Author's note: Ha! I told you I'd update it sooner this time!
Well, I must say, this chapter was fun to write (as much as writing your beloved character unhappy and hurting can be fun. please don't judge me?). It was also pretty easy to write, too - which is probably because I have gained quite a bit of experience when it comes to describing the inner turmoil of the characters, especially when it's the boy who is distressed (I asked you not to don't judge me!).
Anyway, it's here now. I hope you'll enjoy it as much as the previous one - please let me know if you do! Or if you don't, it's actually fine, too. Just please try to be constructive :)
I can tell you that chapter 4 is nearly done, or at least I hope so. It's already grown quite long so I don't really know when I'll finish it... But I'll do my best! Even with my exams on the way, you should get it in another two weeks.
Thanks for all the kind words so far.
God bless you!
Yours, Bugaboo
Chapter 3
In the Rain(storm)
If Ladybug was a bundle of nerves, then Cat Noir was a walking, talking disaster.
He was a mess.
He was a failure.
He was mad and he was scared, as well as utterly and perfectly astonished.
He was stunned.
He had no idea what to do, how to respond to the deluge of information his Lady had poured on him, unable to put together the scrapes she had given him and too terrified to face the idea that was starting to loom before his eyes as the most probable one.
He was a coward; but this time, he simply couldn't fight the fears that were holding him back.
So while Ladybug decided to jam the whirlwind of emotions that came over her with the help of her superpowers and her strength, running across the rooftops and fighting to maintain her sanity by escaping the horrors that were following her, her partner stood still, incapable of making the slightest of moves.
She knew she'd fall apart the moment she came to a halt; he realised his downfall would come the moment he woke up from his daze.
So he remained in his place, amazed, dumbfounded, motionless. His eyes had followed her when she'd left and then stayed fixed on the horizon, on the same spot he had last seen her. He watched the sky go darker without noticing the cause of such change: the dark, heavy clouds that concealed the brightness of the moon and swallowed the stars that accompanied it. He kept looking, as if he still expected her to come back, to land on the rooftop next to him and sight the solution he was too blind to see.
To fix what she – he – they had broken that night.
He stirred when the first drops landed on his cheeks, but didn't leave his outpost anyway. Looking up at the sky and exposing his face to the more and more violent beating of the rain was the most he could do; closing his eyes was the greatest movement he could be persuaded to make.
He breathed in the cold, humid air, desperately trying to block the images and words that were invading his mind – both those who were born from his own recent experiences and those which (he was certain of it) came to him from Plagg. It wasn't the first time when he heard his kwami's voice when transformed, even if said voice was as subtle as the one of his own subconsciousness.
As helpful as it could be at times, hearing it now only added to his pain.
He thought about de-transforming. At least then he could tell Plagg to shut up directly, or even block his ears quite literally if the latter had decided to ignore his pleas. The idea was rejected as quickly as it was born, however, and there was a very simple, very obvious reason for that.
The last person he needed right now was Adrien Agreste without a mask.
Adrien, the reason for this ordeal.
Adrien, the perfect, boring boy.
Adrien, the one who's won his Lady's heart without doing a single thing to deserve that, when the true, honest, imperfect part of him known as Cat Noir had never even stood a chance.
Could anyone really expect him to rejoice in a discovery of this kind?
He would have called it ironic, if it hadn't hurt so much. But it did; it hurt so, so terribly, to think that none of the things he had ever done for her were enough to make her care for him in the way in which he cared for her. They'd been through so much together: fighting alongside for so many, many months now, going through hardships and challenges, telling jokes and fooling around whenever they felt they could afford that.
How many times had he seen her feeling down and pressed her to spill the beans, until she'd broken into sobs and admitted to all that had been bothering her? How many of those breakdowns had been caused by the indifference of they boy she'd claimed to love, whom he often wanted to strangle with his bare hands, only to learn that he himself was the reason of her distress?
What had Adrien ever done to deserve her love?
And then: had he really been jealous of himself this whole time?
He snorted, annoyed with his own conclusions. It should have been so easy now: to simply wait for the opportunity to approach Ladybug as his civilian self and cease the chance by telling her how much he cared for her, all in the hopes she would not deny what she'd admitted to him today. It sure would be awkward at first, and it sure would require a lot of wit to make this supposedly hero-civilian relationship work – but if he truly loved her, it certainly was worth the trouble.
Right?
Only he knew it would not work. Not only because he knew for sure that he would never be able to hide the truth from her for long, either blurting it out by accident or openly revealing his secret when he got too tired of hiding it. All of the above was true; and yet, it was not even the second most important reason for his unwillingness to as much as try to do this.
How could he even assume she would have him then?
He didn't know her as Adrien, not really. A few meetings during an akuma attack, just like he'd said before. A few smiles given and received, a bit of small-talk, a word of meaningless comfort only to show her that he would always support her. Nothing more, though; nothing to claim that he actually did know her any better than the rest of her fans did.
He'd accused her of choosing someone she couldn't know, of putting a shallow celebrity crush above the years of friendship and effort.
If he approached her as Adrien, could she really see his affection as anything else?
After all, a 'celebrity crush' was exactly the term Nino had used when he'd finally learnt his secret a few weeks before.
Adrien Agreste didn't know Ladybug.
Ladybug didn't know Adrien.
She couldn't have.
Or... could she?
"And what if I do know him?"
"Get out of my brain," he drawled through his gritted teeth, turning around violently and pressing his hands against the sides of his head. "Get out, get out, get out!"
His cry resonated in the air for a second, before it was drown out by the noises of the rain falling around him. He could feel the hot tears burning behind his eyes as the walls he'd raised around his heart cracked, threatening to let in the same images and ideas he was so afraid to see.
So afraid do accept.
He was not ready for that.
And yet, the damage had already been done. No matter how tightly he shut his eyes, how great was the pressure between his hands and ears, how loud or low his growls were, they were of no use.
Closing his eyelids could not erase the picture of her shocked, hurting face, engraved in his memory with the same feeling of guilt that had been slowly taking over him ever since she'd left. Covering his ears did was no obstacle for the recollections of her voice, of the broken, disappointed tone she'd used while speaking to him.
His shouts could never jam the words she had pierced him with.
"You don't know me."
"I'm not Ladybug in my real life. I'm nothing like the girl you know."
"I'm sure that you could meet me in real life and you wouldn't pay any more mind than you would to any other passer-by on the street."
She'd been so right and yet, so horribly, horribly wrong.
Of course, he didn't know her. Not truly, not completely, and nowhere near to the extent he wished to know her. She was the one who had made sure he never would, who had kept doing so regardless of how much he pleaded with her.
No matter how many sensible, impartial arguments he had presented, Ladybug had always had the same answer for him.
"We have no right to know."
There had been a time when he'd believed he might change her mind; a short time of gullibility after she had been named the new Guardian, taking over from Master Fu after their so-called victory over Hawkmoth, Mayura and Queen Bee. None of their previous winning had been achieved by such a cost and if he could, he would have done anything to make sure in never happened. It had, however; and even though it'd been hard to bare and unwanted, the change had also rekindled the spark of hope he'd thought long gone at the time.
His reasoning was simple: if Master Fu, the Guardian, had known his civilian identity, there was no reason why Ladybug, the Guardian he had chosen as his successor, should not know it as well.
And then it was only fair he learnt hers.
Still, she was not to be persuaded. He knew for sure she had talked about it not only with Tikki, but with Wayzz as well – and from how awkwardly she talked to him later on he easily figured that the kwamis were not exactly against the idea. It was Ladybug who was; the choice was hers and hers alone.
How little she must have trusted him.
And yet, the same knowledge he'd been yearning for all this time somehow turned to be the greatest of threats now.
Suddenly he didn't wish to know at all.
Suddenly, there was no way he could escape it.
And she was the one who had given him all the information necessary for it.
"Get out," he whispered brokenly, repeating the words like a mantra, for what felt like a hundredth time that night. His tangled locks were dripping wet from all the rain that had become much more like a downpour by now. The cold water had found its way under his collar, flowing down his back, evading the protection his suit would normally have given him. His teeth would have begin to chatter if he hadn't been gritting them so hard; his body would have shaken with shivers if his inner turmoil hadn't had him trembling from the start.
When he fell onto his knees he knew it had nothing to do with the wind that howled around him.
The tears were running down his face freely now, the hot drops mixed with the icy water brought to his cheeks by the storm. He pressed his chin against his chest and buried his fingers even deeper in his hair, as if he'd been trying to block the reality from getting to him; but to no avail.
Probably because it already had.
He tried to scream for the last time, trusting he could at least let out some of the pain and frustration in this way, the emotions he could not fight otherwise. But his voice caught in his throat, and the scream stayed within him; cutting and burning, wounding him like no villain ever could.
Was it the price for his stubbornness, for his decision to deny the truth that was standing right before him?
And if he accepted that truth, would the pain go away?
"But I can't!" he choked between his sobs. "She doesn't want me to know who she is. And I don't wish to know against her will. And I can't – I can't – I can't -
I can't take it if she's who I think she is.
"The honest, considerate classmate I've been blessed to meet myself."
There was no fooling himself anymore. Even if she hadn't said anything else – if she'd skipped the part about her clumsiness or the mentions of the way she stuttered when near him – that sentence alone would have been enough to make the truth as plain as a day to him. And it had; he could spend the rest of his life crouched on this roof, battling the obvious and refusing to accept that fact in the same way he'd been doing until now and it still wouldn't have changed a thing.
He didn't need any details. No more personal information, no suggestions, no clues. All he needed was implied in that one, short, simple line:
Ladybug was his classmate.
He knew exactly which one.
