They had fought. He and his father - they were always fighting, now, it seemed. Adrien had said things he shouldn't have, things that were not only false, but downright cruel. His father had done the same. The only difference was that the teen was quite certain he was the only one who regretted his words.
Adrien slouched in the corner of his sofa in the dark, glaring determinedly out the wall of windows. The full moon shone brightly in the night sky, its light casting the muntins between the glass panes upon him like great dense bars.
It didn't matter, he told himself. It didn't bother him. It was just another stupid fight.
So, why didn't it feel like nothing?
Slowly, the teen leaned forward until his elbows settled against his knees. Long fingers dug into his hair only to tangle against the scalp, tugging fitfully, but not with so much strength as to dislodge the golden strands.
Every single time, Adrien thought despairingly. Why did things have to get so ugly between them every single time?
The boy sat there a long moment, scarcely moving as he fought to keep his breathing even, controlled. That was part of the problem, wasn't it? He was too emotional. No wonder he always had to go and try his father's patience. No wonder he was always making the man so angry.
From the opposite end of the couch, a small, black figure slunk forward. Plagg's movements were almost hesitant, faltering, but the kwami didn't stop until he had reached the boy. Climbing up to one of Adrien's shoulders, he paused but a moment before nuzzling his face against the angle of his jaw. And then Plagg did the one thing he very seldom did.
He gave a soft, reassuring purr.
A strangled sound escaped Adrien's lips, and then his shoulders began to shake with the torrent of quiet, broken sobs which followed. One of his hands left his hair to stroke the purring kwami's ears, the teen in desperate need of that comfort. Plagg didn't protest. He never did. He just did what he always did when the fights between Adrien and his father turned hateful.
Plagg let his boy cry.
A/N: Just a spot of angst because the muse was morose. Thanks for reading! Hugs, Melly
