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

Limbo

When I woke up, the room was dark except for the faint blue glow of the heart monitor beside me. The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the rhythmic tapping against the window softer now, more like a whisper than a scream. The world outside was still drowning, but inside, everything was still.

Adrien was still there.

I thought maybe I'd imagined him, that he would've left once I fell asleep, but no—he was in the same chair, legs stretched out, arms crossed, his head tilted back against the wall. His eyes were closed, but I could tell he wasn't sleeping. 

His breathing wasn't deep enough, his fingers occasionally twitched, like he was stuck in some kind of restless limbo.

I shifted in my bed, wincing as the IV in my arm pulled slightly. The movement was enough to make Adrien open his eyes.

He blinked a few times, adjusting to the dim light.

"Hey." My voice was hoarse, like I hadn't spoken in days.

Adrien straightened but didn't immediately reply. His green eyes flickered over me, lingering on the IV, the bruises on my arms, the hospital gown that made me feel more clinically insane than I already was. 

"You stayed," I said, not sure if it was a question or an observation.

"I stayed." His voice was quiet, steady.

"Why?"

Adrien let out a breath through his nose, shifting in his seat. "I don't know."

A silence stretched between us, thick and unspoken. I could still hear the rain, the beeping of the monitors, the occasional squeak of a nurse's sneakers in the hallway.

I turned my head toward the window, watching the streetlights flicker in the wet reflection of the pavement. "I don't think I've ever seen Paris like this before," I said. "It's like the whole city is mourning."

Adrien was quiet for a long time. When he finally spoke, his voice was careful, deliberate. "Maybe it is."

I glanced at him, and something in his expression made my throat tighten. He looked like he wanted to say something more but didn't know how.

"Did you tell anyone you were coming here?" I asked.

He shook his head. "No."

I didn't reply.

He leaned forward suddenly, resting his elbows on his knees. "You scared me," he admitted. His voice was low, like he didn't want to say it but couldn't hold it back.

I stared at him. "You don't scare easily."

Adrien huffed a small, humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair. It was slightly messy, falling over his forehead in strands that were usually styled away so neatly. "Guess there's a first time for everything."

I swallowed. My fingers twitched against the blanket. "I didn't mean to."

His jaw clenched. He looked away, his fingers lacing together like he was trying to keep himself still. "Then what did you mean to do?"

I didn't answer.

Another silence.

Adrien looked back at me, and this time, he didn't look away. His green eyes were sharp, searching. "You're not alone, you know that, right?"

I let out a quiet, shaky breath. "I don't always believe that."

Adrien hesitated, then slowly, carefully, reached across the space between us. His fingers curled around my wrist—not tight, just enough that I could feel his warmth, his presence.

"I do." His voice was steady, certain. "And I'll remind you as many times as it takes."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly dry. "That sounds exhausting."

Adrien smiled, but it was small, sad. "I don't mind."

The rain continued to fall.