Dreams Come True

Chapter 11, What Have I Done?

Adrien's POV:

What had he done?

What in the name of sanity had he done?

He knew Marinette-obviously-but she didn't know that Chat Noir knew her. What have I done!?

He shouldn't have felt surprised that she didn't return his embrace, she didn't know that they were friends, she didn't know. But he couldn't help the grief that spread onto his face as he pulled away from her-he'd tried to hide it, but he couldn't. And she would have seen it too; thought he was just utterly ridiculous...Nino was right, he was dense.

He couldn't help replay everything that she'd said in his head, over and over.

'Nino just asked me to come because I was there at the time though. I wouldn't be invited otherwise. Not really important enough...to A-Adrien...'

By gods, she couldn't be more wrong! She means everything to me, and I only realised I loved her this morning too! He thought. Hold on, why does she care anyway? Then suddenly a hope slipped into his mind...does she...does she love me!?

No-NO-who wouldn't care if they thought that one of their friends didn't care about them. Who couldn't? He continued in his head

'Alya gets to have her boyfriend...Alya gets to be happy...I don't,'

Marinette isn't happy!? But-but she always seems so happy! She's always smiling and laughing! Always! He thought.

'I have no one. No one will ever love me...especially not...' she started another hysterical fit of laughter as she said, 'Adrien.'

Adrien cringed badly as he couldn't stop the memory from forcing its way out of him.

Chat Noir walked up to her and hugged her and said, to her complete shock, 'I love you, Marinette.'

She hadn't moved; hadn't lifted her arms to return the embrace, hadn't smiled, or laughed or even frowned as he hugged her. She hadn't scolded him, told him she loved him, hadn't spoken, didn't even bat an eyelash. Not a muscle in her moved as he pulled away, realising that maybe-maybe she didn't like him at all-maybe he was a fool. He was a fool. He couldn't stop his features from showing the sadness that enveloped him, engulfed him-not even his mask could-as he looked at her silent, stunned face and then jumped off the roof, making his escape from the embarrassment and shame.

She doesn't love me.

When he'd gotten home, all he could think was "bed." Bed, bed, bed.

When he got to his bed, he untransformed, and fell onto it, not bothering to remove his fancier-than-normal clothes.

Plagg appeared and sighed in disgust as he said, 'not another one of your brooding sessions. I remember the last one, when you were turned by the dark cupid,' Plagg cringed, 'that one lasted centuries,' he said as he emphasised a shiver running cold down his back.

Adrien didn't respond to his unsupportive friend. Friend, I don't even know if I should call him that! He thought. And he would've felt angry, if he hadn't been so devoid of any emotions.

Plagg sighed again, as he set off around the room, likely hunting down Camembert.

Adrien hadn't moved a muscle, lying with his back on the bed, facing the ceiling, when, having not found any cheese, Plagg flew back to him.

'You know, if you want to actually continue these night-time visits to the "love of your life,"' Plagg said mockingly, 'you need to supply me with Camembert.'

Adrien finally moved, still ridden with grief and embarrassment, as he turned to glared at his friend, and said, 'I don't want to do "these night-time visits to the "love of my life", Plagg!' he quietly shouted.

Plagg wasn't unsettled by his outburst as he shrugged and flew off, out of the bedroom, in search of his precious camembert.

Adrien pulled a face of disgust at his Kwami's lack of support and sympathy, and had to resist the urge to pull a vulgar gesture with his right hand.

Then suddenly, he stood up, threw off his clothes, putting his normal ones on roughly and quickly, grabbed a jacket from his bed, and climbed out the window, leaving behind Plagg, leaving behind the hell that was his home.

Emotions began to stir in him as he stormed down the street, pulling the black hoody on over him to disguise him into the night.

He walked down to the river, and walked along the bridge, each step, his humiliation turned to anger, and his hopelessness turned to despair.

If she doesn't love Chat Noir, there is no way in hell, she'll ever love me!

Suddenly, he started running, anger taking control of his body, and he kept running, just kept going, until every muscle in him started to burn with agony; until every breath felt like knives in his lungs; until the cold wind, and his tears-tears, for god's sake-burned his eyes, and he could feel them rolling down his cheeks.

He turned back around, shoving his hands angrily into the pockets of his jumper, and walked back to the bridge, back to the river.

When he got to the bridge he walked to the edge, moving out of the way of the car that now flew past in a blur of dark silver, and stopped walking. He stared at the edge.

And then he got on top of it.