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Adrien thought he was fine. He was fine. Things were difficult and hard to accept, and he was starting to question his upbringing and if it was really fine that he was so isolated. He was questioning a lot of things about himself, too. But he was getting better. He was slowly coming into himself and learning to be someone other than his father’s son. He was exploring new things and new fashions. He even finally got to be friends with Marinette and spend more time with her without her being intimidated by him and stuttering so much! Not that he hated the stuttering, it was cute, Adrien just didn’t want her to be uncomfortable with him. The stuttering was a sign that she was frightened of him, right? It made sense after his less-than-stellar first introduction. But now she didn’t stutter much around him, so she had to be more comfortable.
He was also still getting used to being Ameillé, and being on a full team of miraculous users. For about a year it had been just him and Ladybug— don’t get him wrong, he was still grateful to not wield the black cat anymore. And he was very pleased to not be the only one watching Ladybug’s back. It was a massive relief that he had three other heroes to keep her safe so she could strategize. Also? Ameillé got to fly, and that was an experience he would never get tired of.
Bottom line, things were difficult and different, but he was fine.
Though, as said, he was still questioning some things. He’d discovered pretty recently that he’d apparently been repressing some painful childhood memories, and figuring that out had been key in Adrien starting to question of the way Father had been bringing him up was really a good thing. If this was a healthy environment. He didn’t want to believe his father was some cartoony villain like in the movies, that forbade their children from doing anything independent. He wanted to believe there was still good in the man who raised him.
So sometime after Marinette and Luka’s birthday, Adrien found himself taking out the blue scarf Father got him for his birthday and thumbing at the stitching pattern. It was a lovingly made, and a very well made scarf. There was a lot of work put into it; It looked hand sewn. Father must have made it himself right? He wouldn’t have made it if he was really all that bad. There had to be some good still in him, even if his actions were questionable. Maybe, just maybe, he could talk this out.
But then he realized the stitch pattern in his scarf was a signature. A signature of someone other than his father.
‘MDC’.
Adrien remembered very clearly Marinette’s words from the hat contest. ‘I stitch my signature into everything I make so that no one can plagiarize me.’
‘Maybe it was commissioned?’ Said the part of him that desperately wanted to believe in his father. But that couldn’t be, because for one thing, Marinette wasn’t taking commissions back then. For another, why would father commission Marinette when at that time he had never even heard of her? No, that couldn’t be it. It couldn’t be as innocent as that. There was only one explanation.
Father plagiarized Marinette’s work. Or worse, he took credit from Marinette and let Adrien think the scarf was from him. And that would track, because Adrien always thought it strange that he didn’t get a gift from her at all that year. It was part of why he thought she didn’t like him. But if this was the case… that would make a lot more sense.
Adrien had told his father before that he loved the scarf, that it was his favorite gift from him. Father very much knew about it’s existence. But Father never protested or said it wasn’t from him. So why would he do that?! Why would he plagiarize from Adrien’s friend?! Why would he plagiarize at all?!
“My Monarch?” Pollen spoke up, worried.
Adrien’s chest felt tight, and his head was pounding with millions of thoughts, all at once, each one making him feel like he couldn’t breathe. He was spiraling. And he knew it. Instead of answering, he took out the disguised comb from his hair and hid it in a box where he kept his very few accessories. Because he knew he was panicking and he didn’t know how to fix it. He knew he wasn’t going to make it out of this.
He knew that Hawk Moth would never waste an opportunity like this.
Adrien just couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘why.’ Why would father do this, why would he lie to Adrien like this, why didn’t he give him a proper gift at all this year?!
…Did his father even care about his birthday? Did Father even care about him at all?
He felt the butterfly land on the scarf before he heard it.
“Siren… Looks like you’ve finally realized that your father doesn’t care about your feelings, or about you— that you’re not good enough for him. You’re too flawed and too broken to ever be the child he wants.” Hawkmoth spoke into his ear, voice deep and sympathetic.
“I’m not good enough for anyone. Everyone I love I hurt. I’m too stupid, too awful, I make too many mistakes—“ Adrien gripped his hair, spiraling more.
“But I don’t think that. I’m not like your father. I think you’re good enough. And I think you could be one of my most powerful akumas yet. Because you don’t have to be good enough. Change the world to fit you, Siren. Or better yet, I’ll give you the power to make this city into your very own world where you can stay forever in the fantasy that you could ever be loved. All you have to do in return is lure Ladybug and Malchatceux into your world and take their miraculous from them. And in exchange, you get to rewrite this memory and all of the other painful ones you have stashed away in your mind.”
He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to. But could he really trust himself to do better? He could always mess up later, just as he did as Chat Noir. Maybe it was better that he just gave in.
After all, he was already a failure. A failure of a son, a failure of a friend, and a failure of a partner. A good person wouldn’t have gotten akumatized at all. A good person wouldn’t be so weak to break down over a scarf. Adrien tried to ignore it, but he knew deep down he was a weak person and a failure. He was broken. A puzzle piece forced into the wrong slot. A person who stared in the mirror and hated what stared back.
Which meant that of course he would take any chance to stop feeling like that. Because he was weak, and he always would be.
“I’ll do it, Hawkmoth.”