The world opened up like a wall between him and the outside as he curled up tight in his bed, imagining that his mind was a one way stop, a place where memories floated away without reason, never to return again.
It hurt as he tried to grip on to the memories, tried to think of a woman with a smile brighter than sunshine, more beautiful than the moon; she was a guiding figure, a kindhearted role model.
His mind blanks, dragging away memories of his parents laughing and the occasional pun that sometimes slipped through, moments where formalities dragged away lighthearted, childlike fun, moments where his parents flirted and danced and smiled among rooms crowded with people dressed up in every rainbow of color in different styled, formal attire.
Adrien curls up tight, his mind flying at miles and miles of minutes, memories lost in the space that refused to yield inside his mind.
May be there needs to be a trigger memory, something to push his mind into remembering, so he reaches out for his own more recent memories; he thinks of Ladybug and all of her strength, her bravery, mainly pushed on by his own enthusiasm, his own strength.
He thinks of long patrol nights when a tired side of her shows, when she giggles and comes up with half attempted jokes, when she accidentally reveals something about herself; he thinks of how she denies his flirtations, how she pushes away from his puns, and yet how sometimes she returns, the words, the actions, in a cleverly tied bow.
Adrien smiles when he thinks of Ladybug, but his mind runs away again, because none of it reminded him of his mother, none of it brought to forth the blond haired, green eyed, model that he called, 'Mom.'
She's fading, and Adrien feels like weeping, because this is a different type of loss.
When she vanished, it wasn't like he forgot the yesterdays, the joys, the laughter, the love, and the support; he remembered it ten fold, thinking of every little thing.
Now though, she vanishes in a new way, a way that he refuses to let take hold; he thinks of distant memories, her attempts to help him bake cookies in the kitchen when he's about twelve or thirteen though they both fail miserably, they are smiling past the lumpy cookies, laughing, and even though they both got into trouble for sneaking into the kitchen when their private chef wasn't around.
The memory brings a soft smile to Adrien's face before he realizes he can't remember the words; did they even talk?
Why did they go to the kitchen to bake cookies and not just ask for help or have their chef make them some?
Adrien clutches his head past his head ache, and his mind is already spinning away, overanalyzing everything, and he can't stop it.
He bundles up in his blanket, trying to recall everything about her, but his mind blanks, drifts away, and Adrien cries harder past it.
It isn't right that he can't remember his mother correctly; it scares him.
He loves her, he really does, and yet he can't even recall the exact sound of her voice or the joy that lit up her face or what her favorite pose was to model.
All of it fled his mind like it didn't even belong.