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In some way or another, Adrien’s always been his father’s puppet.
He just never expected for it to be so… literal.
Running a sweaty hand through his hair, Adrien’s eyes bitterly trace the soulless corpse in the mirror. The boy who stares back at him is pale, greasy blonde hair framing his skeletal face, eyebags stark like bruises against his skin.
don’t do anything that could arouse suspicion
That horrible, suffocating sensation that he’s grown all too familiar with, the constricting in his lungs as the string that binds his soul squeezes, squeezes, tighter and tighter, worsens, and Adrien watches as his hand moves of its own accord. With jerking, inhuman movements, his fingers close awkwardly around his tooth brush, raising it to his mouth.
Considering the life he’s led, of being constantly pushed and pulled this way and that, he’d have thought he’d be more accustomed to the feeling of being a passenger in his own body. Over the past few days, he’s found that nothing could have prepared him for the sensation of alien muscles binding bones that don’t feel like his own, foreign and cruel hands bending him this way and that like some broken marionette, dangling listlessly from a web of strings.
continue to go to school as normal
His normal morning routine, which used to fill him with a sense of independence and hope for the day, passes in a blur of self-hatred and all-consuming fear. He gets dressed, forces down some cereal even though his stomach is churning and he feels like he might throw up, and he slides into the back of the car.
He ignores the unusual silence, the distinct gap where a nasally, whiny voice should be. He ignores the smell of leather and lavender that fills his nostrils where usually camembert should, and he shoves it all down into his metal insides, the circuitry and wires that make up this… thing. This mockery of a person.
He can feel his heart beating, a frenzied thing, like a horse galloping through a field. Attempting to tear its way out of his chest, to finally be free of the tightly bound bolts and screws inside him.
A bitter smile blooms at the thought, one that almost hurts and tugs at his cheeks like they’re going to tear. It’s not like he has a heart.
All too soon, the car screeches to a halt outside a familiar building, Gorilla’s eyes darting to Adrien in the rear view mirror. There’s a glint of something under his dark, normally stoic eyes, a questioning tilt to his eyebrows.
He’s worried. About Adrien.
Adrien can’t even manage a small smile to assuage his concern as he clambers out of the car, swallowing the sharp curl of guilt on his tongue.
Nino meets him at the top of the stairs, headphones sitting around his shoulders and an easy smile on his face. “Hey, man! What’s up?”
Adrien tries a smile, a weak, flittering one. “Hi, Nino.”
His best friend’s smile fades, his expression doing a sort of glitch as he takes in the pitiful sight of Adrien. “Man, you look terrible. Everything all right, bro?”
do not tell anyone anything about what happened tonight
Adrien keeps the wince from his face as the whispered words snake through his insides, the strings tightening around his organs until he can barely breathe. A warning. His voice feels wrong, painful, as he forces out, “Fine.”
Nino’s brows furrow, and he stares harder at Adrien as if he’ll find the answers within the tired curve of his face, the dull green eyes. “If you don’t feel well, you should go home,” he offers after a moment, voice uncharacteristically low and serious. “I can bring you your homework.”
Adrien can’t suppress the full body flinch at that word, that horrible, horrible word—home, as if such a thing exists for him—and he’s already shaking his head before Nino finishes speaking. “No, I—I’m okay.”
Nino’s genuine concern would normally feel nice. It’s a stark contrast to the icy wasteland that was his father’s love, and this kind of warmth is something he used to crave.
Now, it makes him want to rip his skin off. It makes him want to tear himself apart to show Nino what he really is inside, so that he’ll know not to bother with him anymore.
Without sparing his best friend another glance, he hikes his bag further up on his shoulder and walks towards the classroom, shoulders curling in on himself and feet dragging as if he could just disappear if he tried hard enough.
back straight, chin up. walk with pride
His lungs begin to burn and tremble, begging for air, and with a forceful exhale Adrien rolls his shoulders back and raises his head. He isn’t even free to slouch.
Anger prickles under his skin, a hot, foreign feeling. He’s always felt emptier than he should, as if he’s a gaping void inside, hollowed out and malleable; now he knows why.
Because he isn’t even a human.
Class drags by agonisingly slowly, as if the piercing ticking of the clock is growing longer and longer, louder and louder. He sits up straight and takes notes, even when he wants nothing more than to curl up in a ball; he puts his hand up and answers questions, when all he wants to do is scream.
Adrien’s always been afraid of being trapped. Nothing else can compare to the all-consuming, paralysing fear at the thought of just being… stuck. Behind bars, behind doors, in a large, empty house—anywhere he isn’t free to come and go is no better than a cage.
Now he knows that what little freedom he’s clung to has always been an illusion.
Although time drags, it also passes quicker than he can even keep track, like sand slipping through his fingers. Soon enough he’s sitting in the cafeteria, a tray of spaghetti in front of him.
It doesn’t look appetising. Adrien doesn’t think he can eat anything without throwing up.
He picks up his fork and shovels some in his mouth.
As the food settles in his stomach, burning and heavy, he purposefully ignores the concerned glances his friends are sending at him. He wishes he could just tell them to leave— they’d be so much better off away from him.
Never before has the boundless love of his friends felt so constricting.
Eventually, the school day ends, and something dark and foreboding begins to churn in Adrien’s gut. His next orders drift to the forefront of his mind, curling like smoke but just as impenetrable as a steel wall.
after school, go to your usual patrol with ladybug
Transforming into Chat Noir usually feels liberating. Like shedding the skin of someone he’s forced to masquerade as, the super strength Plagg imbues him with flooding his body and making him feel light as a feather.
Today, it only solidifies the growing sick feeling. Everything feels darker, colder, as he is confronted with the reality of what he’s about to do.
Who he’s about to betray.
His feet lead him in a familiar route across the rooftops, but his mind is far away, parsing through the hazy, happy memories of his childhood and wondering where it all went wrong. Trying to reconcile his father’s smiling face with the grave man that confronted him last night.
All too soon, he arrives at their designated meeting spot.
The sight of her, red and black suit stark against the moonlight, pigtails waving gently in the breeze, feels… wrong, somehow. Her purity, her goodness, is incongruous with what Adrien’s reality has become.
Everything has changed, but her… she’s just as beautiful as she’s always been.
“Evening, Kitty,” she says with a smile as she turns to face him, a hand coming up to rest on her hip. Her nose and cheeks are slightly pink, dusted with the cold, but her smile somehow lights up the thick darkness of the winter night. “I’m thinking I’ll take the northern side of the city today, and you cover the south?”
Chat Noir nods, swallowing the sudden lump in his throat. This is so, so much harder than he thought it would be. “Actually, before we start patrolling… there’s something I wanted to tell you.”
when you see her, pretend you have to confess something
Seeming to sense the gravity of his words, Ladybug immediately sobers, eyebrows taking on a serious slant as she takes a step closer. “Is something wrong, Chat?”
Chat Noir’s heart twists, like a clawed, icy hand is squeezing. Like the screws that make up his artificial body are too heavy to carry anymore. “Nothing’s wrong, M’Lady.
draw her close to you
Trembling, Chat Noir raises a hand to brush her cheek, wanting nothing more than to rip off the traitorous limb. The fear that churns in his chest, leaving a sour taste in his mouth and heightening every sense, spikes as his clawed fingers tuck her hair gently behind her ear.
His entire body goes carefully still as the gleaming red earrings come into view.
He can feel his lungs tightening, the strings binding his limbs pulling and pulling him towards her Miraculous. His fingers twitch, the muscles seizing painfully as they try desperately to reach their goal.
take her earrings…
The pain clouds his mind, his entire being, and he tastes copper on his tongue. His entire body is braced against an invisible threat, vision narrowing down until it’s just her.
Her bluebell eyes are opened wide, the faint blush dusting her cheeks at odds with her calculating, sharp expression.
Adrien feels something inside him crack.
In the split second before he loses control, before his hands curl into fists as they shoot towards her ears, her eyes flick towards his hand and a horrified frown splits her face.
His hand meets nothing but air. The intense, sweet rush of relief is contrasted by the burning in his lungs as the strings tighten.
… by any means necessary.
“What are you doing?” she demands, the slight shake in her authoritative tone the only hint that she’s affected, and she lowers herself into a battle stance.
I’m so sorry, he tries to say, the words choking before they can be breathed into being. Please just kill me.
The two heroes—one, really—stand on opposite ends of the rooftop for a few tense moments, the gentle whistle of the wind and the zip of Ladybug’s spinning yoyo the only sound breaching the insurmountable silence.
Her eyes narrow.
She darts forward like an arrow, rearing her arm back to launch her yoyo at him. Chat raises his baton, and as soon as the magical wire wraps around it he yanks it towards him.
She stumbles, digging her heels in the floor as she attempts to pull her yoyo free, but Chat just pulls harder. Gut swooping to his feet, his legs launch him into a roundhouse, aiming squarely at her head.
She releases the yoyo and dodges backwards, flipping herself away on her hands and landing on her feet. She’s breathing hard, blue eyes darting around and lips moving as if talking to herself. Making a plan.
Chat slowly unwraps the yoyo from his baton, then hurls it as far away as he can.
His chest feels heavy. Tight. He isn’t sure he’s breathing.
“Where’s the akuma?” Ladybug tries, a note of desperation in her voice, eyes going watery and fear etching itself into her porcelain face. “Please, Chat, you can—you can fight this!”
He doesn’t say anything. Even if he was allowed to, he’s not sure he could speak past the horrible tightness of his throat.
His baton scraaapes against the rooftop as he advances towards her, steps slow and controlled. Something warm trails down his face, and he realises with muted shock that he’s crying.
At least he hasn’t been robbed of the freedom to do that.
Ladybug’s face is grave, backlit by the twinkling lights of the Eiffel tower on the horizon. Her eyes are wide and pleading, searching his for any shred of familiarity.
“Please.” Her voice comes out a whisper, sounding younger than she ever has. She sounds so much smaller than the heroine the entire city looks up to, the girl he fell in love with.
Chat aims a strike at her head.
She rolls out of the way with a choked gasp, landing to his left and rising unsteadily to her feet. He breaks out into a run, feet pounding against the concrete, the sound echoing through his whole body. With one last, pain-filled glance at his face, Ladybug turns to flee, launching herself with her hands to the next rooftop.
For a while, they continue this chase, a bastardisation of their usual, glee-filled games of tag. If Chat concentrates, he can almost pretend the choked breaths Ladybug is releasing are giggles, and that when he inevitably catches her all he’ll do is tackle her to the ground with an idiotic quip.
It’s no use, though.
Eventually, Ladybug begins to lag. With each inch closer Chat draws, the churning, sick feeling in his stomach just grows worse, a thick, pervasive kind of fear pressing against his ribcage.
He reaches a hand forward, and catches her by the wrist.
His grip isn’t gentle, and as she tumbles to the rooftop she cries out, turning her body towards him and pulling back. His hand tightens, claws digging through her suit into her flesh.
“Please, Chat!” she begs, tears beading in her eyes as she kicks at him. He feels the pain dully, like it’s happening to someone else, but it doesn’t stop his body.
Nothing can.
He shoves her to the ground, and her eyes glint in the moonlight as they dart around desperately. Pinning her down with his knees and left hand, Chat reaches towards her ears. The air feels heavier, suddenly, pressing down on him with the weight of an ocean.
She struggles, trying to break an arm free, pulling her head away. He just tightens his grip, pinning her head down, and then—
He takes out an earring.
It slides out so easily; for such a significant, dreadful moment, it's oddly anticlimactic as he cups it in his hand, staring at the tiny red jewellery. It's so small.
“Stop! Give it back!” Ladybug cries, her breaths hitching and eyes wild with panic. Her mask is starting to fade, the pink light illuminating her pale, bare skin.
Chat reaches out a hand and takes the other one.
The red and black suit he's come to adore disappears in a blinding flash or light, the red sparkles imprinting themselves on his retina as he blinks them away.
And all that's left is…
On any other occasion, Chat Noir would've been beyond thrilled to find that the sweet, kind, quiet baker girl that sits behind him in school is also the girl of his dreams.
Tonight, though, the sight of Marinette Dupain-Cheng, tears carving lines down her face and cradling her bleeding arm, feels like a knife twisting in his gut.
He stumbles to his feet, not sparing the girl on the ground another glance, and runs.
His journey
home
to the house is a blur.
He can feel the steady drip of tears down his face, the whipping of his hair in the wind, the tension in his muscles as he grips the earrings so tightly even when all he wants to do is hurl them away from him. He can remember, vaguely, the way one might recall a dream, the way Marinette's voice cracked as she called out for him, begged him not to go, to fight the Akuma. Because she thought he was akumatized.
If only she knew how much deeper this affliction runs.
Far too soon, Adrien is walking through darkness, the gentle glow of his father's butterflies cutting through the black. Each footstep rings startlingly in the silence, his boots clacking against the metal walkway.
His father is standing at the end, by his—his mother's… casket. He's facing the window, hands folded behind his back. His sharp, unforgiving figure forms a striking visage—the very representation of villainy. Of everything Chat Noir’s been fighting.
“Give me the ring and the earrings,” he commands as he turns around, a look of pleasure residing in his deep, dark eyes as he appraises the form of his son. His puppet.
“Don’t do this,” Adrien chokes out as his hand moves of its own accord, his already aching muscles twinging even further as they're pulled against his will. “Please, Father! Mother wouldn't want—”
Whack.
Adrien blinks in confusion, raising a hand to the cheek that's now smarting with pain.
Hawkmoth tuts, not a shred of pity or guilt evident in his sharp cheekbones. “Don't speak unless I ask you to, Adrien. It's rather tiresome.”
His mouth clicks shut, and he blinks back tears; he feels like he's going to explode with the force of everything swirling inside him, begging him to get out.
As Adrien studies the face of the man he used to call father, frown lines cutting sharp shadows into his pale skin and reflective metal clamped around his face, he doesn’t see a single flicker of warmth. Of love.
In some twisted way, it makes sense. It’s not like Adrien’s his son, after all . Just his creation.
As the man’s eyes slide down to trace Emilie’s form, that uncharacteristic softness Adrien remembers from his youth—the one he’s been chasing for so long—returns, transforming the harsh contours of his face to something gentle. Loving. “I've waited so long for this,” he murmurs, leaning down until his face is hovering just above his mother’s behind the glass. His voice is thick and kind, entwined with a yearning so intense it takes Adrien’s breath away. “Just a moment longer, my love. Then we can be together once more.”
Adrien watches . He just watches, because he can do nothing else.
The clawed hand squeezes Adrien’s insides; the beating of his mechanical heart is strangled under the relentless binding of his strings.
Hawkmoth straightens, and it’s as if the world narrows down to just that scene. Nothing matters anymore, nothing other than the determined gleam in Hawmoth’s eyes and the rusty gears that prevent Adrien from moving.
The man turns, then takes two long, laboured steps towards the window. Adrien can’t quite remember how to breathe; his lungs are trembling with the exertion of keeping him alive, as if they’ve also been paralysed by the supervillain’s control.
Then, almost reverently, Hawkmoth raises the two Miraculous and puts them on. Plagg and Tikki materialise beside him, the bright flashes of red and green starkly incongruous with the deep greys and purples of this hellhole.
Plagg’s eyes flicker back to Adrien’s, his normally lazy face swirling with fear and worry. The sight is too much, so he squeezes his eyes shut, a few tears leaking through his eyelids and burning trails of acid on his face.
The shame is all-consuming. It’s a starving, hungering monster that curdles around his insides, its breathy whispers penetrating into his brain in a deafening chorus of this is your fault, this is all your fault, you freak. you didn’t deserve the miraculous, you’re not even human—
Somehow, a distant sound breaks through the haunting echoes in his head—a magical sort of buzzing, followed by two footsteps. Inexplicably, a feeling of warmth and safety snakes through Adrien, muffling the painful voices.
He opens his eyes.
His father is turned towards the exit, eyes impossibly wide, mouth trembling in a thin line. Plagg and Tikki hover behind him, wearing identical expressions of shock.
“Emilie,” Hawkmoth breathes, little more than a whisper. Still, the broken word echoes off the metal walls, piercing straight through Adrien’s heart.
He whips his head around, gaze falling upon two indistinct female figures framed by a shimmering blue-white portal. As his eyes focus, the twirling braid of golden hair and angular cheekbones become more visible, the acidic green eyes so similar to Adrien’s locking onto his.
Adrien’s whole word screeches to a grinding halt.
The other figure—Bunnyx, Adrien realises—stays back, closing the portal, but the woman who appears to be Adrien’s mother takes a step forward. Her face, usually so gentle, is contorted in horror as she cups a hand over her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.
“Gabriel?” she asks, eyes glinting with a familiar love before they narrow, pure fire overtaking them. “How… how could you?”
As if her words have snapped Gabriel out of his stupor, he steps forward, a blinding smile growing on his face. “My love, you’re—how is this possible? I—I haven’t made the wish yet, you should still be…” His eyes slide to the left, landing on Bunnyx, and his expression drops to something sharp and cold. “You.”
Bunnyx scoffs, crossing her arms in front of her as she glares at him. “Me.”
Gabriel laughs, the sound hacked together like Frankenstein’s monster, an amalgamation of the broken shards of a man he’s become as he rubs a hand over his face. “You think you can stop me?” he roars, sweeping his other arm out blindly. “You think this—this fake version of my Emilie is enough to prevent me from fulfilling my duty?” His laughs bubble up to a climax, and with spit flying from his mouth, he violently gestures towards the golden casket. “That is my wife!”
Adrien’s eyes linger on the corpse for a moment, tracing the familiar lines of his mother’s face, slackened in the tranquility of death. Then, he looks back at the woman in front of him; her hands are clenched into fists, the stewing, acidic anger on her face a stark juxtaposition to the face in the coffin.
“If you truly loved me,” she begins, voice sharp like cold steel, “you never would have done this.”
Hawkmoth stares at her for a moment, the delirious humour fading from his face, leaving nothing more than a gaunt man. “If I loved you?” He sounds hurt, as if her words were a knife carving out his very flesh. “How dare you question my love? I have sacrificed everything for you!”
She glances over to Adrien, her furious eyes softening into a delicate love Adrien thought he’d never seen again. “Even our son?”
Hawkmoth scoffs slightly, rolling his eyes as if she’s being ridiculous. “Emilie, that thing is not our son.”
The breath leaves Adrien’s lungs as the pure vitriol in his father’s voice echoes around in his head, burying itself into his heart. not our son not our son not our son—
Emilie looks Gabriel up and down, lip curling with disgust. “He’s certainly not yours anymore, but he will always be mine.” She takes another step forward, holding out her hand in anticipation. “Give me the wedding bands.”
Gabriel looks wounded for a moment, face open and vulnerable, before it turns icy. “No.”
That’s the moment when Bunnyx strikes.
Consumed as Gabriel was by the presence of his wife, he failed to notice the bunny-themed hero sneaking around the edge of the platform, and now her umbrella travels in a vicious downward arc, knocking the Ladybug and Black Cat Miraculous out of his hand. He turns to her with a furious growl, adjusting his grip on the cane before striking at her.
While the two Miraculous wielders duel, Emilie rushes forward, scooping the two Miraculous from the floor and cradling them against her chest. Her wide eyes meet Adrien’s for a second, communicating so many things; love, regret, worry, anger.
Most of all, they’re saying I’m sorry.
Her face sets in determination, and then she slides on the Black Cat ring, whispering the transformation phrase and being swallowed by a swarm of green light. As soon as her transformation finishes, revealing a simple black suit that resembles Adrien’s own, she darts forward, reaching a clawed hand towards Gabriel.
He spins around to block a second too late, and Emilie’s claws tear across his cheek, eliciting a grunt of pain from the man. He backs away, eying the two women, and then his gaze flickers to Adrien.
A strange sense of calm seems to settle over the man, as he stands taller. “Adrien,” he orders softly. “Kill them.”
Before the jolt of horror can even go through him, Adrien’s already moving, sending a punch flying towards his mother. It’s hopeless; a teenage boy has no chance against two Miraculous wielders, but perhaps that’s the point. His father doesn’t want him to win.
He just wants him to distract them.
Tears blur his vision as he fights blindly, all his attacks being gently blocked or deflected.
“Go,” Emilie says to Bunnyx, gesturing with her head to the purple-clad man. “I can handle this.”
She nods quickly, then disappears.
Even while fighting him, Emilie’s movements are soft and loving, and the gentleness in her eyes never leaves as she stares at him.
I’m sorry, Mom, he tries to say, but his father’s earlier order of silence still binds him, and all that leaves his mouth is air. It’s painfully frustrating, even amidst all the world-ending chaos; for the first time in a year, his mother is in front of him, and yet he can’t even speak to her.
“I’m sorry, Adrien,” she says with a sad smile that looks wrong on her radiant face, before her baton slams into his head and turns his world black.
Adrien wakes with a gasp, latent panic surging through his body. “Mom!” he cries out, only realising as he’s scanning the suddenly empty basement that he can speak again.
Tentatively, he rubs his throat with a finger, climbing to his feet. He feels… normal. Unrestrained. Like he can breathe again. The relentless binding of his father’s strings has loosened.
Did… did they win?
“You look terrible,” a female voice says with an odd gentleness, and he whirls around, bringing his hands up. When he sees Bunnyx, perched almost lazily on the guard rail, he relaxes.
“What happened?” he demands, voice cracking.
She takes him in for a second, her expression softening, then leaps down silently. “We defeated your father. The Miraculous are safe,” she says, opening her hand to reveal the ring and earrings.
Adrien breathes out, the clawed hand of fear that had been squeezing his heart relenting just slightly. “And…” Adrien begins hesitantly, already afraid of the answer. “And my mom?”
Bunnyx sighs, suddenly resembling the young version of Alix he knows. “She couldn’t stay. I had to return her to her time.”
“Oh.” Adrien does his best to bite back the curling, bitter disappointment. Although he’d known it couldn’t last, seeing the mother he’s been mourning for so long had numbed his father’s betrayal. It’d made it feel like things could be alright again. “So… what now?”
She tries a smile that ends up coming out a little wonky, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Well, I believe you have a Bug to see,” she says with a wink, depositing the Miraculous in his hands. “Until next time, Kitty Noir.”
She turns to leave, a time portal already appearing in the air in front of her, but Adrien catches her wrist. “Wait! You can't—you can’t leave these with me!” He holds out the Miraculous with a trembling hand, begging with his eyes for her to take them. “Please. I’m… not trustworthy.”
“Oh, Adrien,” she whispers sadly, turning fully to face him. “It may take a while, but trust me. One day, you’ll see that you are.” Her eyes flick down meaningfully, and he follows her gaze to see two familiar silver rings nestled on his finger.
His amok.
“Now, I’ve really gotta go,” she says regretfully, a cheerier smile making its way onto her face as she salutes at him. “See you next time! Or, maybe last time.”
Then she’s gone, and Adrien stands alone in his father’s basement. The silence is oppressive, heavy, like he’s deep underwater.
He realises belatedly that he forgot to ask what happened to his father.
When he glances back at the coffin that still holds his mother’s body, he decides maybe he doesn’t care.
Even though he has control of his body again, Adrien still feels like a passenger as his feet pad over familiar rooftops, the pair of earrings clutched in his hand. The events of the past day cloud his mind like a dark storm, curling between his every thought like a hungry riptide, but he does his best to shove it all away. He can’t afford to break now; he has to make things right.
Silently, he lands on Marinette’s rooftop, mouth curling into a grim smile as he glances at the potted plants and fairy lights strung delicately through the railing. With a deep breath that feels like it scarcely satiates the hunger of his lungs, Chat opens the trapdoor.
“—don’t know, Alya, but I—I failed, it’s all gone, he has them and Chat is helping him and I don’t know why,” the choked voice of Marinette drifts out on the wind, sounding so helpless and scared that Chat wants nothing more than to wrap her up in his arms.
Adrien’s chest twists painfully.
Before he can second guess himself, he knocks twice on the trapdoor, the sticky dread surging as Marinette’s sobbing words suddenly stop.
“Mar… Marinette?” he calls quietly, voice thick with guilt. “It’s… me.”
She doesn’t say anything for a few long moments, the dragging silence tugging at Adrien’s heart. Then, so softly he almost misses it, she whispers, “Come in.”
He sags as the anxious tension in his muscles releases, slipping bonelessly through the hole and landing on her bed. Marinette is standing on the other side of the room, phone clutched in her white-knuckled hand, hair and clothes mussed and face guarded.
The expression looks so out of place on the sweet baker girl.
Adrien licks his lips, mouth suddenly feeling as dry as a desert. “I, um… brought these back,” he says dumbly, offering the Miraculous to her.
She flinches away from his hand, her eyes darting over him frantically. As if she’s analysing a threat.
He swallows the bone-deep ache at the sight, forcing a shaky smile on his face as he holds out his trembling hand. Marinette creeps forward and up the stairs, eyes locked on the gleaming red earrings, then in a flash she darts out a hand to grab them.
Once she secures them in her ears again, she relaxes minutely, the impression of a smile flickering on her face when Tikki appears and hugs her cheek. “I’m so glad you’re okay,” Marinette whispers hoarsely, closing her eyes as a few tears slip out. “I—I failed, Tikki, I’m so sorry.”
Chat shifts awkwardly, feeling like he’s witnessing something private. He’s been in this room a million times before; whenever the cold walls of his father’s mansion became too claustrophobic, whenever the fear threatened to consume him, he always knew he had a safe haven here with Marinette. Watching her work, watching movies with her, eating her parents’ snacks.
“I… I know I can’t ever make up for it,” Chat starts, burying his eyes in the pink pillows to avoid looking at her, “but I am so, so sorry. I swear I would never have hurt you if I could’ve helped it. I betrayed you, and I can’t… I can’t ever apologise enough for that.”
He looks back up at her, something loosening in him upon seeing her faint smile. Cautiously, she shifts closer to him on the bed, some of the tension leaking out of her body. “Kitty, you—you couldn’t help being akumatized. And… everything turned out okay.”
“No,” he protests, shaking his head and clutching the pillow to his chest. “No, you don’t understand. I wasn’t akumatized.”
Marinette goes very, very still, the colour draining from her face. “What?”
“I didn’t want to, I swear,” he rambles, claws digging into the pillow and tearing holes as the pressure in his chest gets worse and worse, threatening to blow. “He made me do it. I… I can’t be your partner anymore, I can’t be Chat Noir anymore. Please, you have to take my Miraculous.” With fervor, Adrien drops the pillow and wrenches the ring off his finger, suddenly desperate to get it away from him. He looks at it for a second, sitting limply in his palm as the black leeches away to a dull silver.
It’s… so small.
This… this tiny little ring is the thing that tore apart his whole family.
He shoves his cupped hand towards Marinette, whose expression is unreadable, eyes dark and eyebrows drawn. Her mouth is parted in shock, and Adrien starts to feel a trickle of unease under her rapt attention.
Suddenly, he wants to be anywhere but here.
“Take it,” he begs, tears beading in his eyes as he rubs his face. “Please.”
Marinette shifts, shuffling closer on the bed until she’s right in front of him, then a warm hand brushes against his. A shiver goes through him at the contact, the intoxicating warmth and gentleness.
Hand still covering his face, afraid to look at her, Adrien feels as her fingers touch the ring, then—
Then she closes his hand tightly around it.
He opens his eyes, blinking at her in confusion. “What are you—?”
“If you try to give up your Miraculous one more time, you stupid, mangy cat, I will throw you off the Eiffel Tower,” she promises, cheeks flushed and eyes shining with unshed tears. “I don’t know what happened to you, but I know you would never willingly betray me. You came back.”
Her eyes are shining with conviction, her tone thick. Adrien’s throat constricts, an unnameable feeling of shame welling within him. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I was,” he whispers hollowly, eyes drifting back down to where their hands are clasped together.
Hers are shaking.
“A loyal partner,” she says, thumb tracing along his knuckles as her voice takes on a gentle fondness. “A kind person. A selfless hero. A supportive friend.”
Somehow, her unwavering loyalty and forgiveness burns, worse than the hatred and anger he’d imagined, and he curls his shoulders into himself. His chest is on fire with a thousand different things, and he wants to claw at the skin until he finds whatever mechanical heart thumps in his chest, whatever keeps him running. He wants to take it between his hands and squeeze the life out of himself, if only so that he never has to feel this pain again.
“I’m not human,” he blurts out, desperate to release the secrets and fears and shame that form a choking web around him, squeezing tighter and tighter with every breath. “My parents, they—they created me with the Peacock Miraculous, just to—to make the perfect son.”
Marinette is silent save for a quiet gasp, but her hands stay clasped firmly around his. Her warmth begins to trickle through him, fighting away some of the looming darkness.
“I—I found a basement under my house, full of butterflies, and…” He breathes out shakily, looking back at Marinette. “He keeps my mother there, Marinette. In a coffin.”
Her eyes widen with horror. “Oh, Kitty.”
Adrien’s eyes turn glassy, the warm pink of Marinette’s bedroom giving way to the memory of the previous night. “He found me. I transformed, but he didn’t fight, just… smiled at me. Like he’d already won.” Adrien shivers, a chill making its way down his spine despite the heat of the room. “Then he took out the ring, and suddenly my body wasn’t—wasn’t mine anymore.” He laughs bitterly, brushing at the tears welling in his eyes. “I’m a Senti-Monster, Mari.”
“Adrien…” Slowly, like she's afraid of breaking him, Marinette pulls him into a hug. Adrien returns it numbly, hands fishing weakly in her shirt. For the first time in the past few days, there's no looming danger. No puppet master pulling the strings.
Just Adrien, and Marinette.
Finally, Adrien allows himself to break. Allows the splintering cracks in the porcelain that makes up his artificial body to shatter.
“I won't let him hurt you again,” Marinette swears, unsteady voice muffled in his shoulder, sounding like she's about to break. “Do you have your amok?”
Adrien nods against her. “Yeah.”
Reluctantly, he pulls back from the hug, sliding his parents' wedding rings off his hand. They're like ice on his palms, so cold that they burn, sending waves of pain and wrongness down his arm.
He offers them to Marinette. “Here.”
She doesn't move to take them, just stares at him with concern. “Adrien… why are you giving them to me?”
Something twists painfully in Adrien’s chest. “I don’t… you should have them.”
“No,” she says forcefully, shoving his hand back. “They belong to you, Adrien. No one else should be able to control you, do you understand?”
He shakes his head numbly, feeling lost. “I don’t… think I know what it’s like to not be controlled,” he admits shakily, thinking back to his entire life, the strict schedules and the impossible expectations. “How do I… know what to do? Who to be?”
Marinette stares at him for a moment, a sad smile growing on her face. She rests a gentle hand on his cheek, wiping away some of his drying tears, her own eyes welling up as she regards him with so much tenderness. “We can figure it out together,” she whispers gently. “We’re okay. You’re okay.”
It’s strange—despite the turmoil in Adrien’s heart, despite the absolute mess his life has become, he finds that he believes her.