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Sometimes, Adrien missed his mother.
Sometimes, he didn't.
—
Ladybug had told Adrien once that he had the eyes of his mother.
It was the highest compliment she could have given him, his mother was beautiful and kind and perfect and Adrien had thanked her with a shy grin that pretended her words didn’t sink sourness into his shaky smile.
There was nothing Adrien loved more than reminding people of his mother.
Sometimes he could see it in his father’s movements. Gabriel would see him walk down the stairs and his steps abruptly halted, eyes widening as if a miracle had happened.
Expectantly, after quickly realizing that it was only his son who had descended down the stairs, his father shook his head and continued on, determined not to spare Adrien another look.
A few times a year, his father actually sought out his son’s company. Then, they would sit in the garden, go to a social event, listen to classical music… Adrien used to believe that it meant his father cared. But he only ever cared when Adrien was pretending to enjoy Frédéric Chopin instead of the hip hop beat Nino and him had listened to in school, only smiled at him when Adrien recited the lullaby his mother used to sing to him or spent those galas and premieres right by his father’s side, talking to André Bourgeois and Bob Roth instead of Chloé and Kagami.
Of course, he could somewhat do as he pleased when his father left him to make an appearance on his own or even when Kagami’s mother accompanied him to an event. But that’s not what he wanted either.
It felt as if Adrien could only serve as a reminder of his mother and all he could control was if he chose to do it in a way that made his father happy rather than miserable.
He understood but Adrien wished that he himself was enough for his father.
There was nothing Adrien hated more than reminding people of his mother.
—
His face was plastered all across Paris.
It was his second-most successful ad yet and he had never wanted to die quite as much.
And yes, perhaps Adrien was being a little bit dramatic, he never genuinely wanted to end his life or anything but sometimes he wished that he could slip into a facade and walk the streets as a stranger. Take in the world around him through different eyes, different experiences and just enjoy all the beauty the world had to offer.
…which, in a way, was kind of what he was doing as Chat Noir at the very moment.
Sitting on a rooftop, feet pressed flat against the tiles, back awkwardly bent and a scowl on his face. Absolutely nothing like the friendly, youthful smile and the playful pose expressing summerly joy that those stupid advertisements showed.
It didn't even make sense for him to be upset.
Adrien had gotten everything he wanted.
While the photographer originally tried to have him model with a girl, he had quickly given up after seeing Adrien’s discomfort.
(Adrien felt weird trying to feign romantic tension, it all felt like he was cheating on Ladybug.)
His girlfriend, of course, was entirely unaware of Chat Noir’s civilian job and there was no easy way to explain it without revealing his identity along with it. And without her permission, a couple shoot with someone else was most definitely a no go.
So really, him getting to do it solo was the best thing that could have happened.
He was weird for being bothered by this whole thing.
—
Adrien had done a swim shoot once before. It had been awkward and he had gotten a cold afterwards but overall it had been fine.
It had also been a year ago. Things were different now.
The most successful ad he had done so far had been the first ad that was released after his mother’s death.
It was a confusing claim to fame to have, it was so wrong and Adrien couldn't stand seeing anyone wear the watch it had been made for.
GABRIEL was a high-fashion brand, one that had always been catered towards adults first and foremost. Adrien hadn't been very vital to the brands success before - sure, he accompanied his parents to events sometimes and he had modeled an outfit together with his mother once but that was the extent to which it went.
The watch had been designed for Emilie to wear as well. His mother didn't usually model, but every now and then she did. Adrien didn't know when and why, he didn't know a lot about her in general.
But suddenly she was dead and his father obviously couldn't use the photos anymore and before he knew it, an overwhelmed, 13-year old Adrien was standing in front of the cameras, supposed to replicate a bunch of photographs showcasing his dead mother.
(He had cried a lot during that shoot and afterwards, Nathalie had cursed Gabriel out in front of him for minutes. Adrien had never seen anyone dare to raise their voice at his father before.)
Marketing-wise, it had been a genius choice.
Adrien and his mother shared their skin, hair and eye tones, in addition to having strikingly similar facial features. Not to mention the public’s sympathy for him and the fact that Adrien hadn't quite managed to extinguish the melancholic expression from his face in the photos.
The watch was sold out after a few hours and Adrien still spent the night eating without his father’s company at the dining table, hands shaking too badly to hold up his fork.
All of Adrien’s best-received photo shoots showed him at his worst point.
(Maybe he was made to suffer. Maybe he was just a spoiled nepo baby who had no idea what suffering meant. Maybe it didn't matter anyway.)
The first one had led to sympathy, to preteen girls crushing on him and celebrities expressing their condolences during interviews.
This time, his instagram followers also drastically increased in size. But no one was sympathetic, no one wished for him to get better soon.
They congratulated him.
Again, he shouldn't be bothered by it. Adrien had worked hard for this and he’d worked harder to hide it from his father.
But maybe a small part of him had hoped that people would be concerned, as disgusting as it might be of him to think that way.
But he looked radiant: cheeks filled with baby fat he may never get rid of, lipstick and rouge and foundation crafting a look that differed tremendously from the eyebags, the dry skin, the pale lips.
Adrien knew that he was underweight but he wore it well - at least when stylists added a heavy amount of products – and thus, no one cared.
And why would they?
A lot of models were on the thinner side.
—
“I look pretty.”
Adrien, dressed in a towel and hair steaming wet, was staring in front of the mirror, silently observing the drops of water rolling down his face. It reminded him of rainy days back when he was still a child. Of when he’d watch the raindrop race and pick a favorite.
He used to imagine that – if he picked the winning raindrop – it would materialize in front of him once it had crossed the finish line. That maybe it would be his friend.
(He hadn’t felt pretty in a while.)
It was strange, in a way. Adrien had always been a lonely child, yet his imagination commonly stretched beyond the surreal - other children dreamt of befriending kids in class or teenage celebrities, Adrien dreamt of befriending raindrops and sunlight.
The idea of other children becoming his friends was like looking at candy. Sure, he could eat it but his mother would be so terribly disappointed that he didn't dare think about it. At a recent photoshoot, he had seen the photographer eat a muffin and his mouth had watered and immediately upon that recognition, Adrien had frozen. Afterwards, he had pulled out a water bottle and drunk it until it was empty, trying to get rid of the evidence.
As if that could erase the way he’d just betrayed his mother. He wasn’t supposed to want anything more than what she gave him.
The water pressed his hair flat to his head.
Adrien’s hair was actually comparably thin, professionals had taught him how to make it look voluminous but still light, so that it would bounce with every step and turn into something people wanted to look at.
Right now, it did not look anything like that.
The dark blonde looked black in the shadows - Adrien had woken up far too early, sweat causing his shirt to uncomfortably stick to his body. He had craved a shower and had been in too much of a hurry to turn the lights on.
It fascinated him, how unevenly cut his hair actually was.
It hung much shorter on the left side. The beginning of his side part, the strands of hair he was only able to brush to the right with the help of gel and a hair straightener, reached until the bottom of his nose when hanging down.
(If he grew out his hair, would he look like his mother?)
His mother.
She had looked pretty, too. Would Adrien look as pretty at her age?
(He didn't remember his mother's age. He wasn't supposed to forget this quickly. He was a terrible son.)
Age had never been something Adrien had consciously recognized in anyone but Chloé and himself. As a child, he had never really thought about the fact that adults grew up, too.
(No, that realization had only come once Émilie’s soul no longer had a body to grow up in.)
Come to think of it, Adrien did not recall his father’s age either. Père did not celebrate birthdays. His maman had but even then, Émilie hadn't hung up balloons with steadily increasing numbers up around the mansion.
Chloé used to have those. On her tenth birthday, she had made her father cover the entire mansion with balloons that had the age written on them. Inside of those balloons had been candy.
“Let’s pretend to be superheroes,” she had told him, a hand on her hip. “Those balloons are our enemies and we need to defeat them.”
“What’s the candy supposed to be?” Adrien had asked, eyes lit up. “Our treasure, of course! Every time we kill a monster, the government gives us a reward.”
Even with her clumsy pronunciation of the word government, Adrien had been excited to play the game. And then he had thought about his mother’s disappointed face and let Chloé eat all the candy on her own.
“Maman, can I have cool balloons for my next birthday too?” Adrien had asked her. It had been a sunny day and he had picked out daisies from the garden to put them into his mother’s braid. “Oh, Adrien,” she had sighed, after he had explained what exactly he meant. “Aging isn't something to look forward to. We all just celebrate to pretend we’re not miserable. You don't want balloons that let everyone know that you'll soon be forgotten.”
Adrien hadn't understood her words but he had never asked for balloons again.
(Maybe he hadn't forgotten his mother's age. Maybe he had never known it to begin with.)
Adrien placed the towel on top of the sink and turned around. He needed a second shower.
—
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
“Minou?”
Five spots on her mask, I know that already.
“Kitty?”
One spot on her shoulder. Four on her upper arm. I can see three on her-
“Chat Noir?”
“Uh- yeah? What’s up?”
“You went kind of nonverbal for a second.” Ladybug looked worried. He wanted her to stop.
“Being nonverbal is a permanent state, you can't temporarily be nonverbal. It’s like saying you’re temporarily blind. It’s called losing speech.” Listing facts was easier than thinking. “But I didn't lose speech, I just got lost in my thoughts.”
Even without looking at Ladybug, he was reasonably sure that he knew what expression she was making and he didn't like it. “Then what were you thinking about? You had me worried.”
I didn't finish counting.
“I’m fine. Doing great, really.” I didn't finish counting. “I was thinking about homework. There’s this essay due about-”
“We shouldn't talk about our personal lives, Chat Noir.” Her voice was apologetic. It didn't seem like she realized that he had intentionally made the conversation personal, to have an excuse to avoid her attack.
“You’re right, M’Lady, that’s why I didn't say anything. I’ll think about it later, let’s go patrol.” Jumping up on his feet, he played the ensuing vertigo off by leaning on his staff.
“Wanna play tag?” Between school and modeling, he hadn't gotten in enough steps today.
“Sure!”
Ladybug was a little too enthusiastic and guilt swirled inside his stomach for making her worry.
“Tag, you’re it!” she exclaimed while tapping his shoulder. She took off while laughing and inadvertently, a smile spread across Adrien’s face.
Now that she had turned around, he could see the fourth spot on her lower arm. Nine in total. Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath before leaping after her, ready to win this game.
—
It was 4pm when Adrien landed flat on his ass, a sabre pointing at his chest.
Kagami held out a hand to pull him back up. With shaking fingers he let her help him, grateful for the assistance. For a moment, he closed his eyes. You can do this.
When he opened them again, Kagami was ready to go again and Adrien let himself fall back into position. And sure, maybe his feet were a little less wide apart than they ought to be, but he couldn't risk falling. Keeping his balance was already difficult enough without a perfect stance.
Kagami approached and Adrien retreated, looking for an opening in her defense. Feigning an attack on her left, he planned on going after her right side instead. Of course, Kagami was far too quick to fall for it. She swatted his sabre away with an untypical amount of force, far from the careful restraint she usually carried with her.
(Then, she attacked his arm and he flinched back, toppling over. Really, Adrien. Great way to not draw attention yourself.)
“I need to fill my water bottle,” she told him and took off her mask. “Will you accompany me?”
“Y… yeah, sure-”
With a nervous glance to Monsieur D’Argencourt, Adrien got up. Without help, this time.
He felt somewhat pathetic, the way he had to press his hands onto the floor to get up. Usually, he had enough energy to jump up, or, at the very least, have enough balance to not need his arms for that.
(How was he supposed to be a hero when he couldn't even get off the floor without painting a big neon sign on his head telling everyone how weak he was?)
(What if everyone around him knew already? What if they just didn't care?)
"You've been acting strange recently.”
Kagami did, in fact, fill up her water bottle while talking to him.
“It’s always been a pleasure to fight you, you have incredible agility and, when you allow yourself to show it, you have fire.”
Sometimes Adrien wasn't sure if Kagami was congratulating or insulting him.
“Now, I’ve seen you upset. I know how you fight when you’re mentally unwell. But this is… different, isn’t it?”
Run. She’s getting too close.
“Oh, that?”
He laughed nervously, scratching the back of his neck to hide his trembling fingers. Sweat was building up again but he still didn't dare take off the mask. He didn't want anyone to look at him ever again.
“It’s just Maman’s birthday coming up.”
It was partially the truth but it didn't feel like it. Adrien felt dirty, in a way, for using his mother’s memory as an excuse. He was a terrible son.
But Kagami nodded and put a hand on his shoulder, in the clumsy way she usually handled him when she didn't quite know what to say or do. And she didn't ask any further questions.
The guilt dragged his bones into the ground but the relief pulled them back up. If everyone left him alone, maybe he could go on.
—
When he first started going to public school, things had been easier. Adrien had never known how much he craved freedom until he got a taste of it. With school and friends and being Chat Noir, he didn’t need to revert to old coping mechanisms that no longer served him. He was doing well.
Or rather, he had been.
Right up until the press caught wind of him being out and about. His bodyguard had tried his hardest to keep everyone away from him, of course, but it took a while for things to settle back down. He read headline after headline wondering about his reclusive father, statements regarding his mother’s disappearance and, naturally, comments about how he’d grown up so much since his last big public appearance.
Comments tearing apart every single thing about him, from suggesting that his hairstyle was a reference to young Justin Bieber all the way to theories that the stripes on his shirt were code for a hidden message.
Comments comparing him to his mother’s image, comments judging every perceived imperfection, comments expressing disappointment that he didn’t look the way he had a year before, when he was twelve and too caught up in grief to keep down a meal.
And then, he had weighed himself.
And then, he had spiraled.
The next day, he had pulled Chloé to the side because all his purchases were overlooked by Nathalie and he had begged her to buy him the diet pills they sometimes used to take last winter.
“Y… You still do that?” Chloé had looked genuinely horrified. Like how she looked at insects and Marinette and homeless people and… well, a lot of things. But not at him, never before at him. It hurt. “Adrie-Chérie, you can’t– We were just being silly kids.”
Privately, Adrien didn’t particularly feel like competitively checking who lost the most weight every time they met was particularly silly. For either of them.
“It’s not like that, Chlo.” She didn't believe him and he knew it. “There’s just so much sugary food around me, now that I go to public school. I have no self control.”
Chloé shook her head and took a few steps back without taking her eyes off him. In desperation, he grabbed her arm. “You have to help me, Chloé.” She had to. “You owe me.” It was a dirty move and he knew it. Guilt engulfed him from head to toe and it only worsened when he saw Chloé wrench her way out of his grip, curling her arm up to her chest. Had he hurt her? He couldn’t have, he would never–
“Fuck you.” He flinched away at the words. She couldn't let him down, not when he needed her help. He never asked her for anything and she wasn’t even willing to–
“Okay. I’ll help you. Once. And then I never want to speak to you again.”
Adrien couldn’t bring himself to care in the moment, too focused on the horrifyingly big number the scale had shown him yesterday. When she dropped the appetite suppressants in his lap the next week, the guilt pierced him like a sabre.
(He put the pills in his bag anyway.)
At home, when he realized how profoundly he had screwed up, he hid them away in the fridge behind Plagg’s cheese. Chloé was his first friend and now, she was his first friend-breakup. And it was because he had manipulated her, not the other way around.
The guilt was so internally painful that Adrien didn’t take the pills that day. Or that month, for that matter. He couldn’t bring himself to throw them away but he also couldn't bring himself to take them, not when Chloé was watching him closely at school while pretending not to care.
In fact, Adrien had almost forgotten about them by the time his perfume had to be marketed. Only when he was dressed in white from head to toe (like his mother, it was always his mother), jumping up an invisible staircase (light as a feather, light enough to float) did he remember their existence.
This time, thinking of Chloé’s frightened expression wasn't enough to dim the temptation.
—
Hawk Moth had been lazy recently.
This was the first attack in weeks and Adrien was pissed. Secretly, he had hoped that the man had fallen down the stairs of his creepy basement and no one had come to help him.
"Plagg, claws out!"
Adrien - now Chat Noir - put the book he’d propped up against his thighs aside and halted.
My legs look thinner.
And even though this was the first akuma this month and people might be dying out there, this was somehow more important to him. Slowly, he got up to enter his bathroom. He had to check, to make sure his mind wasn't playing tricks on him.
The mirror didn't lie - except for the times that it did but Adrien had never tried looking in the mirror while being Chat Noir before. It was an odd experience. The leather-like fabric he was so used to associating with everything of his that wasn’t part of Adrien Agreste suddenly showcased Adrien’s deepest inner thoughts.
He… looked sick.
Like, actually a little bit concerningly so. Like he’d have to gain weight before the release of GABRIEL’s next fashion line. Adrien never looked particularly skinny to himself, just average. So why did he see a difference now?
He held up a shaking claw to caress his collarbone. He’d never seen it quite this much while wearing the suit before.
Maybe it was about how he hadn't seen Chat Noir in a month, not since the akuma attack. At least not during daylight.
Chat Noir was supposed to be the happy one. And now Adrien could see his legs and arms and protruding bones in the outfit he’d created to be free.
(Maybe it was jarring because Chat Noir wasn’t supposed to be unwell, he was a savior and saviors didn't look a few days away from keeling over.)
Hell, he could see the outline of his ribs. What was wrong with him? What part of him thought this was a good idea because he sure couldn't afford to waste any energy and maybe he should quit this right now and–
…he could see the outline of his ribs.
…despite wearing his suit.
Prickling ecstasy shot up his veins and none of his previous thoughts mattered anymore. The akuma didn't matter, nothing did, he had never looked so beautiful. Adrien had to fight a smile.
As if he were in a trance, he let his fingers trail up and down his ribcage, wondering how he’d look if they were just a little bit more defined. Yeah, a little more and then he’d stop. Then it would be enough.
But for now, he had an akuma to take care of. And a Ladybug waiting for his aid. A Ladybug who would undoubtedly notice his… weight loss. His perfectly normal growing “teenage boy going through a growth spurt” weight loss. Chat Noir didn't want her to worry.
Closing his eyes, he took a deep breath.
His Mister Bug outfit gave him nonexistent muscles, his Chat Noir suit should be able to give him nonexistent fat. Clearly focusing on what he wanted to look like - like plain old boring Chat Noir - he grinded his teeth against each other.
When the magic washed over him, it felt like failure.
He looked normal again. Imperfect. The way he had before. He had tried so hard and had nothing to show for it and goddamnit, this wasn't how he really looked so why did it hurt so much?
With burning eyes, Adrien tore his gaze away.
Ladybug needed him after all.
—
It should have been a good thing that the fight went well. It really, really should have been. Adrien had been worried about getting dizzy during some of it, maybe slacking off and missing a few hits.
But everything went fine.
Really, logically this was great.
Everything was so amazing.
The moment Ladybug’s fist finished bumping against his own, he fled. He didn't immediately go home, home felt too confined. Wearing the suit felt like tasting sugar used to, like the time he ran away to go to school, like secretly skipping piano practice by putting up a recording on his phone.
But even after running through their entire patrol route, everything was fine. Nothing was wrong with him.
(Why wasn't anything wrong with him?)
Adrien had grown accustomed to a little nausea after standing up, the buzzing in his ears that had stopped scaring him a while ago and instead, felt like a reward. Like he was actually capable of something.
(Why wasn't anything wrong with him?)
By all logic, the exercise should have made him feel all wonky, tired, dizzy - anything but alive and happy.
That was when Adrien realized something even worse.
He wasn't hungry.
The change had been so drastic, how could he not have noticed? Had he already been full as Adrien? Had he accidentally eaten more than he remembered, maybe heavily miscalculated the amount that was in a serving?
If he wasn't hungry, he had done something wrong. The pills were long gone, after all. And his stomach was bloated and his wrists looked oddly inflated; his body was keeping him prisoner, painting the metal of its cage in all his most detested colors, he could feel the acrylics dripping onto him and being absorbed by his skin until that too, turned foreign and he didn't recognize who he was looking at anymore.
This wasn’t his body, he wasn’t at home here!
Someone had to get him out of there before this body trapped him inside its flesh, veins and blood and skin wrapped around his soul like the cast he had gotten after fracturing his arm as a child (he wasn’t allowed to play in the garden anymore and in the end, the cast had come off without any messily scrawled names and hearts from friends because he was fundamentally forever forgotten and the foundation of this house stood so strong that an earthquake couldn't shake it; it was all far too late for him because his soul had tied itself to a body with which it didn't fit together.)
Adrien only realized that he was home after throwing the door behind him into its hinges. He was detransformed, his ring ripped off because Plagg had to go, he couldn't see, Adrien had to see and Plag couldn't, and Adrien had to make sure he was okay and that everyone was wrong and that it was okay and he could breathe.
He tugged at his shirt frantically, fingers curled into claws and he couldn't breathe and then it was finally off his body.
Adrien threw the shirt into the shower.
The mirror showed his collarbones and ribcage and his wrists finally looked thin enough to wrap his fingers around again but it wasn't enough. Tears were forming in his eyes and he sat down on the toilet seat, clattering teeth, trying to think of an excuse that would let him skip dinner today.
—
Practice had ended thirty minutes ago. Kagami and Adrien had planned on studying together afterwards because their parents had shown leniency for once. Instead, Adrien had asked, no, practically begged Kagami to keep fencing.
His legs were shaking, his ears were ringing and his right arm was burning. Adrien would be incredibly sore tomorrow.
But as long as he kept getting up and trying, his mind was blissfully empty. It was much preferable to it hurling insults at every reachable part of him, switching between sounding like his father, his mother, Ladybug and himself.
With a thud, Kagami’s sabre hit him square in the chest.
Adrien gasped, longing not for the first time to be allowed upper body protection the way the girls were. He was going to be covered in bruises tomorrow.
Retreating, Adrien quickly bowed and lowered his body into position once again. Kagami, however, let out a sigh.
“Adrien, you haven’t landed more than two hits on me today and both of these would be considered invalid by a judge.”
He looked down at the floor, the grid of his mask blurring the colored lines of their practice room. Everything was mashed together and he hated it.
“I’m sorry. You deserve a better partner.” Ladybug did, too.
“I do. And you deserve to take care of yourself. Distractions should not be excuses to waste your potential.”
“Yes.” His voice wavered and he forced his gaze up. “Let’s try again, I’ll do it right this time.”
Kagami took off her mask. “No. You’re shaking.”
“It doesn't matter!” Adrien flinched at his tone. “I can do better. I really can. Let me prove it to you. Please.” He didn't have anything else to dull the thoughts that were dragging him down the deep end, dwindling determination being replaced with desperate necessity. He couldn't afford to fail anymore than he already had.
“I’m not a flag in the wind. I uttered my opinion and I firmly stand by it, Adrien. Figure out what’s going on with you and work on it. I will not take part in your attempt at self destruction.”
That evening, after enduring his father’s scolding for his decreasing sports performance that day, Adrien gritted his teeth. Kagami didn't understand him. His father didn't understand him.
He had to be better. He had to do better. Maybe then he could make up for everything he wasn't.
—
“He called me by my mother’s name once…”
It was an uncomfortable admission.
“He what?” Plagg sounded furious. Adrien flinched.
“He was drunk and she had just died and he was saying nonsensical things so I know he wasn’t in his right mind. But… I don’t know. It’s just…” He didn’t know. “It made me think that maybe… I don’t know. I can’t find the words.”
“Words are overrated anyway.” Plagg settled down on his head, nuzzling his cheek.
“It’s all so…” Adrien’s heart squeezed together. “The way he called me Émilie… He’s never said my name with so much love”
The admission hurt, a lilac lightning bolt tearing through his fragile frame, keeping him frozen in place. Tears gathered in his eyes and he clenched his jaw.
“Why doesn't he love me?” His voice cracked and tears were spilling down his cheeks and Plagg hated anything water-y but he didn't move away and somehow that made Adrien cry even harder.
“I don’t know, kid. I really don’t know.”
—
Adrien lied quite often, but he did it in subtle ways.
His lies partially consisted of him frequently pretending to be bad at lying so that no one would bat an eye when he actually had something to hide. It was an inherited trait, maybe, or perhaps one he learned in childhood when observing his mother applying lipstick while practicing excuses in the mirror.
His entire family consisted of actors, maybe, in more ways than one.
Who was Émilie Agreste?
If you were to ask her herself, Émilie would say that she was just a woman who got lucky in life.
If you were to read her thoughts, they’d tell you that she defined herself in ways exceeding verbal capabilities because that was beneath her, like the earth is to a bird. Sure - she could walk over it, try to use mundane, everyday words but it would never capture her essence as beautifully as when she was soaring high up in the sky.
If you were to ask Gabriel, he would tell you that Émilie was an angel among humans, a being so ethereal that existence was unworthy of her presence.
Gabriel Agreste – who was Gabriel if not Émilie's husband; he was so entrenched in her ambitions that he could barely be seen as a standalone person anymore, devotion came as naturally to him as it did to Adrien himself but they showed it so differently that you would never think of it as an inherited trait.
Who was Chat Noir without Ladybug and who was Adrien if not the boy with the face of his mother?
—
“I think I gave my best friend an eating disorder.”
They were lying on their roof, looking at the stars and he’s spent all his life trying to hide it but suddenly, it was achingly easy to admit how awful of a person he was.
“...what?” He could Ladybug rolling her body to the side. He didn’t want her to look at him. “What?” Ladybug repeated, louder this time. He turned his head to the other side. The roof felt icy against his ears.
“I don’t know.”
It was all too much, he risked death every day and he had to beat up his akumatized friends and his body wasn’t doing its job properly when really, he just wanted to cuddle up to his friends and write Sailor Moon fanfiction.
“I guess she was envious, you know?”
Ladybug didn’t answer for a while. “What do you mean, kitty?”
He flinched at the nickname. “Just… I don’t know. She started copying me and I… I just let her. We…” There were no words left to express his thoughts. “I shouldn’t have done that.”
Chloé had seen the way people had shunned Adrien after his mother’s death, too caught up in their own grief to see his struggle. And then he had faded away before their eyes and suddenly, he had mattered. People had paid him so much attention, even his father had spent dinner with Adrien to ensure he ate.
And Chloé, a girl who only ever wanted her mother to notice her, had thought he had done it on purpose.
A hand touched his wrist and he moved his arm, intertwining their fingers - but still looking in the opposite direction. This admission was too honest to be acknowledged, it would lose its worth if he endured its impact.
“Copying you?” Ladybug asked.
He froze.
This time Chat Noir was the one who didn’t answer for a while. The air was brimming with electricity. He had said something suspicious and now everything might be over.
“It’s not as bad as it sounds.”
(It was worse.)
“Kitty.”
Ladybug sounded teary.
“I’m okay. Please.” Don’t make me elaborate.
—
It was the middle of the night and Adrien couldn't sleep.
Nausea-green oil streaks were dancing in his stomach, twisting and turning his insides around while he was powerless to stop them. He could almost envision the streaks as hands, rearranging his vessels, tying up his organs until they were lifeless, he was rotting on the inside and it was all because he had given into his hunger.
It didn't even count as proper hunger anyway. He was just trying to justify a bad decision; no, this had been mere appetite.
Appetite for food filled with grease and oil and-
He couldn't breathe.
They had already gotten to his lungs and cut them off the rest of his body, he didn't have air and without air he would die and he would die because he had eaten and he had eaten because he was so so very stupid and he couldn't breathe and–
This was objectively ridiculous. Food wasn't sentient, it couldn't hurt you from the inside.
So why could he feel his body rotting?
Something wasn't right. Something inside of his body was terrifyingly wrong and he couldn't do anything about it.
And before he knew what was going on, he was hunched over his bathroom trash can, harshly jabbing his fingers down his throat.
His fingers were coated in not-yet-dried moisturizer, and he had to gag at the taste but he didn't have time to wash his hands because he had to get this thing out of him before he died.
Spit was running down his chin and nothing was coming up, why wasn't anything coming up?
So he tried again. And again. And again.
And again.
By the time he finally felt food crawling up his throat, his entire face was dripping wet. Sweat sticking his hairs to his forehead, spit covering his face, tears mixing with snot and moisturizer…
His mouth was so dry that he had to get up to drink water from the faucet and he couldn't swallow fast enough so it spilled over his face and shirt and he felt utterly pathetic.
His entire body was covered in fluids and he hadn't even managed to throw up yet.
There had to be something. Something he could do. He had to hurry.
Snot was mixing with the tears and Adrien grabbed some toilet paper - it ripped in all the wrong ways and he wanted to cry but there was no time. He wiped his face and threw the toilet paper into the toilet but parts of it clung onto his skin, wet and salty and sticky and he didn't have time to clean his hands, he couldn't ruin what little progress he had made.
Instead, he once again jabbed his fingers down his throat.
Tears were forming in his eyes again as he felt the dry texture. Instinctively, he retracted his fingers but the paper stuck to his throat even as he gagged, it felt as if he had taped dust onto his palate and he was dry heaving too much to breathe.
And then he finally, pathetically, vomited. Tremors were wrecking his body as he curled up on the floor, tears forming yet again.
It had all been worth it.
Adrien's eyelashes were too clumped together from crying to see how much he had thrown up and he knew it wasn't nearly everything but it was enough to feel like he could breathe again.
(He went to bed and it was the only night within the past two weeks that he didn't have a nightmare.)
—
Eating was easier the day after purging. It felt silly, just yesterday he’d been so upset over eating far below his maintenance and today he was shoving double that amount down his throat, guilt-free and content with his life.
It didn't just feel silly, it was.
“Thank you, Marinette. This is really delicious, what is it called?”
He rubbed crumbs of lemony dough from his cheek and didn't even have the decency to feel ashamed of himself. Today was a good day.
“O- oh? That one? It’s a tarte au citron.”
“Well, that name is pretty on the nose…” Adrien suppressed a chuckle and took another bite.
“Man, I can’t believe vacation is about to end.”
Nino sighed and Adrien patted his shoulder in sympathy. His best friend looked up at him. “I know that you’re obsessed with school but even you would agree that this vacation passed too quickly, right?”
Adrien had very little idea of what date it was. Vacation had passed in a blur, days melting together and he didn't even really care.
Did he want his vacation to continue?
Truthfully, he had no idea. He had been so odd these past few weeks, either too tired to do much but lay in his bed or too restless to do anything but patrol or pace around his room until the sun had set and he couldn’t see his own shadow anymore.
“I like school,” he replied.
It was a fact. Adrien Agreste liked school. Whether he felt motivated enough to actually return there was too complex a question but he knew he liked school. Maybe that was enough for now.
—
He lay there, trying to get up, straining his mind to just move, damn it, it’s not that hard except that it was, except that his body was refusing to listen. Everything was pitch-black darkness and he wanted to scream until he couldn't anymore, agonizingly attempting to find any way to force his body to obey, to relieve him from this terror. And then, his thoughts wandered to how exposed he was, his inability to move rendered him prey to anyone passing by and he needed to move now or he was going to get hurt; no, move; hands on his body and deafening silence and everything was so dark and it was all wrong and with a heavy breath he shot up, clutching his arms in front of his body like a shield.
It didn't quite stop the creeping sensations, the lingering taste of all the thoughts hunting him down. But he had to at least try, because if he tried, then he couldn't say he had just allowed things to happen.
Last akuma attack, Adrien had been awfully depressed about seemingly not getting dizzy during battles.
Well, it seemed like the universe had decided to listen to him.
“Be careful what you wish for…” he mumbled with a sigh, as the darkness lifted and an exhausted Ladybug threw a piece of concrete to the side.
“Don’t look!”
Ladybug closed her eyes before he’d even finished talking. With the sunlight, Adrien was able to finally see where his miraculous had fallen and he grabbed it with a heave, coughing as he lifted his chest.
“Plagg, claws out!” His ring had slid off after his back had hit the ground below him at a nauseating angle. At least he’d still been transformed during the impact, otherwise he might have already been toast.
As the familiar magic washed over him, Adrien finally allowed himself to breathe deeply again.
His head was throbbing despite him only having fallen on his back and legs but the steady breathing at least sucked some of the pain out of his body. Chat Noir’s suit came with damage protection and an uncanny ability to suppress milder physical needs. It would, after all, be rather inconvenient for superheroes to require using the bathroom during battles.
Ladybug let her hand drop from her face and lifted another piece of concrete to allow him to stand up more easily.
“Are you hurt, kitty? You didn't come up…”
Adrien looked up at her and Ladybug’s eyes were so wide in worry that he wanted to gut his body like a fish to alleviate the guilt. He had caused this. He had worried her. It was all his fault.
“Y… yeah, I’m okay, M’Lady. Just couldn't find my ring.”
His voice was raspy and didn't sound at all like the confident tone he usually slipped into as Chat Noir. Injuries gotten as Chat Noir might be dulled but those he received while he was a civilian only barely lessened.
Shakily rising to his feet, he could feel bile climbing up his throat. He grimaced and tried to cover it up with a laugh. “It’s going to take more than that to take down Chat Noir.”
Then, he fainted.
—
Sometimes, Adrien thought he might be sick.
Sometimes, Adrien thought he couldn't be, not if it was this easy to feel okay again.
Maybe it was more like an allergy to being all by himself. Whenever he was around others for a prolonged period of time, he felt great. He ate and joked and hugged his friends and the world felt like home.
Vacation had left him drained but now that school had started again, it was as if nothing had even happened.
All the thoughts about his mother, about being perfect or even just enough… They faded into background noise. Being away from home helped. Being around people who didn't know his mom helped.
Maybe he just had to wait a few more years, just until he was an adult and could move out, and then he’d be okay.
Two and a half more years.
That’s how long it had taken for Ladybug to love him back and she was worth waiting a lifetime for.
It would be a piece of cake.
—
School began and everything was suddenly okay again.
It was like, from one day to another, Adrien no longer had a problem. Eating around his friends came easy, he had promised Plagg not to throw up again and managed to keep that promise without much difficulty, the all too familiar guilt still sizzling in his stomach but then Nino would show him a funny video and Adrien’s thoughts would return to the present.
He had been dramatic. Of course, he didn’t have a problem. All teenagers had insecurities.
He threw himself in his course work, excelled at playing the piano and won his first fencing tournament in months. It wasn't enough for his father, of course, but Nathalie was proud of him and so were Kagami and Nino and maybe that was enough for Adrien. Maybe not everyone had to believe in him.
Maybe, he was somewhat okay the wa he was.
—
“I’m tired” was something Adrien said a lot, not as much with words as he did with silence.
He said it with the patient smile he reserved for Chloé when she held him close, in the way he might try to push her away but he did so gently, wrapping her wrists with his hands instead of grabbing them.
It was the same smile he wore when attending an interview and the same set of questions came up each time, composed of answers he’d given before and those he had to leave unanswered. “No, I don’t have a girlfriend.” “Yes, if the right girl came along, I would not mind going on a date with her.” “My father is busy with this incredible new project- Oops, I’m not allowed to say any more, sorry.”
It was the same smile he wore when Vincent asked him to smile like he was watching his mother cook spaghetti, when he was asked to rearrange his pose again and again and again because they all looked amazing but not quite perfect.
It was the same smile he wore today, sweet sixteen, all dolled up, setting so sickenly scenic that he wanted to vomit.
“Adrien, happy birthday!” (He didn’t even register their faces anymore, there were too many guests. He had shaken so many hands today that he had to wonder what would happen if any of them were ill and he’d wound up infecting everyone else here. Like a parasite did, someone not quite human enough to blend in, someone deceptive and foreign and sick.)
“Thank you so much! It’s been an amazing day so far!”
The older he got the more tiring it was. It was like a game, playing dress up for adults who were not ready to let go. (Maybe if his smile sparkled brightly enough, no one would notice that he never allowed the corners of his lips to relax; no one purchased paintings that more than roughly resembled reality.)
This day was about him but it wasn’t for him.
“Monsieur Agreste!” A hand on his shoulder. “It’s a big milestone to hit for sure. You’re growing up so fast… I bet you’re quite the ladykiller with that face of yours, huh?”
God, if only someone got akumatized now. Everything about today had been perfect and Adrien yearned for chaos. For someone to do something unexpected, anything that made him feel like less of an NPC.
“Happy birthday, Adrien! We have a present for you.”
And the funny thing was that he was more than willing to act as the akuma right now.
Adrien wanted to be angry, he wanted to scream and shout and slam doors and if someone put a foot into the frame to keep him from locking them out, he'd slam the door hard enough for their bones to splinter until white cracks covered everything, ripping tears into the universe, cracks large enough for him to hide inside of.
“Happy birthday.”
The guilt inside him was twisting and it flared up before he even thought thoughts like this, people like him were supposed to be pretty and silent, a lamb, a deer, someone pleasantly pitiable, someone deserving.
“Your father designed your suit, right? Amazing craftsmanship…”
There were people who let their rage consume them and he was so jealous of them.
“I loved your latest ad, your expression was so… intense. Different from your usual style. You really are getting older, huh? Are you looking forward to shooting something a little more mature?”
His restraint was suffocating him, his skin turning blue and his lungs gave out and he knew he was going to rot from the inside because of it. Yet, he stayed silent.
“Happy birthday! Let’s take a picture!”
He was trapped in the image he'd given everyone of himself.
“Adrien.”
His father.
Thank heavens.
Adrien smiled at the lady and gently pushed the camera away from his face. “Excuse me, my father-”
“You’re such a polite young man,” the woman cooed and touched his cheek. “So handsome too… Like my Edgar when he was your age.”
“Thank you so much!” Adrien fled. He suppressed the urge to wipe away the feeling of her sweaty hand.
“Hello, father.” He was genuinely smiling, this time. Then he glanced at his father’s company. “Oh, and hello to you too, Monsieur Bourgeois! I haven’t seen you in a few months… I hope you’ve been well.”
“Ah, yes, yes…”
The mayor looked worse for wear. The bags under his eyes were deep enough for him to take his daughter shopping with.
“Adrien, happy birthday.” But the smile he gave him was genuine. “I can’t believe how old you are getting… Just yesterday, Chloé and you were little children.”
“They do grow up fast,” his father agreed with a smile that inadvertently made Adrien smile as well.
“Yeah..,” he agreed. There wasn’t really anything to talk about.
Monsieur Bourgeois cleared his throat. “Well, we have a present for you, of course. Chloé sends her regards. Once she’s in better health, you two can celebrate properly.”
“Sure, sure…” Chloé and him hadn’t talked in a while. She seemed scared (for him, probably. Hopefully not of him). And Adrien still could not bring himself to apologize for having asked her to help him with something so awful.
It was all a disaster and he was glad Chloé was – or pretended to be – ill.
His father, apparently trying to reduce the awkward silence, grabbed Adrien’s arm to pull him closer. “I’ve been designing this suit for the past few months. The adornments are a reference to-”
“To Émilie’s wedding dress, yes, of course!”
Monsieur Bourgeois’ smile lit up the whole room. Adrien, by contrast, felt his own smile slip right off his face.
“I remember, Émilie agonized over her dress for months. She wanted everything to be just perfect, every little detail. She was such an elegant young woman…”
Stop it.
His father was touching the hem of Adrien’s dress shirt, tracing the delicate embroidery with a sigh.
Monsieur Bourgeois was staring at him, everyone in this entire goddamn room was staring at him and it was all too much.
“You know, Adrien,” the mayor continued. “You really look a lot like her. She was sixteen when we met, actually. And she would be proud of the son you are”
And Monsieur Bourgeois smiled at him as if he hadn’t just made everything so much worse and his father’s hands were still too close to his throat to breathe and the food in his stomach was suddenly very present, its weight dragging him down and his father’s hands dragging him down and all those people dragging him towards them and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t breathe and he couldn’t breathe–
And then Adrien threw his head around, harsh enough to drag his shirt with him and for his father to let go.
And then everything crashed together in a spectacular display of fiery heat and champagne glasses and the next thing Adrien consciously remembered was fresh air hitting his heated head.
Cold air.
A blessing.
He could breathe.
It still wasn’t enough, it would never be enough, but it was one step further away from total collapse and the further he ran, the less painfully real did everything feel.
Ripping open his dress shirt, Adrien didn’t even stop to pick up a button that fell off. He never wanted to see that stupid shirt again because he wasn’t his mother and he wasn’t anyone’s anything.
“Plagg, transform me.”
The shirt was gone in an instant.
And he was running and fleeing from his body and maybe it would be okay if he never stopped trying to outrun himself.
“She would be proud of the son you are.”
But would she?
Here he was, trying to discard her heritage that was so deeply imprinted onto his being that he had to rip out his soul just to keep her from taking over him.
His mouth, his nose, his eyes - Adrien had a dead person’s face. He had a dead person’s face but his heart was still beating.
Chat Noir ran as fast as he could but his heart beat faster than he could run away from it. Maman would have wanted him to honor their resemblance.
He had a dead person’s face.
“I hate you,” he screamed out, sight blurring but he kept running. Maybe a part of him hoped that he would fall.
And it wasn’t fair that he hated his mother for this because none of it was her fault. Or maybe all of it was. Or maybe all of it was his own fault because if he were stronger, if he didn’t care so much about irrelevant details, he wouldn’t be here, running away from his own birthday party.
There were surely people gossiping about it already. Adrien would be in so much trouble.
It wasn’t fair.
His knees gave out and Adrien curled up on a random rooftop in the middle of nowhere, hugging his knees to his chest and sobbing into the freezing stone.
I hate the way I have to remember you.
—
“What the hell, kid?”
Plagg had found out. Adrien had tried his hardest to keep his little post-birthday relapse to himself but of course, magical beings with super hearing that could phase through walls were difficult to keep secrets from.
“I thought I had it under control. I thought I was better.”
Adrien felt the all familiar guilt creep up on him. Metal teeth and crooked chains, the weight of it all was dragging him below the surface and he had stopped trying to fight it. He was weak.
“Kid. This cannot continue.”
“I’m sorry, Plagg.” Hot tears melting on his face, the chains kept dragging his body down. “I’ll do better, I’ll be better, just please don’t leave me.” Silver slamming down right on his esophagus, muscles slackening, body giving out, he was losing this fight.
“I’m never gonna leave ya, you know that. But you have to let people in. You have to fight. Because you can’t leave me either, it goes both ways.”
“Okay.” Adrien’s voice was raspy and he cringed away at the sound. Clearing his throat, he nodded. “Okay.” He just had to keep breathing. He would keep it together, he would figure it out and he wouldn’t hide himself away from everyone.
After all, who else was going to tell Ladybug hil-hair-ious cat puns if not fur Chat Noir purr-sonally?
—
Ladybug, surprisingly, helped a lot. Just confiding in someone alone was oddly freeing. She was always there for him, willing to be a distraction, someone to vent to, an accountability buddy. She helped him set goals and he stuck to them because he couldn’t bear the idea of having to confess to her that he hadn’t.
It took him all his strength and then some and Adrien had to learn that healing wasn't sunshine and rainbows, it was gnawing and clawing your way through your problems, physical and mental exhaustion wrecking his body, the temptation to just give up uncomfortably present in his thoughts.
But he refused to give up.
They’d spend an hour after patrol to go eat ice cream and afterwards, when he was feeling all antsy and guilty, she would brutally defeat him in Piquet, Rami or Uno.
And when she needed to rant about her messy life, he listened just as intensely.
“I feel like letting go of it would mean letting go of my mother,” Chat Noir confessed one evening after a particularly challenging day filled with photo shoots and dress fittings.
“I don’t want to end up like her, you know? But I feel like I’m supposed to. Like if I don’t, I failed my family. Like I’m just… giving up on them or betraying them or something.”
Ladybug leaned against him, letting her head drop down to his shoulder. In turn, he placed his head on top of hers. Her bangs tickled his nose.
Ladybug sighed softly. “Your family has failed you a number of times. So maybe it’s time to fail them in return.”
—
Life changed rapidly. Suddenly, Ladybug was Marinette and Marinette and him were dating and his father was dead and Hawk Moth had been defeated. Suddenly, his worst dreams and best nightmares came true all at once and he was so caught up in mourning and adapting and celebrating that it took him a while to realize just how much better he was doing.
He was allowed to see his friends whenever he wanted to, for the first time! That was huge. He was allowed to choose his own classes, his own passion, for the first time. Adrien never even thought about being anything but what others expected him to be.
And then, for the first time, he allowed himself to eat whatever he wanted to.
And whatever terrible, awful, very much life changing consequence he had been fearing – nothing happened. Time went on and people loved him and he loved them back so very much that it took his breath away.
Marinette would kiss him on the mouth. “I love you.” On the cheeks. “I love you.” On the nose. “I love you.” He loved her.
Nino would nudge his shoulder, bump his fist, sling an arm around his shoulders. He loved him.
Alya would grab his hand to lead the way and he followed, she’d pat his back and shoot fingerguns at him with a silly grin. He loved her.
And things with Ladybug had never been this carefree because finally, they could be fully honest with each other. She was his best friend and his girlfriend and his cosmic soulmate all at once. And she’d throw her arms around him, engulfing him in a bone crushing hug. She’d grab his belt to keep him from falling and carry his weight in her arms bridal style (he trusts her with his weight without feeling self conscious, without trying to make himself lighter in her grasp and she carried him anyway). He loved her.
He loved all of them so, so very much and they loved him back and maybe it’s all only ever been about love.
When Adrien saw an old magazine or ad he was in, he didn't recognize himself anymore. That boy in those photos on Marinette’s wall wasn’t him, never really had been. Marinette was surprised when he asked her if he could take them down, replace them with pictures that showed happy memories, genuine smiles, honey-melting love in his eyes.
She agreed, of course. Because Marinette wasn't his father and Adrien wasn't his mother. No, Adrien was just a teenage boy, trying to figure out the chaotic world around him.
One last time, he glanced at the pictures in his hands. He took a moment to breathe, to say goodbye to the person he thought he had to be. Then, he let them fall into the trashcan.
“I’m proud of you,” said Plagg and Adrien smiled.
“You know what? I think I’m proud of myself, too.”