Author's note: Hello there, Micebugs! I'm back, even though it's late - I hoped to update this fic two whole weeks ago but sadly, my exams took precedence and then I just needed to give myself a little bit of a break before I forced my lazy self to work on something that actually had a deadline to it.

I wasn't entirely unproductive in the writing department, the proof of which is my recently posted one-shot M'Lady Noire, as well as some of the WIPs I haven't been yet able to share with you. Still, I hope that the fact that this particular chapter of TOG is a little longer than the previous ones somehow will make up for the unplanned delay :)

I'm really grateful for all the feedback I got from you so far, it really is motivating.

Love you all!
Bugaboo

Chapter 4
Romanticism is When it Hurts


When Adrien came home that night he was cold and exhausted, the tiredness of his body fighting that of his mind in their contest for the first place. Water dripped from his hair and suit, and soon there was a shiny new puddle on his otherwise perfectly clean floor. His room was silent, grand and dark. True, it was warm, warmer than it was outside anyway; but even that warmth was nothing but a trick, a work of radiators and pipes instead of the people who shared this home with him.

None of it could surprise him and yet, each of those features made his misery grow stronger even more.

It was not a place of comfort to him. It never had been and it never would be. Again, he knew all that.

It was one of the reasons why it'd taken him so long to get back.

"This is madness."

He raised his hand to rub his tired face. His eyelids seemed to fall regardless of his will when his body shook with a sudden shiver. It was as if the change of temperature had only begun to get to him, making his limbs tremble as his muscles tightened and loosened up in turn.

Quite frankly, he wanted nothing but the right to crash onto his bed and sleep – and at the same time, he refused to grant himself such a right.

How could he sleep on a night like this one?

He looked around the room again, searching for a place where he could rest instead. His couch was more than inviting, of course, but given how comfortable it also was, it hardly would have been a better choice than his bed. He was, admittedly, certain that he wouldn't get a wink even if he tried to; it was, however, a risk he was not willing to take.

He had enough reasons to despise himself as it was, without adding indolence to the mix.

His eyes settled over his desk and the chair next to it. He saw his silhouette reflecting on all three monitor screens, and suddenly realised that he still hadn't de-transformed. He cursed under his breath at the idea of seeing his civilian self take place of his current reflection; and then cursed again when he understood that it really made no difference anymore.

Right now, he hated both of his sides equally.

"If only I could lose my memory together with the suit," he muttered angrily as he turned around and clenched his fists unconsciously.

There was a violence in his moves, his tone, in the way he glared at the hateful place in which he'd spent the greatest part of his life. He knew of the presence of that particular feeling; he supposed it matched his mood as well as his behaviour and nature, or maybe even his superhero role.

After all, what could go better together than destruction and force?

Goodness gracious, some superhero he was.

"Claws in," he said with sudden firmness, as if afraid his cowardice would get the better of him and hold him from returning to his civilian form for even longer. The flash of green came and went, and soon Cat Noir was replaced by Adrien, with all the changes such a transformation implied. His wet, tangled locks gave place to his usual, perfect hairstyle; his suit to the regular school-boy clothes; the colour of his eyes and the shape of his irises to those of a human again.

And yet, the look of hurt that reflected in them was still painfully unchanged.

"Not a word about this, Plagg," he warned his friend before the latter had even opened his mouth. "I'm sure you've got plenty to say about this but I really don't need – or want – your commentary this time. You murmuring in my head when I was Cat was enough, so please, let's not repeat that."

"That might be a good argument, kid, if you had actually listened to what I said back there," Plagg retorted slyly, as he crossed his tiny arms. "And it's not like I said that much. I only told you to follow her, instead of standing rooted on that roof."

Adrien snorted.

"You kept screaming in my head, over and over again," he replied. "Which is exactly why I didn't listen."

"Because of how I screamed or because of what?"

"Both, I suppose."

He turned on his heel then; his eyes caught by the sight of the bathroom door that suddenly seemed to be calling him in the same way his bed and couch had been just a few moments afore. He considered succumbing to the bait for a moment – after all, even de-transformed, he still felt cold and exhausted beyond belief. He pushed the idea aside however, as quickly as it had appeared in his mind.

It was another privilege that was not appertain to him. And besides...

No amount of soap could wash away the feeling of guilt that was rooted in him now.

He decided to walk over to his desk instead, taking his seat and slumping, resting his elbows on the desk and hiding his face in his hands immediately. He felt like the world's greatest loser and there was no helping it; he wasn't even going to try change that.

"You never even think I might simply want to comfort you, huh?" he heard Plagg's hoarse voice resonate right over his right ear, but chose to ignore it. As childish as it was, he turned his face away in protest instead – only to be met with his mother's gentle look as she gazed back at him from the photography on he'd put there all those years ago.

Yet another mistake he'd made tonight.

"Ugh!" he growled before hitting his forehead against his desk and covering his head with his hands. "Stupid, stupid, stupid!"

"Well, that you are for sure," the kwami responded with a roll of his eyes as he floated in the safe distance from his Chosen; he had no wish to get hit if the latter decided to make another of his highly unexpected moves. "Getting all worked up for something like this, and not even allowing me to help. Come on kid, just talk to me and you'll see I can cheer you up in no time."

"I don't want to be cheered up!"

Suddenly he was back on his feet again and glaring daggers at the little creature who certainly didn't deserved to be looked at in this way. Adrien felt it wasn't right the moment he'd finished his line; and yet, it was nothing but a natural reaction on his part, and as such, it could hardly make him regret it.

Then again, that didn't absolve him from an apology.

"I'm sorry," he said at last, sinking in his chair once more and closing his eyes. "It's not your fault. None of it. And I'm grateful that even though it's not, you're still here to try to comfort me. Only..."

He paused for a second, as if he still needed time to think of the proper ending to the sentence he'd just begun, although he well knew there was only one ending he could pronounce.

"Only I don't think I deserve to be comforted."

Because he didn't.

Not tonight.

They both kept silent after that, neither of them feeling they should break the quietness with unnecessary words. Adrien was sure there was nothing more to add; Plagg who, on the contrary, had quite a bit to say about the matter, realised that even the wisest advice would be disregarded, if voiced at the wrong time.

And he wasn't someone who liked being ignored for a reason as banal as this one.

Time passed and Adrien still sat there, motionless. Seconds turned into minutes and he still remained in the same position he'd taken up from the start, much like he had done on that rooftop not so many hours earlier. It was the same feeling of numbness that was beginning to overcome him now, as he was unconsciously trying to rear the walls around him in the hopes to protect his vulnerable self.

Had he realised the true reasoning behind such a stance, he probably would have refused himself the right to take it as well.

Sometime along the way his fingers found their way to the ring on his other hand. He fiddled with it for a while, turning it around and brushing against the sharp edges, as if he'd been trying to learn the details he'd known by heart for so very long. At last, he opened his eyes, raised his hand to their level and -

"Whoa, whoa, kid, what do you think you're doing?!" Plagg exclaimed in surprise, watching his Owner remove the ring from his finger. "I know it's not the best night in your life, but that's hardly a reason to throw away your miraculous!"

"I'm not," Adrien answered calmly, although it was clear he wasn't feeling serene at all. He took the magic jewel between his fingers and looked at it closely. "I'm not throwing it away. Not now, anyway."

Plagg snorted.

"And that's supposed to make me feel better, huh?" he asked. "Well, it's not working, kid. Or are you trying to blackmail me, like you did last time? You know, with Syren around?"

"I don't know. Do you have any other secrets you should be sharing with me?" Adrien retorted immediately, meeting his kwami's cynical glare with his own icy one. He turned away at once, however, fixing his eyes on the ring once more. "Doesn't matter; there's nothing more I need to know at the moment, not that you'd ever tell me if there were. And I've already learnt more than I should have tonight."

He swallowed hard, before adding:

"I really don't deserve to be wearing this, do I?"

He raised his eyes back at Plagg. The iciness of his gaze was gone, though, replaced by the not-so-new expression of weariness and sorrow, of irritation and disappointment towards no one but himself. He expected Plagg to roll his eyes or snort again, or maybe growl impatiently at him. Instead he was met by a most solemn look and a hint of real anger reflecting on his companion's countenance.

"What?" he couldn't help but ask, taken aback by the abrupt change.

"Please don't tell me we're going to get through that again," Plagg responded with the same seriousness ringing in his words. "Your childish trust-connected, Syren-related tantrums are one thing. The post-Desperada depression is a different kettle of fish entirely."

Adrien couldn't help but raise his eyebrows at this, his astonishment only growing. He wasn't sure what had surprised him more: the terms used by his kwami or the fact that there still was no trace of humour in his voice, even though the words he'd pronounced suggested it.

Plagg never referred to his past in such a serious manner.

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered eventually, with a grimace of discontent taking place of the expression of amazement. He frowned at his friend; however, he did not look away this time. "This has nothing to do with either of those attacks."

"Quite the opposite, dear Adrien, it has everything to do with it," Plagg countered mercilessly. "I remember very well all of that moping you did back then and no amount of cheese will make me say otherwise. Darn it, kid, I'm ready to bet a lifetime of camembert that you remember it, too."

"Of course I remember it!"

"Then why are you pretending not to, huh?"

"I'm not. I'm only saying that I can't see the connection between the two disasters you're referring to." Adrien's tone grew cold again and yet, he still hadn't averted his eyes. "Unless you mean that both of them were my fault, which is, of course, true. But that's far how the similarities go."

Plagg merely sniggered at that.

"And, of course, you doubting your worth as a superhero is an entirely new thing," he said. "It's not like its exactly what happened after the whole Desperada fiasco, when you suddenly decided you weren't good enough to be a superhero anymore, or that you didn't deserve Ladybug's affection after all, or -"

"Alright, fine!" Adrien scream in response, his voice reaching the volume that would have awoken half of his household if only he'd lived in a normally sized one, instead of the big, hollow mansion he'd been raised in. "Maybe there is some connection to it, but that only confirms that I've been right from the start. I am not good enough for this. I might have got away with this at first but now... I should be better than this. By now, I should have learnt how to control my pettiness and impatience and jealousy. Instead, I let myself get all riled up and, what's worse, I allowed Ladybug to see it."

"I'd say it's only normal that your impatience should grow with time. I mean, I'd be worried if that weren't the case," his kwami answered calmly. "And also, what's with that conceal, don't feel part? You're a teenager, Adrien, it would be just as worrying if you kept it all bottled up at all times."

It was Adrien's turn to let out a hollow little laugh.

"Yeah?" he mused. "Well, tell my father that. I'm sure he'd agree wholeheartedly – oh, no, wait, he'd need a heart for that. But -" he added quickly, before his companion could scold him for changing the topic. "that's not the point. The point is I should have stayed silent. I should have shut up when I first saw her distress, instead of letting my anger thrive on it. If there has ever been a time when my father's reserve might be useful, it was tonight. I knew it and still, I screwed up."

"It was Cat Noir who argued with Ladybug, not the Agreste boy, though, was it?"

"It was still me, Plagg!"

It was as if all of the emotions that had run through his soul by this time came back to him again, mixed together in the most dangerous combination. The shock he'd felt while still talking to Ladybug on that roof; the pain and fear that had overcome him the moment she'd left him; the violence that had rose in him as soon as he'd stepped into his own, dark room and the disgust and guilt which had washed over him right after.

The sorrow and hurt that could not have been separated from those – and they all rang in his voice now.

All of them squashed into those three little words.

It was me.

He felt the tears gather in his eyes and wiped them away, angrily. It wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself or to indulge his weakness and fall apart just because he didn't feel capable of doing anything else.

And yet, what else could he do?

"It doesn't matter if I was transformed or not," he picked up eventually, for want of a better idea. "I know that everyone in Paris thinks of Cat Noir and Adrien as two different people, and that's exactly how it should be. Honestly, there are times when I think of them like this! But... But the truth is, they are two sides of the same person. The same me. Cat puns or not, I'm still me in that costume; if anything, Cat Noir is the truer part of myself. Only nobody seems to care for that part."

He paused for a moment then; a moment so long that Plagg began to suspect he would not pick up his speech again. Or so he would have, had he known his Chosen even slightly less than he did.

He didn't need to read Adrien's thoughts to know they had arrived at the most difficult part yet.

It was a few deep breaths later when Adrien looked up at his kwami again and said, "All of the things I've said to Ladybug tonight, I've said as Cat Noir – her partner, her supposedly best friend, her loyal companion. As the guy who claims to love her."

He clenched his fists and let out a long, weary sigh.

"I hurt the girl I care about most, Plagg. All because I was jealous. Of myself."

Silence fell on the room again, and this time it was obvious that it wouldn't be broken any time soon. Neither the hurting boy nor his concerned companion felt any need to do so – the former certain that he wasn't strong enough to continue with the topic that distressed him so, the latter aware that, once again, it was not his place to interfere.

So he didn't.

It was still raining heavily, the big drops hitting violently against the grand window that bore more resemblance to a set of prison bars than to an opening to the world it usually symbolised. The wind grew stronger and at one point, a sudden crack of thunder startled them, too.

He remembered one of his old literature classes, one that had been meant to introduce them to the European romanticism. Ever the romantic himself, he'd been sure he knew exactly what it would be about: the elation of the heart, the joy and ecstasy as well as the quiet appreciation, the ability to take a seemingly meaningless detail and describe in the way that would make it seem like the greatest jewel of the world.

He also remembered his own surprise when he'd learnt that he had been only half right: that the romanticism he'd been about to study had more to do with stormy seas and dreadful cold than with a warmth of a family or a candlelit dinner with the one you loved. It was solitude and despair, the certainty that even though there is someone meant for you, even if the bond between you was written in the stars, there was next to no chance to fulfill any of the dreams you might have.

It was a flash, an earthquake, a most violent gale.

A dream, which was not all a dream.

Adrien stopped fiddling with his ring at last and shut his eyes, as the words tumbled into his brain without him summoning them. He wasn't quite sure if he wanted to hear them or not, whether he wished to chase the thought away or let it grow. So he did neither, leaving it up to his subconsciousness and memory, wondering if he even could recall the rest of the poem that had so unexpectedly come to his mind.

The bright sun... the bright SUN...

"The bright sun extinguish'd," he heard Plagg chime in wearily and turned towards him, as if awaiting for the kwami to continue. He should have been taken aback by the fact that Plagg (Plagg!) has just quoted Byron for him... But he wasn't. Nothing could astonish him now.

He waited, then, even though it soon turned out that his friend was not going to go on with his recitation. Adrien couldn't help but smile sadly. It appeared those few words were enough to prompt his own imperfect memory to take over from there.

The bright sun was extinguish'd, and the stars
Did wander darkling in the eternal space,
Rayless, and pathless, and the icy earth
Swung blind and blackening in the moonless air;

The storm raged outside. The lights were all out.

Adrien let out a mirthless chuckle.

Maybe that was all romanticism he was going to get.