Uptown, Downtown (Chat Noir x Reader) - Book 1

1 | Cups

The world is a confusing place; for as long as you'd existed, you'd always been perplexed by the unfairness of society.

Why had you been born into such a poor family? Why had your brother walked out of the door to your small apartment when you were four, claiming he was destined more than to live in a dump like this? Why, a week later, did your parents tearfully tell you that your sibling would not be coming back, and you would never see him again?

You didn't know the answer to some of these questions, even as a fourteen year old.

The suffocating darkness of London never gave you much comfort either. Your house, seated in the borough of Peckham, was nowhere near safe, with your neighbourhood rife with theft, murder and kidnappings; you were taught to always hold your keys between your fingers, ready to defend yourself against any attacks.

(Said attacks had happened about nine times during your time living there.)

But Peckham was home. It was what you'd always known, and despite its awful reputation, there were actually some very nice places in the area. It made you feel safe, and going outside of South London made you feel as if you were crossing an unsaid boundary, that you were not meant to step over.

When you were twelve, your parents sat you down, and told you plainly that you were moving to Paris. There was no explanation for their actions, and although you cried, sobbed, and trashed your bedroom in a rage, there was nothing you could do; a month later, you found yourself in a small flat in the capital of France.

There had been several reasons why you hadn't wanted to go: firstly, you didn't speak French, secondly, French customs were so blatantly different from British ones (despite, strangely enough, the two countries being directly opposite each other), that you doubted you'd make a single friend, and thirdly, the whole moving ordeal was way too much of a hassle.

Yet, here you were, in the city of fashion. There was a sense of familiarity though, since the area you'd moved into was not much different to your previous abode; here, you got a nice perspective of the dirty underbelly of Paris, where poverty and crime ran amok.

You were feeling surprisingly comfortable already.

You let out a dry chuckle at your thoughts, finding the whole situation laughably ironic, as you stood at the window of your new room. It gave you a view of the street below, which was relatively silent, save for a few crows deciding to create the next big symphony.

"Hey, (Y/n)!" you turned at the sound of a voice, to find your dad in the hallway, struggling with the large amount of boxes stacked in his arms, "Errrrr... help?"

You let out a small sigh, shaking your head with a laugh, before walking over. "Why'd you take all these at once?" you argued, taking some of the load off him.

"Your mother is going through everything, and I'd rather she didn't touch my art supplies," your dad retorted, huffing indignantly.

"Drama queen," you scoffed, before trudging down the hallway, and placing the box firmly in your father's new work office. "You know that you probably will be drawing and painting for the rest of your life, right?" you asked, watching as your dad started to unpack.

"That's what I love to do!" your dad responded, with a grin. "So, I couldn't be happier."

"Lucky for you," you drawled, leaning against the doorway. "I'm going to end up studying till I die, in that posh new school you're sending me to."

"I know it's pretty upper class," your father smiled sympathetically at you, "but don't let that stop you from holding your head high. You're from the working class, and don't forget it!"

"Bloody well right," your mum chimed in from the living room. "Don't let any of those rich assholes step on you, (Y/n)! You show them some South London grit!"

"Yeah, yeah," you sighed, shaking your head. "That reminds me... are there any jobs in this area?"

"No," your mum answered, "but I took a look around the area you're going to school in, and there's a Starbucks looking for some employees nearby, if you wanna go there after school."

"Oh hell yeah," you agreed, "I can get free drinks that way."

"Remember to hoard your pay wisely," your father lectured, "don't just spend it all on useless things that won't give you any future benefit."

"Yeah, ok Dad," you laughed, rolling your head to one side, and then lazily making your way back to your room.

Your mum peeked her head out, to exchange a look with your father. "Listen, I don't want to burst your bubble, but (Y/n) still isn't thrilled about coming here." She whispered to him.

"I know," your dad replied miserably. "But staying in Peckham was never an option. I can't stay there, knowing what happened to Julian," here, he referenced your brother.

"Yeah, but," your mum folded her arms, "France of all places? We could've just gone to Bristol, and lived with my parents, you know."

"We needed a fresh start," your father stated, with a hopeful grin. "(Y/n) needed a fresh start. They need to escape the life they had before, and realise that there's more to life than violence, crime and work."

"And how the hell is moving to Paris supposed to help with that? They're grumpy and unsettled!" your mother exclaimed, "Plus, this took way too much money. Paris is bloody expensive. Even this dirt cheap place cost more than our flat in London."

"Paris is what many call the city of love," your dad replied. "Who knows? Maybe they'll find a special someone!"

"At that school? We put them in one of the most prestigious schools in the city. It's bound to be full of rich assholes; (Y/n)'s a kid from the dumps of society, they know it, and everyone else will. They'll treat them like shit."

"God, (M/n), you're so negative!" 

"And you're too positive!"

Back in your room, you opened the door to your new balcony that overlooked the road beneath. The tiles were filthy, clearly not having been cleaned for a while. You turned your gaze to beyond the rooftops, where there lay a sea of yellow, glowing dots sparkling like distant firecrackers, displaying the more wealthy part of Paris. 

The city of lights indeed.

You stared in wonder, yet then glared downwards, an ache rising within you. Where was the overgrown garden you had in your London house? Where was the train line, rushing past, where was the long string of dark, terraced houses, where were the familiar clouds of rain in the sky?

Paris was not London. It was not your home.

However... if you put your mind to it, you could almost recall the smell of dampness, the signature, comforting stench of England.

Wonderful.