"the moth's apprentice" chat noir x y/n

Dear Adrien

Content Warning: extremely depressing content and mention of suicide? Kind of. 

A WEEK LATER -- 7 Weeks to September 

Y/N's Journal (12:06am) 

Dear Adrien,

I want you to know that I've gotten quite good at pretending I've forgotten you. See, I can go through an entire day without mentioning your name (on second thought, maybe I can't), and I can go an entire day without thinking about what I thought we were. 

You can't be a teenager or a human being without heartbreak. If you don't know what it's like to feel loss, then was it ever really love? Was it ever real? Well, I'd like to stuff all that heartbreak back into the box it came from and shove it so far under my bed I'll never see it again. Like I said, it's something I've become quite proficient at. 

The truth is that love, like, and heartbreak won't have much of an impact on me after you. I just don't care. I simply do not care. 

Sometimes I don't feel like a real human being. I stare at my hands too long and imagine them shifting, disappearing, as if this universe is made of a delicate, made-up fabric. I stare in the mirror and forget what I look like. 

What is real in this world? 

You were. You were the only thing I was ever sure about. You kept me anchored. 

I don't know you anymore, that much is true. You've changed. We've both changed in more than one way. I don't feel as fragile as I used to. I don't harbour grudges; though I don't forget easily, and I can't learn how to forgive myself.

I sit with my feelings for a minute too long, realising I'm not going to find gold (love) in the mine that exists in this shell right now, and I remember how you and I were. How we existed together. 

I'm tired of loving you. I'm tired of loving you so unconditionally, when neither of us were ready to accept the truth -- we don't see things to the same way. How can we? I'm the moth's apprentice and you're the heart of Paris's superheroes. 

I feel nothing most of the time. A little too big for my bones. I'm searching for something that I can do other than think about you.

You should know that I've tried not to love you. I blame myself. I feel like a terrible person. I'm scared that I'm not the right kind of human. I don't have the right feelings, I have far too many thoughts. I'm scared that I don't know my true personality. Maybe you're right and you don't know me. But I still miss you. I'd still choose you first. 

There's not a lot of things I wouldn't do for you. Tell me to jump, I'll do it. Who cares about the world?

I've lost you. That's for sure. I know that now. I hate this.

I'm searching for a way to close this letter because my fingers hurt and the words on the page are beginning to blur, and I'm starting to feel genuinely sad.

Did you mean what you said -- that I should be ready when all hell breaks loose? Well guess what? It already has. And I don't intend to survive in the wreckage. 

Me.