon. We should, uh, go."

"Are you kidding? We have a front row seat to the Ladybug show! I'm gonna wait right here for her to show up." Alya stood up to get a better view.

Marinette fidgeted, and Adrien wondered if she was scared. The idea made him feel oddly protective. "Okay, well, my parents made me promise that if an akuma attacked I would get out of the way, so I'm gonna – um – I'll find you in a bit."

Adrien, seizing the opportunity, said: "My father said the same. Stay out of the way, okay, Alya? It could be dangerous."

"Yeah, yeah," said Alya absently, waving a hand at them. "Be quiet, you're ruining my audio. Nino, want to be cameraman so I can report?"

"Uh, sure," said Nino, a look of panic crossing his features. As Adrien and Marinette ran off in different directions, Adrien couldn't help grinning at the thought that Nino would do anything for Alya.

He found a convenient bush, glanced around quickly to check he was alone, and opened his shirt for Plagg to fly out.

"This had better be good," drawled Plagg. "I was just catching up on my beauty sleep. You should try it sometime."

"No time for witty banter," gasped Adrien. "Transform me!"

Ladybug had somehow beat him to the scene when he got there, and she waved at him in between using her yoyo in an attempt to lasso the akuma and keep it still long enough. He gave her a mock salute in return, his heart jumping in his chest at seeing her, and then assessed their foe.

The akuma was dressed in a stylised version of some kind of uniform he didn't recognise, and there was a giant black and red no littering sign on its chest. It was yelling something about pollution and waste, and it kept trying to pick people up and put them into the huge plastic bag it was carrying. Fortunately, it was slow and clumsy, possibly short-sighted, and so far no one had been caught.

Chat Noir scanned the akuma, trying to look for an item that might contain the cursed butterfly. Ladybug was always better at spotting them, and sure enough, she pointed at something he couldn't see and called out, "The stick!"

"Huh?"

Just then the akuma swung round, looking for the source of Ladybug's shout, and Chat saw that in the other hand it carried one of those pointed sticks you could use to pick up rubbish like old newspapers or plastic bags. Nice and easy, then.

"Got it!" he yelled back.

As often happened, once they had pinpointed the akuma's location the fight was over quickly. Neither of them needed to use their miraculous power, and within a few moments a confused-looking man was apologising profusely for getting so upset and being assured by Ladybug that pollution was important – just not worth getting quite so angry over.

Chat watched as she helped the man to his feet, talking to him until he smiled properly at her. He adored her for how much she cared for everyone, even those who made her life so difficult. When she came towards him, flushed with success, he wondered what she would do if he picked her up and kissed her as he so badly wanted to do.

That'd give Alya something to blog about, he thought involuntarily, and snorted.

"Bien joué," said Ladybug with a grin, holding up a clenched fist.

"Indeed, milady," he agreed, leaning forwards and bumping it with his own. "You were spectacular, as always."

She rolled her eyes as she always did when he complimented her, and lifted a finger to push him away when he got too close – tantalisingly close. But before she could reach his nose, she froze.

"Chat? What's wrong with your head? Did the akuma hit you?"

Like an idiot, he put a hand to his face. His fingers met a painful raised lump. Ah yes… the spot.

Oh, no.

His mask clearly didn't cover it. He pictured how he must look – not exactly suave and debonair – and groaned.

"Um… funny story…" he began feebly. Ladybug's never going to love me now she's seen this. I'm surprised she hasn't run away screaming. He looked at her, expecting to see disgust or perhaps, even worse, amusement.

Instead, she was staring at him wide-eyed, looking as though someone had just slapped her in the face.

"Ladybug?" he faltered.

She opened her mouth, hesitated, closed it, and then suddenly crimsoned right up to her hair. He was mystified by this odd reaction. Was Ladybug actually blushing?

Then she said, "Adrien?"

A rush of something that might have been terror and might have been exhilaration or possibly a mixture of both flooded through him. She knew who he was. Ladybug knew his secret identity. His heart hammered and he blushed red enough to rival her.

How did she know?

She had seen his face, and then…

Oh.

Opening his mouth, which felt very dry all of a sudden, Adrien croaked: "Marinette?"

Arriving back at the Agreste mansion rather later than he knew his father would approve of, Adrien attempted to creep up the stairs without anybody hearing.

His whole body felt like it was made of light, or something equally wonderful. Marinette. Ladybug was Marinette. He didn't know how he could have been so stupid as to have missed it before, but he didn't care. They had ditched Alya and Nino – he didn't have a single regret – and spent all afternoon together. Then they had gone back to her house, where her parents had offered him dinner, and played videogames for hours. She had called him 'kitty' and let him rest his head on her shoulder. He had never experienced such bliss. Of course, he hadn't kissed her – he couldn't possibly have kissed Ladybug for the first time with a giant spot on his forehead – but that could wait. There was time.

He glowed with happiness.

From the top of the stairs, Gabriel Agreste said: "You had a good day, I take it?"

Adrien froze.

He waited for the inevitable cold disappointment, the lecture that would penetrate his confidence and make him prickle with shame, the guilt that would soon have him squirming apologetically. He looked up at his father, wondering, when it did not come.

Gabriel suddenly looked… he didn't know what it was. He looked tired, and resigned, but there was a softness in his face Adrien had never seen before.

"How's your face?" he asked.

Adrien came cautiously up the steps towards him, pulling off the cap he'd forgotten to give back to Nino. Gabriel inspected the spot.

"Better," he said. "You'll be fine for the shoot on Tuesday."

"Yeah," said Adrien. "It doesn't hurt so much anymore." Because of Marinette. He didn't think anything would ever hurt so much again.

"Good. Now go and get some sleep."

"Yes, Father." He couldn't believe his luck. He wasn't sure how he'd managed to escape a telling off, but he wasn't about to stick around and find out. "Goodnight, Father."

"Goodnight, Adrien."

In bed, Adrien stared up at the ceiling, still feeling his whole body hum with happiness. He wasn't sure he'd be able to sleep, but he didn't really mind. This way he had more time to think about Ladybug and Marinette, and how they were two sides of the most wonderful person he had ever met in his life.

"You know," he said to Plagg, "I'm actually kind of glad about the spot."

"So am I," said Plagg, from where he was noisily devouring Camembert. "I haven't laughed so much for years."

Adrien smiled and closed his eyes. Thank you, he thought at the world in general.

Plagg finished his cheese and flitted over to watch Adrien as he slept peacefully, a lightness in the boy's face that had never been there before. Not even what remained of the spot could mar such a peaceful sight.

Plagg grinned a tiny, evil grin. "You're welcome, kid," he whispered.