Without his Lady

chapter twelve - Funeral

~♡~flashback~♡~

~♡~3 week timeskip~♡~

The beat of his heart felt like the ticking of a bomb, ready to explode at any moment and unleash all the grief and loss that was held captive in his chest.

She was gone.

Marinette was gone.

Marinette was gone because she jumped in front if a stake that was aimed at him.

Marinette was gone because his father had tried to kill him.

Marinette was gone and he couldn't help but think it was his fault.

Marinette was gone and now his chest was tight and he couldn't breathe and he was being crushed in an endless sea of black fabric.

Many of the faces Adrien could see were unfamiliar, save for his classmates and some of Marinettes family that he knew. What were they doing here? Did they even know Marinette at all? Did they know that she baked a batch of macaroons every weekend and had tried to learn piano and was a butt kicking superhero? Did they know she had died saving him? (That part was probably best left in the dark) Did they even miss her?

Adrien mentally kicked himself. Of course they missed her. They wouldn't have flown in from China and London to be here if they didn't know her. At least a little bit.

He couldn't be so selfish.

Besides, they wouldn't have even been invited if they weren't close to her. Today's celebration was reserved for family and friends only.

There would be another, Paris-wide, memorial the following week to mourn Ladybug, but today was just for Marinette.

The suffocating crowd slowly made their way to the assembly of plastic lawn chairs spread over the grass, and seats were filling up quickly. Adrien was suddenly releived that he'd qualified for a front row seat, amongst her parents and grandparents and her very best friends, of which there were only three.

Even if the thought of sitting that close made him want to puke his guts out.

Coupling with the thought of sitting beside Alya and Nino, Adrien almost wanted to bury himself with her. They would want to talk, and Adrien didn't want to talk. Not to anyone. He'd done enough talking the past three weeks, hard conversations that no fourteen year old should have had thrust upon them

The phone call to Tom and Sabine at the hospital.

Telling Alya about her best friend.

Telling his class about their classmate.

Telling Paris about their hero.

He'd told everyone. He'd watched as face after face dropped, eyes filled with tears, hearts shattered. Endured countless comforting hugs that did nothing to affect him in the numb trance he'd locked himself behind.

The responsibility fell on him, as Chat Noir, Ladybugs partner, and as Adrien, Marinettes friend, to be the bearer of bad news.

He hadn't even had a second of time to himself, to unravel, to let go of the numb mask that was slowly thickening to his core, becoming a part of him. He hadn't had a second to unlock his tearducts, to let out tears that so desperately wanted to be released. He was just slipping further and further away each day, behind the mask, locking his grief deep down.

The sound of half a dozen footsteps crunched along the aisle, boots crackling in the December frost that crusted the grass.

A group of tuxedoed men came into view, a heavy-looking casket resting on their stiff shoulders, which they then lowered to rest beside a deep hole carved out of the ground.