Like Nobody's Watching

1a: in which adrien breaks some more rules

"Plagg, where the hell have you - "

My brother turns, annoyance in his eyes, and then I notice the laptop on the table, his girlfriend smiling up from the screen. He's videochatting Tikki - of course.

"Oh. Sorry bro. Hey Tikki!"

"Hey Adrien! How goes things?" Tikki smiles, eyes glowing with excitement. I'm perpetually amazed at how my demonic brother managed to snag such a literal angel as a girlfriend; I don't know how he pulled that one off.

"Pretty well, I think, I have ballet class in a little while so I can't chat very long."

"Exactly, you don't have time to chat. So you can just leave me to my conversation, Adrien," Plagg mutters. He isn't able to get away to hang out with Tikki very often, and she's currently doing a semester abroad in the Netherlands, so he'll take whatever time he can get with her, and I understand his frustration.

"Sorry dude, just wanted to remind you that Chat Noir will be making an appearance in a few days and you better show. Just FYI. See ya, Tikki!" She waves cheerily as I leave, duffel bag slung over my shoulder, through the huge marble foyer, down the steps, and out the wrought-iron gate to the silver car where my driver is waiting. I call him the Gorilla, because he's huge and rarely speaks, but he's incredibly nice to me. (Nicer than my own father, I think sometimes, but those are secret thoughts.)

I climb into the back of the car to find a small box with the logo of my favorite patisserie on the top, tied with a red ribbon. I tug it away eagerly to reveal some of my absolute favorite little pastries. The Gorilla says nothing, but I catch his wink in the windshield.

"Thank you so much!" I exclaim, happily diving in. I eat about half of the confectionary wonders before I close up the box and hide it below my clothes in the bag. We pull up outside my dance studio, and I slip out and run into the building before I get hounded by paparazzi or a mob of random passers-by.

Nino, my best bud in all the world, is waiting for me outside the entrance to the locker room, and he greets me with a casual fistbump as we enter the changing area. Nino takes hip-hop, which I would absolutely adore to do, but my father would never approve. He'd approve even less of me being Chat Noir, I suppose, but then he doesn't know about that.

And that's when an idea goes off in my head. "Nino, what time is your hip-hop class from?"

"4 to 4:45, why?" A smile breaks across my face, a smile so wide I'm worried my face will break. My ballet class runs from 5 to 5:45; if I'm clever and I play my cards right, I could sneak my way into Nino's hip-hop class and finally, finally get some freedom outside of being Chat Noir.

I dress in a leotard, athletic shorts (because I'm incredibly weird) and my ballet slippers before making my way to the ballet studio. One of the other girls in my class, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, is already there; her family owns the patisserie that I love so much, and I'm pretty sure her older sister is my brother's girlfriend.

"Hey, Marinette!" I call; she straightens suddenly and turns around super-fast.

"O-oh, A-a-Adrien! I wasn't - um - that is to - I - uh - hey," she finishes, beet red and clearly embarrassed. I smile, give a small wave, and start practicing at the barre next to her. I notice her long, toned legs, her strong yet slender arms, and her amazingly intricate leotard, sewn with a gorgeous flowing pattern.

"Did you make that?" I ask, gesturing to her leotard.

"Oh, y-yeah. Just a little something I whipped up in my spare time," she confesses.

"It's awesome. It reminds me of Father's ballet, Water Queen," I tell her honestly.

"That's actually what inspired it!" Marinette says, eyes lighting up. While we stretch, she explains in detail about the inspiration my father gave her for her outfit and what other works of his have inspired her work. All too soon, our instructor Miss Bustier comes in, as well as the rest of our classmates, including (much to my annoyance and Marinette's immediately evident displeasure) Chloe.

After lesson, I stay behind to ask Miss Bustier about signing up for a hip-hop class. She looks skeptical at my remarks and says, "Well, you'll have to start in a beginner class and work your way up to the level where most of the kids your age are . . . "

"But I can dance well enough for that class!" I protest. "Do . . . you want me to show you? I can do a quick demonstration if you'd like."

Miss Bustier checks her watch and sighs. "Well, I have a few minutes before my next class, so go ahead. But make it snappy. And make it good."

I hurriedly slip out to change from my leotard and shorts into the t-shirt and sweatpants I was in before. When I dart back in, I position myself in the middle of the floor and reach deep down into my soul. I call upon the feeling I have when I'm Chat Noir - confident, powerful, full of energy and life and light, weighed down by nothing, unbeatable, invincible.

I couldn't tell you exactly what I did that day; I wasn't really paying attention. I only know that I finished with a flip (though not my signature Chat Noir flip, because I wasn't totally sure if Miss Bustier had ever seen me before), and that she stands, stunned, before applauding slowly.

"Very impressive, Mr. Agreste. Very impressive indeed. Here, take these forms, fill them out, and have a parent or guardian sign, and I'll see you next week!" My heart stops in my throat; my father will never, never approve of this. As I leave, I'm so lost in my own thoughts that I don't notice someone else there until I'm being seized by the upper arm and dragged with a yelp into the locker room.

Nino is glaring at me, arms crossed; beads of sweat trickle down my face. "Nino, what - "

"Don't lie to me, Adrien. Where the hell did you get moves like that?"

He saw.

He saw, he saw, he fucking saw, and now my heart is pounding in my chest because Nino is the DJ at Papillon de Nuit and he'll recognize my dance style, he'll recognize me, my life is over.

"I - um - " I can't form coherent sentences, my voice seizing in my throat as I try to choke out an acceptable response.

"Or should I say, don't lie to me, Chat Noir?" Nino raises an eyebrow, and the only thought running through my head is He knows.

My ears are ringing, and everything is spinning, and Nino's voice is faint and fuzzy, like a badly connected radio. I'm vaguely aware that someone's shaking me, and I'm no longer standing, but it takes a while to regain my surroundings. I'm on my knees, breathing heavy and labored, something pouring from my eyes (tears?) and Nino is standing over me, concerned.

"Adrien?"

"Don't tell my father," I gasp, and Nino laughs softly.

"Dude, of course not! I'm cool that you have a secret identity. It's like a comic book or something. But answer me honestly, are you okay? You just kinda shut down on me there." Feeling better, I stand (slightly dizzy) and sip water slowly from a bottle offered to me by Nino.

"Panic attack," I say. "I used to get them all the time, my dad was just - demanding, and overbearing, and I couldn't deal. I thought I was over them, but . . . "

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, dude, just calm down. I'm totally down to keep your secret, don't worry. Now, don't you have a car waiting or something?" My eyes widen in realization; I grab my bag, throwing a quick thanks at Nino as I sprint out.

Later that night, I'm poring over the nearly completed forms when Plagg pops in. "What are those?"

"Approval forms. For a hip-hop class," I tell him, flopping onto my bed.

"Are you sure that's wise?" Plagg asks. "People could find out you're Chat Noir. Our dad could find out about this class. And also that you're Chat Noir."

"I can't even attend!" I moan. "I need the signature of a parent or guardian to - "

"OH, I can handle that," Plagg scoffs. He grabs a pen and scrawls something onto the forms. "There you go." To my amazement, the forms now bear a perfect forgery of my father's signature.

"What - where - why - how - "

"Have you seen my grades?" Plagg laughs. "I had to learn this to survive."

I take the papers and smirk confidently; these papers are the wrecking ball that will begin to smash the restrictive walls imprisoning me.

[A/N: credit to thomas astrúc, @starrycoves on tumblr. also . . . yeah. nino and alya are in on the secret identities, as well as plagg and tikki (b/c of course they do). enjoy. - callie]