He came back.

It has been almost eight years since the last time he was back. Now, things are a little different. He has asserted to his father that he refused to be the face of the company anymore and his father grudgingly agreed, saying that he was too old to be the face anyway.

Now he seems to be in a more active role in the company, which made him feel marginally more useful than before.Adrien tapped the seat of his gleaming silver limousine impatiently, looking out the window in wonder. Eight years really could make a difference to a place. He had come across no less than a dozen new buildings and wistfully remembered what they once were. Chloé was not with him, adamantly refusing to leave New York, which she took to like a fish relocating to another pond. Not that he minded. Where he was going, he would prefer if she did not come.

“Master Agreste, we’ve reached your first destination,” the driver said gruffly, getting out of the car and rushing to the other side to open the door for him. As usual, Adrien let him. It was a game they’d played since he was a child. If he complied, the driver would not cause him any more trouble.

With a nervous sigh, he unfolded his long limbs out of the limo and pushed his knees back as far as they could go to stretch his sore legs. He looked up at the building, comfortingly unchanged amongst the new buildings he’d seen on the way here.

Shaking his limbs to get rid of the nervous energy, he walked over to it and pushed open the door, which let out a small jingle. Nervously, he raised his eyes to the counter, trying to control his shaking before meeting the person behind it.

Which wasn’t the one he was expecting.

Mrs Dupain-Cheng turned around and faced him with a wide smile that made him ache at the familiarity of it.“Welcome!” she called out, pushing a stray hair behind her ear. Her hair had grey streaks in it, he noticed. It was also tied back in a bun. “Can I help you?”

She doesn’t recognise him, he realised with a jolt. Well, he shouldn’t be surprised. It has been eight years. He took off his sunglasses, ran his fingers through his short hair and flashed her a wide smile of his own.

“I heard this was the best bakery in Paris,” he said, happy to hear his French still legible after so many years of disuse. “I’m just looking for cream buns.”

“I have just the one,” she said as she disappeared into the back room, reappearing soon after with a tray of cream buns. “Hot out of the oven,” she smiled at him and he ignored the ache again. “How many would you like?”

“Two would be enough, Mrs Dupain-Cheng.”

She blinked and packed the bread into two separate white paper bags. Adrien crossed the short way to the counter and proceeded to pay for the two packages. As he took them, his hand brushed hers and she looked at him closely, her eyes full of wisdom.

He could see exactly when she recognised him so he quickly took the bags, jammed his sunglasses over his eyes and walked over to the door. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned and smiled at her. “Thanks for the bread, Madame. Au revoir.”

He quickly strode to the limo and passed a bag to his driver, who scrambled to open the door for him. Clambering in, Adrien pressed his head against the headrest, trying to control his breathing. It was stupid for him to think that she’d be there. He should’ve considered the fact that she wouldn’t be, that she would have her own life.

But it didn’t stop him from hoping.