Hey guys! So, this fix is a little more angsty than normal. I'm not entirely sure where the inspiration for this post came from. I think it is a mixture between my own depression (I'm fine I promise) and my want to help our poor, broken kitten. I'll explain the story in clearer wording at the bottom of the post. So, please enjoy!!!
I don't own Miraculous Ladybug, otherwise Chat Noir would not be pushed to the side as often as he is.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
That was the only sound that accompanied the sobs coming from a boy. A boy, broken beyond repair. Yet, this boy continues to smile. Continues to laugh. Continues to put on a mask for those around him. Not wanting to bother others with emotions he's been trained not to feel. No one truly knows how broken this boy is. Not even the boy himself. For he wears this mask so often, keeps this mask in such good condition, making sure it's consistently shiny and clean, that he isn't always sure whether or not it is truly a mask.
So he runs.
He runs, and runs, and runs the horrid feelings away. Runs so fast that the tears streaming from his eyes fly off before they've had a chance to fall. Runs so hard that the aching loneliness is replaced with the aching need to give his muscles a break. Runs for so long that the panting is from him needing to properly breathe instead of anxiety. Runs so far away from the empty mansion he calls home that he doesn't have to have a visual reminder of what awaits when he inevitably returns.
But this run was different. During this run, he was blind. He didn't care where he was going, didn't care where he ended up. It wouldn't have mattered to him in the end, for he couldn't see where he was running to anyways. For no matter how hard he ran, the tears fell in steady streams. So he ran harder, ran faster, ran longer, until his body gave up. He collapsed. And he wept. And wept, and wept, and wept. He pulled at his picture perfect hair, scratched at his perfectly smooth skin, chewed on his perfectly pink lips. He drew blood, and even that was perfectly red. Dripping in perfect drops. Everything from the inside out was programmed to be perfect. From the way he talked to the way he walked. And he was sick of it.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
Even though it was raining, he didn't feel a thing. Even though he was bleeding, all he could feel was static. He may have been cold, but he was past the point of caring. He may have been tired, but sleeping isn't for the broken. Besides, who needs to feel when everything around you is dark. When the air around you is heavy with guilt and sadness, there is no reason to truly feel. Just put on a mask and everything will be fine. One doesn't have to see the heavy air around them when they block it with a mask. One doesn't have to focus on the tragedies in one's life when they can pretend they've never happened.
Pitter-patter. Pitter-patter.
But, in the corner of his eye, there was a little ball of light. Through tear-filled eyes, the boy turned to look through his hazy vision to see a girl. A simple girl with pigtails and bright pink jeans. She was a ball of light, and he wasn't sure how to react. He had never seen a light this bright before. Not even with his lady, not even with his friends. This ball of light seemed . . . too good to be true. But what was one more disappointment on top of an already impossibly high stack?
So he reached for the light. Allowed the light to take his hand and lead him inside. Allowed the light to take a towel that was warm and dry him off. Allowed the light to stick a warm macaroon into his mouth, forcing him to eat. Allowed the light to drape warm blanket after blanket over him until he was covered from head to toe. Allowed the light to embrace him with her warmth, showing him he didn't have to be full of static. Allowed the light to grow and grow and grow until he couldn't see anymore darkness, allowed the light to take all the cold air that was surrounding him and replace it with warm, comforting air.
Warmth.
It's funny, he would later think to himself. How all it took for him to learn the meaning of this word was a warm towel to dry him off, a warm macaroon, a warm pile of blankets, and one warm girl. A warm girl who was willing to cheer him up, and managed to do so before she uttered a single word of comfort. How all he needed to do was cuddle with someone who understood the meaning of happiness, understood how to share their light, to learn that warmth was achievable for anyone. And learn he did.
"You're not alone," The light muttered, slightly muffled as she cuddled the broken boy she found on her terrace. "I know you think you are, but you're not. You don't have to keep everything to yourself. People will listen. I will listen. You no longer have to suffer alone. For you aren't alone."
And that was all it took before he spilled. Everything came out. Every hurtful word from his father, every stressful moment piled on, from photoshoots to fencing to Chinese classes. Every little issue, even something as small as his phone not charging overnight, to large issues such as the ever-lingering feeling of emptiness that seemed to constantly follow him. And she was true to her word. She caressed his face when he grimaced, scratched behind the fake cat ears on his head when he struggled to continue, rubbed behind his real ears when he felt the tears welling up again.
And boy, did she listen. She listened to every single word that came from his mouth, committing them to memory. She stayed quiet for the entire duration he talked, which felt like hours, and it might have been. Waiting until he was completely done, had every single little drop of worry out of his system before she even considered opening her mouth. And even before speaking with words, she spoke with actions. She pulled the boy closer, using her warmth to slowly stitch him back together. With every rub she gave his back, she glued him back to one piece. With every small smile when he looked her in the eyes, she tied the broken pieces to one another. And slowly, but surely, she was holding a fragile, yet completely whole, boy. And she wasn't done fixing. For she was going to make sure this boy would never completely fall to pieces the way he had ever again.
"You'll always have a home with me. So I don't care what time it is. Whether it's 7 pm or it's 3 in the morning. I want you to come talk to me. I will be here, with warm macaroons to shove in your face, blankets to cocoon you with, and cuddles galore to remind you that you are loved. No more lonely nights holding it all in, okay?"
And just like that, almost as if by magic, the broken boy made of glass was whole for perhaps the first time in his life.
Oof, that was rough.
So the basic story is that Adrien is broken. He isn't able to truly be himself, so he isn't able to truly feel. He wears this mask of 'perfection' so often that even he sometimes thinks that's the real him. So in order to provide a temporary fix, he transforms into Chat Noir and just runs. Running helps him forget for a little while, but this night it was different. Everything had caught up to him and he wasn't able to find the temporary feeling of 'okay'.
And that's when Marinette finds him on her balcony, balling his eyes out. And Marinette, being her sweet self, helps him realize that not everything is dark. That there is a light at the end of the tunnel. And for Chat, that light is her. He finds a home with her, and she makes sure he knows that home is always open. And throughout this whole process, he finally becomes a whole person again.
This was a lot more angsty than anything I've ever written before, so I'm sorry about that I guess? I purposely never used their names, as I thought it would make everything sound more eloquent and make the ending much sweeter, which I think it did. Let me know what you think about it, and I'll see you lovely people in the next fic!