What happened after that was more of a fever dream. You just remembered frantic inquiries from your parents, and Chat Noir using his cataclysm to vanquish the little black butterfly that had flown out of the broken card, before you were all taken into custody for questioning. The police let you go early, but going back home felt too exhausting, so you could only sit on the steps outside the station defeatedly, head in hands, trying to digest everything that had happened today.
Well. If one thing was for sure, you knew you'd be getting expelled. Lila was sure to tell everyone about your… little attack this morning.
Now it was evening, and the light was fading, leaving you to sit miserably in the growing dark.
Oh, it all felt like a nightmare that was coming to a close, whatever that really meant — oh, it felt like a twisted reality, where everything was on its head. If only you’d kept your mouth shut, then the catalytic argument would’ve never happened, and you could’ve just gone to school as normal, and tried to get on with things.
A set of footsteps approached you, and you were far too drained to look up, or react when the mystery person sat next to you heavily. You just sat there, and waited for them to speak, if they even would. And when they did finally open their mouth, it was surprising who it was.
“Why did you punch Lila?” Chloé asked quietly.
You didn’t say anything in response for a second, before muttering, “She was being a bitch.”
Chloé shifted, and you finally lifted your head, to look at her; her hair was down and dishevelled; “I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” she scoffed, tossing a blonde lock over her shoulder, “running off like that is dumb, you know?”
You stared at her, in silence, shocked that she’d gone out of her way to search for you. When she caught your look of disbelief, she wrinkled her nose, and barked at you to tell her what was your problem. A shaky sigh escaped you, and you hugged her warily, which caused her to stiffen. “Thank you,” you mumbled.
Chloé very carefully patted your back; both of you were awkward, not great with physical contact, but it felt as if this hug was something you’d both worked hard for; you’d met each other halfway, and that was ok. You’d worked together, you’d fought together, you’d fought each other, you’d improved each other, and neither of you could ask for more.
Because Chloé was now your friend, and that was something you never thought you’d think.
The blonde girl shook her head, and laughed, “You’re very stupid. You should know better than to punch Lila. She’s going to come up with something to get you expelled, you know? She’s going to take that as a sign of war.”
“Fine,” you grumbled, “I’ll fight her. I don’t care.”
"You're dumb," Chloé let out a half sob, but did not shy away from you, pulling you closer to her.
You let out a small laugh, and buried your head in your arms again, letting her dote on you for a bit.
After a bit, you convinced her that she should go home, before starting to head home, preparing for the lengthy trip that would take you back to your empty apartment. But as you sat down at the platform of the train station that would deliver you back to the suburbs, you received two visitors, who jumped down from the sky, and approached you. “Hey, (Y/n)!” Ladybug greeted you, with a smile, her partner observing from a distance.
You forced a grin, sweat dripping down your forehead out of nervousness, since you now could confirm that you were talking to Marinette, and she was blissfully unaware that you’d compromised her secret identity. “... you alright?” you finally spluttered awkwardly.
“Chat Noir told me that you defeated the akuma all by yourself! That’s really impressive!” she complimented, rubbing the back of her head. “Thanks a lot. Sorry I couldn’t help more. I am one of the heroes of Paris, I should be more responsible.”
“It’s fine. In the end, it’s over, right?” you offered weakly.
“Yeah, you’re right. I hope that you get home safely! Bug out!” with that, she was gone again. Chat Noir glanced after her, then gestured for her to go on ahead, and that he’d join her later; then he walked over, and held out a hand to you wordlessly.
“What?” you sighed, giving him a weary look.
“I’ll take you home,” he responded, extending his staff.
You raised an eyebrow, “You sure you want to do that, Adrien?—"
Chat Noir shushed you intensely, giving you a harsh glare. “Someone might hear you!” he reprimanded, before placing his hands on his hips in annoyance. “Mon dieu, I can’t leave you unsupervised for one minute. Come on, I’m taking you home.”
“Hey, don’t talk to me like I’m a toddler!” you retorted, but reluctantly stood up, and let him whisk you off your feet.
It took five minutes to get back, which was a surprising time, considering it took much longer to get back by transport. But, in any case, you arrived home, and let the blond inside, so that Plagg could regenerate, by eating the entirety of cheese in your fridge. That was where you found yourself now, in the kitchen, hovering silently at the kettle, as it boiled, whilst Plagg pigged out, and Adrien leaned against the counter.
“Are you two going to talk or what?” Plagg questioned, mouth full of food.
“There’s nothing to talk about,” you mumbled, getting a mug out of the cupboard.
“No, Plagg’s right,” Adrien suddenly spoke, “we need to talk.”
You peeked over your shoulder, to find Adrien, a frown on his face. He was visibly not impressed by your display today, and you couldn’t blame him, but your stubborn pride made you refuse to apologise. You felt sorry, for sure; you were sorry for revealing Ladybug’s identity to him, you were sorry for putting him and his partner in jeopardy, you were sorry for a lot of damn things; but it felt too insignificant to just say it as two words. You’d fucked up, and you’d fucked up real bad.
“First of all,” Adrien started, using English for emphasis, “who is Julian, and why were your parents so keen to get him back?”
You knew you owed him answers, but it was hard to respond anyway. “Julian was my brother,” you finally replied, your voice hoarse and gruff. “He disappeared in London when I was four.”
“Secondly,” his tone was softer, but it didn’t help, “why were your parents akumatized?”
“I had an argument with them this morning,” you whispered, your hands clutching at the kettle handle. “They said that Julian might come back. And — he isn’t going to.”
“Thirdly,” he was right behind you now, “do you regret taking away Marinette’s Miraculous?”
Pause. Then — “Yeah,” you hid your face in your hands, and shut your eyes tight. “Yeah, I do.”
Adrien hugged you, wrapping his arms around your waist comfortingly. “You made a lot of mistakes, (Y/n), but I know you didn’t mean to.” He murmured.
“Why do you always forgive me?” you asked in a muffled tone.
“Because you’ve always been amazing, and we always trip up sometimes,” he assured you quietly. “And I couldn’t hate you if I tried.”
Hate.
That was a strong word.
Would now be a good time to tell him you loved him? Well, whatever, your mouth was opening anyway.
“I love you.” — “Je t’aime.”
You both said it at the same time, and it took you both a moment to realise what the other had said. In a moment of sheer shock, you turned around quickly, and clapped a hand over your mouth, as Adrien stared at you in surprise; then he began to laugh, his blush so strong that he started to resemble a tomato.
“Why does it sound so much better in French?” you complained, with an awkward smile.
“I did say that it was the language of love,” Adrien retorted slyly, leaning in towards you.
You blinked at the sudden proximity, and your breath quickened; “Didn’t expect you to suddenly be so forward, Mr Agreste,” you joked, hands clutching the edge of the counter out of nervousness.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Adrien chuckled, placing his own hands behind his back. “And by that I mean… je t'embrasserai seulement si tu le moi veux.”
An incredulous gasp left you. “Adrien, you’re one smooth idiot,” you spluttered, unable to deny that it sounded that much more inviting when he said it in French.
“Could I be your smooth idiot?” he asked shyly, looking away.
You softened, and placed your hands gently on his shoulders, which caused him to look up at you in surprise. “You were already my smooth idiot a long time ago, cat boy,” you laughed, your eyes twinkling with mirth — and he fell into your arms, hugging you tightly.
Adrien held onto you, like you were the only thing keeping him from flying into loneliness, and you held onto him like he was the only thing keeping you from spiralling into insanity; and for the first time since you’d arrived in this country — no, for the first time ever, you felt complete.