Felix has always known that there will be others.

This is how it's supposed to work, isn't it? Destruction is eternal, and so is Chat Noir. The temporary one is – was – Felix.

Now another man bears the mantle he cast off.

Gray eyes narrow, his lips pinching as he stares at the television screen.

But that is not a man.

That's – that is a child. A child running around in a goddamn leather cat suit, tasked with saving the world. A small child. The tip of his black ears barely clear the chest of the police officer he's talking to. The boy's gesturing wildly, likely trying to give instructions for an evacuation. His lips are moving, though the camera is too far away to capture the words.

His voice probably hasn't even deepened yet. A superhero barking orders in a high-pitched teen's voice.

A bitter laugh escapes Felix's throat, burning stares swiveling around to censure him. He pays them no mind. This is bigger than them. Or is it? After all, they are no different. He's reduced to being a gawking spectator, just like them.

Their attention is soon drawn back to the television, just like his. To the breathless reporter recounting the devastating events. Some junior underling who had the dubious fortune of being nearest to the attack. There's a sick exhilaration in the way he lovingly describes every last detail.

Look, mom, I'm on television. It's my big break. Pay no mind to the screams.

Or the child soldier.

Felix closes his eyes and turns away.

This is none of his business.

Not his fight. Not his responsibility.

But his lips draw back in a silent snarl. When his fingers curl into a fist, he can almost feel an echo of claws digging into his palms.

The Akumas keep appearing.

Ladybug and Chat Noir keep defeating them.

Felix tries not to pay attention.

He fails miserably.

All of Paris is gossiping about their new guardians. They admire, they praise, they stand in awe of their heroes' bravery and Felix wants nothing more than to scream. Is he the only sane person in this entire wretched city? Children fighting to protect their home is nothing to celebrate.

And yet when he comes home late at night, nerves tingling from the whiskey he drinks at those tedious work events, he finds himself opening the Ladyblog. Ugh. Just the name makes his eyelid twitch.

He watches his younger counterpart. For all his youth, he's good. Really good. It took Felix months to feel comfortable running around on all fours, his dignity getting in the way of his bond with Plagg. This boy has no such reservations, throwing himself at his foes with reckless abandon, embracing everything the cat has to offer. Kicking, clawing, biting.

Chat Noir grins when he fights.

That much they have in common. In all his thirty years, Felix has never felt more alive than in battle.

No.

That's a lie.

He felt alive in her arms, too.

Only once, though. He has only that one, singular memory of Bridgette wrapping her gentle arms around him and whispering sweet nothings in his ear. Time has dulled the details, like scratches and white spots on an aged film.

One day he won't remember the sound of her voice anymore, and he dreads it.

Felix is so very bored.

He keeps his expression neutrally blank as he listens to the business proposal. Most people are intimidated by his silence and utter stillness, but not this woman. No, her voice never wavers as she lays out the terms of their partnership. Some marketing ploy to advertise their teen line, and the higher-ups insist on having Adrien Agreste be the face of it.

Adrien Agreste, so he's been told, is the son of some fashion mogul, and a rising star in the modeling world. His father, however, is notoriously protective of him. Not to preserve the boy's childhood or anything, no – Adrien is supposed to be exclusive to the Gabriel brand.

There are days Felix misses the ability to hiss.

The negotiations take hours, and in the end, Gabriel Agreste gets almost everything he asks for. His lawyers are sharks. So are their firm's lawyers, but Agreste lawyers are an especially vicious breed, evidently genetically engineered to go directly for the throat.

A few days later, Felix passes the Agreste kid in the lobby and freezes.

Once, he and Destruction had been one. Every fiber of his being remembers their bond, tingling with awareness in the presence of the ring. His ring. The Miraculous.

Goddamn Plagg.

Felix cancels the rest of his appointment and invites himself to the photoshoot.

The new Chat Noir is nothing like the old one.

He's sweet and unfailingly polite, smiling even when the photographer barks orders at him. The boy contorts this way and that, his smile never wavering.

And it hurts.

It hurts to look at this gentle child with too much power and too much responsibility, so much more of Bridgette in him than of Felix.

Adrien stretches his arms, wincing as his shoulders protest the movement. Being locked into the same position for far too long takes its toll. For a moment he's tempted to splash his face with cold water to wake his stiff facial muscles, but that would mess up his make-up. So he just washes his hands, flashes a practiced grin at his reflection, and exits the bathroom.

Only to be pinned against the wall by a cold-eyed man. Before he quite knows what's happening, Adrien is dragged to an empty office, the door slamming shut behind them.

"How dare you?"

The man's voice cracks like a whip, and Adrien cannot help but wince. It's just like father's when he's at his angriest.

But then the pale eyes soften in a way father's never do, stiff posture loosening.

"Not you, kid. Talking to your asshole of a kwami."

Adrien's jaw slackens just as Plagg casually floats out of his pocket, yawning. "That's no way to greet old friends, Felix."

"Friends," the man drawls. "Well, friends don't let friends recruit children to fight their battles. What is he, twelve?"

"Hey!" Adrien's nose scrunches up. He's not quite certain what's going on, but he knows enough to recognize when he's being spoken of as if he's not there. Adults speak over his head all the time and he's honed the skill of picking out the parts of the conversation that are relevant to him. It's how he was informed that he was to start learning Chinese. Yes, we need to expand into the Eastern market, it's the future. It's why I've hired a Mandarin tutor for my son. "I'm almost fifteen!"

"Oh, well, that changes things." The man's sarcasm drips all over the pristine marble floor.

Plagg buries himself in Adrien's hair. "It's for the best in the long run. A kwami's relationship with his wielder is symbiotic. Adults are set in their ways and will never truly grow to harmonize with our nature." He pauses, and tiny claws possessively dig into Adrien's scalp. "You were the same age."

"And how did that work out?" The man says it quietly, and yet the fine hairs on Adrien's nape stand on end.

Plagg's voice is harder than Adrien has ever heard it. "Wielding us is a lifetime commitment. That way we have decades with an adult partner instead of endlessly churning through new ones."

Pale skin grows even paler.

"I told you there'd be consequences to throwing me away."

The man says nothing as he turns on his heels, ripping open the door with such force that the rebound sends it slamming shut behind him.

Adrien blinks and plucks his partner out of his hair, the kwami wiggling in his grasp.

"Who was that?"

Adrien grins and Plagg trembles.

The scent of camembert is so close he can almost taste it. Destruction is his domain, and he feasts on decay. How dare the boy tempt him with it?

"Just tell me who that man was, Plagg," Adrien coos, "and this can all be yours."

A mountain.

Adrien has built him a veritable mountain of cheese, all for Plagg to devour.

No! He is stronger than this! He is a kwami, a God, endowed with the power to tear apart the universe!

But then Adrien picks up a school folder and starts using it as a fan, sending a wave of irresistible aroma in Plagg's direction.

The lock clicks as the key turns, and Felix pushes open the door to his loft. He hesitates for one long breath, then briskly makes his way to the kitchen to set down the grocery bags on the counter. His fingers close around the biggest kitchen knife he has. Stainless steel flashes as he whirls around, flowing into the familiar dance with ease.

He might no longer be Destruction, but his body has never forgotten its lust for battle.

"Show yourself," he hisses. "I know you're here."

Twin green glows illuminate the darkness, winking in and out of existence. Cat eyes, blinking at him.

"Hello?" The boy's voice is uncertain.

Felix exhales sharply, and for all that he relaxes the arm holding his weapon, a new tension creeps into his shoulder. So he turns to slide the knife back in its place and flicks the nearby light switch.

Chat Noir is perched on his couch, the tip of his belt-tail twitching. Felix has never been good at reading other people, but he understands cats, remnants of an instinct he's tried in vain to shake off. The boy is practically vibrating with excitement, playful curiosity suffusing his every movement.

"I'm sorry for scaring you."

Felix scoffs. "I was about to impale you."

Now it's the boy's turn to scoff, though he does it subtly. A single twitch of the corner of his lips and a lash of his belt reveal what he thinks of Felix's odds. His overconfidence should annoy Felix, yet instead there is a sudden lump in his throat. He remembers very well what it was like to be too young to fear death. Chat Noir's power is intoxicating when it flows through the veins, whispering that nothing at all can ever touch you.

"I'm sorry," the boy says again, though nothing in his voice or posture speaks of contrition. He's inching closer, gaze roaming all over Felix. "I shouldn't have broken in, but I didn't know how else to contact you in private."

"There's this marvelous new invention called an E-Mail."

A sly half-grin. "Would you have said yes if Adrien Agreste had asked to meet?"

"So you went straight to breaking and entering," Felix says dryly. "Plagg's as terrible an influence as ever, I see."

The cat ears flatten. "He says to stay away. I had to bribe him to even get your name."

"Did he tell you who I used to be?"

An almost imperceptible nod as the eyes grow wide with – something. It's gone before Felix can puzzle it out. He doesn't get along with other people, doesn't want to get along, so he's never bothered to learn all the subtle nuances of a fleeting expression. Silence and intimidation see him through negotiations, his glower all he needs to break his adversaries' spirits. Few businessmen have seen what he's seen, and few can withstand what it's made of him.

"You used to be a superhero. Like me. A black cat."

"Used to be. It's past tense for a reason. Go away."

"But…"

The pupils grow round, black devouring green, shining with a hopeful plea.

Oh God.

Oh no.

"Quit looking at me like that, it won't work." And it doesn't. Felix has never, not once in his life cooed over a small animal, let alone a child. Children are obnoxious little creatures who have the volume slider tuned way too loud.

The boy's lip trembles.

"It's just…" That pitiful whisper has to be on purpose. There is no way such levels of adorability can be reached without cold-blooded calculation. "I don't have anyone in my life to talk to. About this. And I have so many questions, but Plagg is no help at all."

The words burn like acid, dripping into a wound that has never closed. "You have your Ladybug." And I don't have mine.

The boy sighs softly and understanding dawns instantly. Obsessed as he is, Felix has seen the footage of Chat Noir 'wooing' his partner. But the antics are so over-the-top and unnatural that he's always considered them a show.

But the longing in that sigh is very real.

"Ladybug doesn't know Adrien Agreste," Chat Noir mumbles. "And I don't wish to bother her with his troubles."

"So you're bothering me instead?"

The tail-belt stops moving, the silver tip dejectedly clattering to the ground.

"I apologize for intruding on your privacy," Chat says with Adrien Agreste's impeccable manners. "I'll leave you be."

In the span of a heartbeat, he's already crouched on the window sill, on the verge of disappearing into the night.

"Wait!"

The word escapes Felix's throat without him quite meaning to.

Chat Noir's ears perk up. He turns around with the most adorably hopeful expression and Felix gets the sinking feeling that he's just been played.

The boy – Adrien – is nothing like Felix had been at his age. Why he of all people was chosen as Destruction's vessel is a mystery. He's gentle, kind and ridiculously eager to please.

"So why did you give up your Miraculous?"

Felix shrugs. "The Big Bad was defeated and I wasn't needed anymore." It's the truth, or part of it, anyway. Their victory was paid for with Bridgette's sacrifice, and he wanted no part in the cause that killed her.

"But that's optional, right? I don't have to give up being a superhero if we defeat Hawkmoth, right? Plagg said–"

"You don't have to do anything," Felix says softly. "And don't let Plagg tell you any differently. Your path in life is your own to decide."

Their conversation stalls, as it often does. Adrien is clearly burning with curiosity, but tact appears to be holding the barrage of questions at bay. Felix sighs, awkwardly dusting off his conversational skills.

"You got any experience with martial arts?"

"Yeah, I fence!"

"It shows. You've got good spatial awareness during combat." He's never heard anyone else remark on it, but whenever Felix watches the footage of the superhero pair, it's all he can notice. Ladybug is the sun, and Chat Noir her moon, constantly readjusting his position relative to hers. He rarely outright guards her, leaving her free to fight, but he's always poised to throw himself into the line of fire.

Adrien beams at him, eagerly picking up even the tiniest morsel of praise like he's starved for it. From what little Felix has seen from the boy's cold father, he probably is.

"Also explains why you keep trying to thrust your weapon like it's a rapier. The cat strengthens instincts and muscle memory, and you're training the wrong ones. Fencing's a formal sport, you might be better off switching to something more practical."

Adrien's shoulders sag. "I… don't exactly get a say in what goes in my schedule."

"Ah." Felix drums his fingers on the couch. "Is that why you chose this time of night to sneak in?"

"Yeah." Pained smile. "My days are pretty busy."

"I see." Felix extends his hand, crooking a finger. "Alright, extend that baton to my height and I'll show you a trick that's saved my ass a few times."

Green cat eyes watch attentively as Felix demonstrates how to turn an overhead block into an aggressive sweep, a move designed to turn the tide of battle from defense to offense. If a child is to take his place, then Felix will make damn sure he doesn't get himself killed in the line of a duty that should never have been his.

Adrien comes back the next night, and by then Felix has procured two practice staffs.

When he lands on his ass for the third time in a row, Felix begins to understand why this boy was chosen to become Destruction. Sweet and kind he might be, but once he enters a battle stance, Adrien's eyes shine with singular focus, his smiles growing wild and feral.

Felix doesn't mind losing the spars, he really doesn't. He's rusty, and the kid has superpowers.

But God.

The puns.

"What's wrong, already feline tired?"

He'd give anything to make the puns stop.

Stupid.

So fucking stupid to not have seen it before.

When Felix offers Adrien a snack after their spars, the kid always shoves it into his mouth like he's starving. Why had he written that off as poor manners? Adrien's manners are flawless.

The boy fidgets under the strength of Felix's glare.

"A diet. You're on a diet."

"It's a meal plan. A generous one, our personal chef makes great food. It just…"

"…doesn't consider the calories you burn as Chat Noir."

"Exactly," he says miserably.

No wonder he's so damn scrawny.

Felix starts ordering take-out at night.

The lock clicks as the key turns, and Felix pushes open the door to his loft.

His eyes adjust to the darkness within seconds, as they always do. Echoes of once having had night vision are enough to help him instantly spot the teenager passed out on his couch.

"Late night, huh?" The belligerent voice makes no effort to keep its volume down and Adrien stirs. So Felix snatches the kwami out of the air, silently carrying him into another room.

Plagg can easily escape his grasp, but he chooses not to. Evidently he, too, considers this conversation overdue. Adrien has always stayed transformed during his visits, keeping the kwami locked in the ring.

"Why him?" Felix asks flatly.

"Because we are well-matched."

"He's nothing like you." Nothing like me. No trail of destruction in his wake.

"As I said. Well-matched. Balanced."

Felix glances at the wall, knowing Adrien's sleeping on the other side of it. "…can I take it back?"

Plagg scoffs. "Got a taste for my power after all?"

"He shouldn't have to bear the burden I cast off."

"It's no burden for him." Plagg proudly raises his chin. "I gave him freedom."

"At a price he doesn't yet know."

The little God shrugs. "Either way. You can't have the ring. It's no longer for you." When Felix opens his mouth to argue, he's interrupted before he can even make a sound. "This Ladybug is not for you. We chose the two of them to match. Would you take her from him?"

His mouth snaps shut, and he says nothing. What is there to say? He would not wish this loss on anyone.

There's a strange comfort in the sound of claws skittering on his window sill. Felix barely spares a glance at the boy crawling in through the window, his mind already on today's lesson.

But something niggles at his brain, so he does a double take.

Chat Noir has a leaf in his mouth.

Felix blinks.

Yes, that's a leaf. A maple leaf painted in the colors of autumn, with rich golds and reds.

Adrien drops it at his feet, looking at him expectantly, and suddenly Felix is hit by a long-forgotten memory. No. Not forgotten. Repressed out of sheer humiliation.

"W-why would you–?" Ladybug stares at him with wide-eyed horror before her gaze darts back to the dead mouse. "Why would you bring me this!?"

Felix opens his mouth, yet as soon as he tries to put it into words, the answer that seemed so obvious just a moment ago slips away. "I…thought you might… like it?"

Keeping his expression straight, Felix takes the gift without drawing further attention to it. "Thank you."

Adrien grins wide and then tips back his head, scenting the air. His stomach makes a gurgling noise. "Is that pizza?" he asks hopefully.

The kid's sloppy when he's hungry and always tries to hurry through the lesson, neglecting his form and picking up bad habits. There's no point in attempting to teach him in this state. It would just create more work to correct later.

"Yeah, I'll get it," Felix says, turning to fetch the boxes from the kitchen.

He lays the leaf on the counter.

It's still there the next morning and he picks it back up on a whim.

Felix rolls the stem between his fingertips, watching as it flutters. The colors are lovely. That must be why it caught Adrien's attention.

He makes a mental note to buy magnets so he can pin it on the bare fridge.