Alrighty. Last chapter was Marinette, now we're moving onto the kitty himself!
2: Shrouded in Shadow
Okay, so. She's cute. Well. You don't know that she's cute, because you kind of can't see her face—only impressions: something about blue, her eyes or hair, you can't tell; the heart-shaped face, the pink lips, but everyone has pink lips, but her pink lips; and of course the mask that obscures her face and extends it almost as if... she's a fairy. Something about it, the way it ties over, something about it makes her enchanted.
And you're kind of terrified of the enchantedness. Will she still be just as enchanting when she takes it off? You think so, but how do you know? All you know is that she kicks the face of crime in with a confidence that you love and admire to the point of a dizzying desire.
All you know about yourself is that you don't have it.
The thing about the curfew was a fib. She never asked again, even when you continued to dawdle, to stay out later than her after a particularly late battle, after sitting out with her on the rooftop and watching the clouds grow dim. You fear the day that one of you is too tired to get up and fight the crime that continues to pollute Paris like a clogged gutter, bubbling upwards.
Where does it come from? It can't be yet another teenager, can it? Someone who's the time to sit around at stupid in the morning and make up monsters. Someone who wants their miraculi, who yearns after Plagg and Tikki. Someone with enough hate in their heart to continue to cause the same misfortune, again and again and again, without a moment of care towards the harm they cause in their city. Who has that type of loathing, the type that spurts out in an endless downpour, lodged way deep within their very soul?
You wish you knew. It'd sure make things a lot easier.
Maybe you'd be that person, if you let the ocean of grief drown you. If you'd let your mother's death wreck you the way it'd wrecked your father.
Your routine of entering through the unlocked window once again works. Carefully you shut and lock it behind you, then pounce onto your bed. Plagg settles on your nightstand and opens a drawer, sneaking into your secret stash of Camembert cheese, the little stinky rat he is. As he munches, your mind wanders.
It's pathetic. You meander through the halls a ghost, your footsteps small and soft, and your father never stirs. Despite your upbringing, your prominent name, your role as a model, nobody knows Adrien Agreste. Nobody thinks about him, wonders what he's doing, then visualizes him darting amongst the darkness of his own home, eating a peanut butter sandwich, throwing the crusts in the trash.
Does Ladybug? Would Ladybug want to see this side of you?
Would she really?
As you sit on the cold marble counter, brushing crumbs onto the floor, you find a wishing star lodged in your chest. And before you know it you've bowed your head and clutched your hands tight together, and you're wishing on it, wishing with all of your soul, wishing that one day she'll laugh at your dumb Cat Noir jokes and smile at your successes and—and when she looks at you with her eyes, her maybe-blue eyes... she sees something. Something she wants to hold onto. Something she can't let go of.
Because people think they see that in Adrien, but Adrien is a farce. Right? He has to be. You created Adrien to be the quiet, submissive son that listens to his father and avoids his angry outbursts and doesn't add to the grief, the overshadowing grief that stifles whatever joy there once was within this ghastly mansion.
How much of you is Adrien, anyways?
The lonely Adrien, the one who wants friends but doesn't know how to make them. The good-natured Adrien who plays video games with Nino and sits next to him in class. Little cracks have developed in your facade, shining fractures that reveal tinctures of light deep within to the real you, whoever that may be.
The Adrien who is strong enough to look Ladybug in the eyes and watch her take her mask off. To see her and love her as wholly as he loves her superhero self. The part of you, the Adrien who stares into the darkness of night and imagines Ladybug's pink face coming undone. Hiding under the blankets, head mushed beneath pillows: You can't really deny that Adrien's longing.
She's so... kind. And creative. And smart. She's the perfect hero, capable of victory even when she absolutely shouldn't be, because the odds don't stop her: the act of stopping is the only thing that can, but she won't.
You want to thank her for giving you the opportunity to fight by her side, but you don't know how to be that vulnerable when the mask is supposed to keep you guarded. But the scar of the wish is still in your heart, and you feel it like a shiver, a missing piece of your spirit. And one day you're gonna have to figure these things out for yourself, because one day you won't be able to keep yourself from telling her your truth anymore.
If she doesn't accept you, then she wasn't all that great after all, right? But the thing is, she is. And it's scary. It's a smog of scary, deep in your lungs, burrowing deeper with each cough.
From by your head, you hear Plagg shift. "Thinking about The Miladybug, are you~?"
You flush, tossing your blanket over your head. "I can't help it. She's literally the best and it's not fair."
"Psshhh. Well, you know, she wouldn't be capable of being the best without your impeccable assistance~" A pause, and the rat giggles. "The Cataclysms, the destruction... Amazing, isn't it? You're like Yin and Yang, or whatever. Creation and destruction. You need both to keep a city dangerously close to imbalance safe."
"What is this, Plagg, dating advice?"
He snorts. "Maybe a little bit, or perhaps a lot a bit. But you're never gonna know if she wants you until you find out for yourself, you know."
"I'll ask her," you mutter into your pillow, pouting. "I'll take off my mask one of these days and show her for myself. I-I swear. Just... not yet. I don't want to risk losing her just yet."
Or... ever, preferably. But you can only hold it in for so long.