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“Father, I can’t—”
“I see no reason why you can’t do this photoshoot,” his father interrupted him. Adrien’s blood was ice-cold. “You will be awake by seven, and in the car by nine. I will have Nathalie wake you up.”
“But I’ve felt really sick today and I—” He cut himself off, swallowing around the tightness in his throat.
“This is not a discussion, Adrien. You’re dismissed.” His father looked away from him and back at his computer monitor and something stirring inside him wanted to smash everything in the room and scream until someone finally listened to him. He tempered it down and muttered out a Yes, Father from between clenched teeth. He slipped out the door and up the stairs as his feelings bubbled up inside him and he felt like he was reaching a boiling point and there was nothing he could do because his father was turning the stove up hotter and hotter. His face burned with frustration as he shut the door to his room with more force than usual.
“Plagg, cl—” His voice cracked. This was ridiculous. He couldn’t cry right now. He didn’t need to cry. He just needed to bounce from rooftop to rooftop and burn off some steam and work things out in his head and everything would be fine when he got home. Hopefully.
“Are you okay?” Plagg asked, his usual sarcasm absent from his voice.
“I’m fine. Plagg, claws out.”
Chat Noir transformed and jumped out his window, landing on the ground and taking off running, through the gates and up onto the roof of a nearby building. Once he ran until his powers couldn’t mask the aching in his legs he should feel okay.
He’d done a million photoshoots, worried himself sick over each one for years, and now he’d asked to miss just one and all he got was his father dismissing him. Dismissing him, voice cold, mouth pressed into a thin line. As if Adrien were a bug buzzing around his office, as if he’d left his flyswatter in another room.
The stress of trying to talk to his father had made him sick to his stomach but he tried to ignore it, vaulting from one rooftop to another, occasionally noticing windows opening and heads peering out at him when a civilian was curious as to what was going on.
He missed his jump; he landed on both feet on the pavement, but he’d missed his jump anyway. All this and he couldn’t make a jump he’d done a thousand times. He extended his staff and got back on the roof and pushed himself up and kept running.
It was a beach-themed photoshoot, but maybe they’d let him wear his button up and maybe nobody’s eyes would linger too long. Maybe he’d open the comments on the Gabriel Instagram page and they’d all be normal and not nauseating. In general, he didn’t like seeing millions of people share their opinions about him every time he opened his phone. But it was worse in the summer.
The first summer he’d modeled summer clothes and swimwear he’d had no clue the type of things the posts about him would say. It was the first time he’d realized how completely out of control he was when it came to himself and his body and who people thought he was. Like he was a product to be sold on shelves rather than a real person. He still remembered the gross feeling that lingered on his skin for days after reading through tweets about him. Sometimes he could still feel it.
He’d been shown what he’d be wearing for the shoot in the morning; swim shorts ($64.99) and a towel ($13.99 or 3 for $39) around his neck. He’d make around $200 for his troubles — he was worth approximately two pairs of swim shorts and five towels.
Adrien could wear that to the pool and be fine. He could not wear it on the internet and magazines and billboards because he knew, now, how people talked about him. He wished he could hide away forever so nobody would ever look at him again. But what would Gabriel be without its golden boy?
He wished he could just say no to it all. His father had barely let him finish a full sentence about it. He would fake sick but his father would know he was lying and Adrien didn’t want to know how he would react. Maybe he could just ask the photographers to cancel the shoot. But word would get around the way word always got around and again, his father would find out through the grapevine before too long.
Sometimes, he considered hurting himself badly enough that he wouldn’t be able to model anymore. A scar so obvious they wouldn’t want to bother photoshopping it out. He couldn’t shake the idea.
His staff rang and he looked at it in confusion for a split second before seeing that it was Ladybug calling. He noticed the time as well: nearly midnight, though he could’ve sworn he left the house at nine. Had he been gone that long? He stopped on the roof of a church, semi-shielded from the world by the fence around the roof and a row of plants in rectangular planters, and picked up the call.
“Hi, m’lady,” he said, trying and failing to put some energy into the words.
“Chat Noir? I saw you running back and forth earlier, are you… okay?”
“I’m…” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat. He couldn’t lie to her. He couldn’t tell her the truth. “I’ll be okay.”
“Where are you?”
“It’s fine, my lady, don’t worry about me.”
“Too late, kitty. Where are you?”
He knew he couldn’t get her to give up. “I’m by the river, on the roof of that church near where André was the other day?”
“I’ll be there in five minutes or so, okay?” The softness in her voice made his heart ache. He wasn’t sure he was deserving of the warmth it sparked in his chest.
“Okay, my lady.” He paused. “Thank you.”
“Anything for you, kitty. I mean that. See you soon, okay?”
“Okay,” he said. He ended the call and sighed, running a hand through his hair. What the hell was he going to tell her? The truth? That he was Adrien Agreste, and his father was working him to the bone with shoot after shoot, that the way he was objectified by the fans and the critics of the Gabriel brand was unbearable?
Or a lie. That he just had an off day, and he thought he saw an akuma, and the gentleness he’d heard in her voice was better off saved for someone who wasn’t him. Someone stronger, braver, someone who could hold it together. Anyone else. Maybe a half-truth. He’d had a fight with his dad, but it would be fine, and he just needed to blow off steam.
Or maybe he should run. Maybe he should run while he still could, maybe he could get far away from here. He could get to Versailles before she showed up if he really put his mind to it. He could just run, leave everything behind, never have to deal with any of this.
Except he would. He could run to Versailles, hell, he could run to the other side of the world, and none of it would matter, because he would have to come back with his tail between his legs and apologize and get back to saving Paris and posing for photoshoots. The thought did absolutely nothing to soothe the anxiety. He was trapped in the life his father had built for him and all the situations he’d found himself a part of. He couldn’t run. Not from Ladybug, not from the photoshoot, not from his father.
He could barely even think clearly enough to remember what he was upset about anymore. Everything. The enormity of it all. Being Chat Noir, saving Paris, loving Ladybug, being Adrien, his fucking math test, being the son of Gabriel Agreste, his mother, himself. The Chinese lesson he would probably miss, the scolding look from Nathalie when he did. The dinner he’d eaten alone. The years of dinners he’d eaten alone, with his father in the next room, even when he begged him to spend time with him. Begged him for attention like a dog begging for a treat.
His head was ringing.
Over the ringing he heard the footsteps of Ladybug walking towards him. He turned to look at her. Some of her hair had fallen free of her pigtails and in front of her face. Some small part of him wished he could tuck it behind her ears for her, wondered if she’d blush at his fingers brushing her skin. Mostly, though, he felt anxious. Like his ribcage was a vice grip and his heart and his lungs couldn’t quite expand, like he should be gasping for breath.
“Hi, mon chaton,” she said, gently, voice quiet. She sat down next to him, mirroring his position. Her knee brushed against his.
“Hi, my lady,” he responded. It almost sounded more like a question than a greeting.
“So. What’s going on? Are you okay?” she asked.
He leaned his head back against the wall. “It’s… well. It’s just.” He felt his eyes stinging with tears. “God, I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”
“Hey, you’re okay,” Ladybug said. She held out her arms to invite him into a hug and he fell into them, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face in her shoulder. He was fully sobbing now, mumbling apologies through panicked breaths, trying unsuccessfully to control himself.
Ladybug held him and ran her fingers through his hair and Adrien tried to calm down. Tried to think about anything other than the mess he’d gotten himself into by begging his dad not to go, how he’d show up tomorrow morning and he wouldn’t have the strength to say he didn’t want to do this anymore and how he hadn’t felt like his body was his own since he started modeling. And how he was sobbing into Ladybug’s shoulder still, how his breath caught and how he tried to keep himself quiet without even thinking about it, and how she was probably annoyed with him, and how she was probably going to leave, and how everyone always left, and how his father didn’t love him, and how he was being forced to go to that fucking photoshoot.
His head hurt, and he was dizzy, and he mumbled more apologies, the words tripping off his tongue without him quite knowing what he was saying.
“Hey, it’s okay. You’re okay, kitty.” She kept running her fingers through his hair. He was slightly more aware of his body now, how his knees were pressed uncomfortably into the rough concrete of the roof, how his neck was in a weird position, how Ladybug was still holding him, how he still had that fucking photoshoot to deal with.
He moved his face back from her shoulder and she looked at him with so much care it made his heart ache. She reached up and cupped his cheek, wiping at his tears with her thumb. “Kitty. Mon minou.”
“My lady,” he said, taking a shaky breath.
“You don’t have to tell me anything, but I’m worried about you,” she said. He looked down at the ground and she moved her hand from his cheek to hold his hand.
“It’s got to do with my civilian life, so I have to be vague,” he started hesitantly.
“That’s okay,” she said, and he took another stuttering breath.
“It’s been a bad night,” he said. He was nervously wrapping his tail-belt around his fingers, unwinding it and rewinding it again. “It’s been a bad couple months. Years, really. But, um. I had to talk to my father today about something, which stresses me out a lot because he isn’t, the best, and I. I guess I just freeze up and I feel like I can’t talk, and it’s hard to talk about him, too, and.” There it was again, near-immediately, that throat-closing-up feeling. With the hand that wasn’t in Ladybug’s, he tugged at the neck of his shirt as though it would help.
“He has… an event planned tomorrow. And I don’t want to go to it for… reasons, but, um. I can’t think of a way to get out of it. And I’m scared,” he said, and his voice cracked on the last word. “I tried to tell him I was sick, but he didn’t believe me, and… I can’t go, but if I skip it, he’ll be mad, and I don’t know what he’ll — I don’t know what he’ll do.”
Ladybug took a breath. “Are you… safe, being with your father?”
He hesitated; it was enough of an answer.
“Fuck,” she said. He couldn’t look at her. “How can I help? Can I help? We don’t have a spare bed but I have a spare couch at home if you need.”
“I don’t — I don’t think I can leave,” he said. “I think it’d make things worse. He’d find me. But I don’t want to stay, either. I don’t know what to do.”
She opened her mouth to say something and paused. “Do you need comfort right now, or advice, or both?”
“Comfort, mostly,” he said. Mostly he just wanted her to wrap her arms around him again and hold him until he didn’t feel like he was falling apart, but he couldn’t say that. “Can I…can I talk about things for a moment?”
“Of course,” she said. She intertwined her fingers with his. “I’m here for you.”
He took a breath and tried to fight the impulse to run, to say Nevermind, it’s nothing, it’ll be fine, to lie and joke and squirm his way out of saying anything too genuine. “I… the event we have is… I’m sorry, it’s hard to explain without saying too much. Um, but it puts me in a place where a lot of people share their thoughts about me and a lot of them are weird about it. To say the least. And I don’t really have a choice in it. And I can’t say no to my father because I freeze up and when I don’t he just, dismisses me, and it takes too much effort to bother trying, I guess.”
“I’m sorry, chaton,” she said, gaze full of concern and affection, as if he was something worth looking at that way. He looked away again.
“Thank you, my lady. It’s just a lot, and it feels like I don’t really have control over, um, what happens to me. And it’s… A lot to hold.”
“Let me hold it with you,” she said, earnest, and he squeezed her hand, leaning over to bump his head into her shoulder like a cat. She moved her free hand to pet behind his ears for a second.
He sighed, brushed his hair out of his eyes. “It’s just, there’s a lot of people who I’ve never met and never will meet who hate me, and there’s a lot of people who like me, maybe too much. And, I’m fourteen — sorry, identities or whatever — I’m fourteen and it’s just too much to deal with. And at least when I’m Chat Noir it’s an escape from my civilian self. I can be silly and joke around and also help people and I don’t have to worry about upholding my father’s image.”
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I… can’t say I fully understand, I’m definitely more confident when I’m Ladybug, but. It’s usually mostly stressful for me. Not this,” she gestured between the two of them, “I like this part. But when I take off the mask, that’s the real me. I can’t imagine how stressed I’d have to be in my civilian life for being a superhero to feel like an escape.”
“Yeah.” He nodded, not sure what to say. He wasn’t good at this, at talking about his feelings. “I try not to think about it, ‘cause it makes me sad, but. Maybe that hasn’t been working.”
“I think it’s good for you to talk about it,” she said. “Like, avoiding it all doesn’t seem to be working, no offense.” He let out a soft noise that was more breath than laugh. “Also. You mentioned being fourteen — don’t worry about keeping our identities secret or whatever right now. I care about you more than I care about that, okay? It’s okay.”
He thought about making a joke. Are you paw-sitively sure about that? He didn’t. Instead, he nodded, gaze still on the ground.
“I’m fourteen too,” she said. She took a breath, slightly shaky. “This is a lot for us to deal with.”
“How do you deal with it all?” He asked, his voice coming out quieter and more vulnerable than he’d meant it to. “I mean, you’re the Guardian. You’ve got a lot more to deal with and you’re still holding it together, from what I can tell.”
“Honestly? Anti-anxiety medication. And art. Being able to just calm down and focus on what I’m making is really nice. And to be fair, I’m not doing great, but I’ve got the kwamis and my family and friends. And I’ve got you.”
“You’ll always have me, my lady,” he said, and she smiled softly at him before he continued, “But I wish things were different. I wish we got to meet each other in school or something like normal kids, you know?”
“Yeah.” She rested her head against his shoulder and he took in a surprised breath before leaning his cheek against the top of her head. “Is all this super fucking scary to you, too? Because it is to me.”
“It’s terrifying,” he said, the admission quiet in the night air. “I always end up thinking, what if this is the time something happens to you and I can’t… and I can’t save you.”
“Me too,” she said. “I don’t want to lose you, Chat Noir.” There was a hint of desperation in her voice. Something in it broke him a little bit.
“I don’t want to lose you, either, my Lady.”
“If you could give it up right now,” she asked, “No repercussions, knowing someone else could fill the role. Would you?”
“I wouldn’t,” he said immediately. He couldn’t give it up. The escape. Ladybug. Having a purpose. It was all too important.
“I think about it a lot,” she said. “It’s so, so much. And this is so much bigger than we are. But I couldn’t give it up either. I’m Ladybug. It’s part of me now. I don’t know how I could go back to being who I was. And, plus, I’d miss you.”
The way she said she’d miss him was so matter-of-fact, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. He felt tears pricking at his eyes again before he could understand why. He supposed it was the certainty in her voice. It made sense — they were Ladybug and Chat Noir. There was never one without the other.
“I would miss you too,” he said around the sudden lump in his throat. It came out far shakier than he would’ve liked. Ladybug moved to look at him, cupping his face in her hands.
“Hey, I’m here,” she said. And she was here, and here was the cold concrete underneath the gray night sky, here was right next to Ladybug with her hand on his cheek. “I’m here.”
“What if something happened to you and I didn’t know?” He hadn’t meant to say it but the words tumbled out of his mouth anyway. “What if one day we meet up for patrol and you’re not there and I never see you again? And I never find out what happened or if you’re okay and I have to do this alone?” His voice got quieter as he spoke, and faster, as though he were trying to get it all out as quickly as possible. Like ripping off a bandaid. He hid his face in her shoulder, squeezing his eyes as if it’d force the tears back in. She wrapped her arms around him as best she could given their position.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled. “It’s just a really bad day, and I don’t want to lose you, and.” He cut himself off. He needed to pull himself together. He took a trembling breath.
“It’s okay, kitty.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for. “I can’t lose you too, I…” He needed to calm down, he needed to stop talking. He needed to stop breaking down in Ladybug’s arms as if she could hold him together. Nothing could hold him together at this point. He couldn’t expect her to.
She held him anyway. She ran her fingers through his hair and let him cry into her shoulder and he tried to ignore the fear that she would decide he was too much. He ignored everything in him telling him to leave, to sit up and wipe his eyes and smile and pretend he was fine. He would going to collapse from the exhaustion of pretending. He let himself cry until he calmed down again, though his breaths still shook.
“I know it wouldn’t solve everything,” Ladybug said, her voice quiet. Maybe there was a slight tremble to it, or maybe he was imagining it. “But what if we got burner phones so we could talk while we’re not transformed? And check in so we know everything’s okay?”
He nodded against her shoulder. “That’s smart. I, um, I would like that.”
“Okay,” she said. “We’ll do that.”
The words I love you burned at the tip of his tongue. He’d told her a thousand times and been rejected each time but he wanted to tell her again and again. Wanted her to know everything she meant to him.
He bit his tongue.
Instead, he said, “I can buy them tomorrow. I have to go to the store anyway.”
“I’ll pay you back,” she promised, but he responded, “No, it’s okay, it’s my father’s money.”
She let out a soft half-breath half-laugh. “You sure?”
“Mhm.” God, he was tired. His neck was starting to hurt but he wouldn’t give up the feeling of her fingers running through his hair for anything. He wanted to stay here forever.
“You’re purring,” she said. He hadn’t noticed the low humming until she pointed it out. “My kitty.”
There it was again, the I love you at the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t tell her, though. He couldn’t ruin this, not now. Not ever. She scratched at the base of his cat ears.
He wished he could spend the rest of his life in Ladybug’s arms. He wished he could spend the rest of his life with her. They could have a little apartment and brightly colored decorations and he’d never feel scared to come home. Maybe she’d hold him like this every time he had a bad day, maybe they could drop the masks and be happy.
But not now. Now, he had to go home. If it could even be called that. Home, where his footsteps echoed on tile floors and the thermostat was always slightly too cold and his father’s pancakes tasted nearly as bitter as the way he spoke to him. Where he’d have to be Adrien again, teenage model, compliant son, barely capable of standing up to his father, slipping up the stairs while every cell in his body burned to turn back around and scream at his father to just fucking listen to him.
“I wish I didn’t have to go home tonight,” he said.
Her hand stilled for a second, then continued petting him. “We could sleep here, if you want?”
“Oh— I’m just complaining, you don’t have to—” he stumbled over his words.
“No, it’s okay. I don’t mind at all. Would you be able to? With your father and everything?”
“I mean… I told my father I was sick, and I could text Na— his assistant and say that I went to give a friend homework they missed and felt too sick to come back?” He said, hesitantly. He really had just been complaining, but he wasn’t going to turn down the opportunity to stay away from the mansion for a little while longer. If he was lucky she would cancel his appointments and spare him his father’s anger.
“That makes sense to me,” Ladybug said. “Do you want to sleep here?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding. “That would be really nice, yeah.”
They didn’t sleep outside often; between the cold night air, the cold concrete of the roof, their kwamis running low on energy, and Nathalie wondering where he was, and, presumably, Ladybug’s parents wondering about her, it was usually only nights where patrols ran late and they didn’t want to wake their parents climbing through back windows. But the times they did, Adrien slept better than usual. He always felt better knowing she was there, that she was okay.
“I can get blankets and pillows,” she said.
“But then you’ll have to leave me,” he complained, mostly joking.
“I’ll have to leave anyway to feed Tikki, remember? And you have to text your dad’s assistant. But I’ll be right back.” She ruffled his hair.
“I guess,” he said, drawing out the end of the word, and she scratched behind his ears again. Briefly, he imagined trying to explain his and Ladybug’s relationship to an outsider. This is my best friend. We fight supervillains together and she pets me like a cat. No, I don’t know her name. This is, by far, the best part of my life at the moment.
“Okay. I can be back in 10 or so minutes, all right?”
“All right,” he nodded, and she got up, pushing herself up off the roof and grabbing her yo-yo. He watched as she zipped off into the Paris sky, her motions practiced, the sight familiar.
“Plagg, claws in,” he said, and his disgruntled kwami opened his mouth to speak, but Adrien pulled a piece of cheese out of his shirt pocket, distracting him from his complaints. He let out a heavy sigh and pulled his phone out of his back pocket.
adrien: hey Nathalie, went to give a friend homework for tomorrow but i’m feeling really sick so i’m staying the night
nathalie: All right. I can pick you up in the morning if needed. I will clear your schedule for tomorrow as I expect you may still feel unwell in the morning.
adrien: thank you
nathalie: Good night, Adrien
adrien: goodnight Nathalie :)
He sighed with relief, though the feeling didn’t last long. The anxiety was creeping its way back into his body again, tensing his muscles, clenching his jaw. He was running away again. Like he always did. But he had to, he couldn’t have done that photoshoot, he couldn’t bring himself to go through it again. He wondered if there would ever be a day where running away didn’t need to be the first contingency plan in his back pocket.
He put his palms flat on the rough surface of the roof, the cold grounding him somewhat. He couldn’t spiral again, not now that he’d almost calmed down. “Plagg, claws out,” he said, and transformed, casting a green light around the area. He was fine. Ladybug would be back any second now, and he’d be okay.
As if she knew he’d thought of her, he saw her silhouette bouncing between rooftops. She made her way towards him and dropped herself onto the roof, reaching into her yo-yo and pulling out a blanket, an action very reminiscent of a magician pulling scarves from their hat. She reached in again and pulled out a second one.
“Hi,” she said, gathering up the blankets in her arms. She bent down to wrap one around his shoulders before sitting next to him, the other blanket bunched in her lap. The blanket around his shoulders was a warm patchwork quilt made with scraps mostly of red and white and yellow fabric. He pulled it tighter around him and watched as she reached into her yo-yo again. He couldn’t hide his giggles as she struggled to pull two pillows out of her yo-yo.
“Stop laughing at me,” she whined.
“But why? It’s so much fun,” he responded.
She shot him a playful glare and adjusted her grip on the yo-yo to pull the second pillow out. “I’m never giving you wet food again. Dry food only.”
“You would do that to me?” He gave her his best pathetic-stray-cat-expression and smothered his grin. “Me? Chat Noir?”
“Especially to you, yes.”
“Your kitty cat? Your favorite stray cat who was born in a wet cardboard box all alone?”
“Yes.” She tried to give him a withering look. The effect was dampened by the amusement in her eyes. She reached back into the yo-yo one more time to pull out, after much struggle, a third blanket, a huge comforter that she shook out for them to lie down on.
“Fine. I’ll run away and make a life for myself in the sewers catching rats, then.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Gross.”
“And then,” he said, not trying to hide his grin anymore, “I’ll bring some back to you, as a token of my affection.” He leaned towards her with a shit-eating grin and she shoved him away lightly.
“Ew. Don’t say that ever again. I don’t want your dead rats.”
“They’re gifts,” he said.
“Most girls are fine with flowers.”
“What kind of flowers, specifically?”
She squinted suspiciously at him. “Why do you need to know?”
“Reasons,” he said, already considering searching for florists near me on his staff.
Ladybug shook her head, but she smiled fondly at him regardless. “I like buttercups, I guess, why, kitty? Planning something?”
“Honestly, I didn’t think I’d get this far,” he joked. “While I’m at it, want to have a candlelit dinner sometime?”
She was still smiling as she said, “You’re pushing your luck.”
“No I’m not.” He shoved her gently, and she gave him a baffled look. “Now I’m pushing my luck. Get it, because you’re Ladybug, and — luck —”
“It’s past your bedtime,” Ladybug said. She shoved a pillow into his arms. “Go to sleep.”
“Was that joke really that bad?”
“Yes,” she deadpanned. She shook out her blanket and let it settle over her lap. “But it’s also late, and you need to get some sleep so you can think of better jokes in the morning.”
“Meow-ch,” he said, but he put his pillow down and flopped down onto it. “You’re not even gonna tuck me in? Read me a bedtime story?”
“You’re insufferable,” Ladybug said, but she reached over and pulled the blanket up to his chin. She paused for a half-second, hesitating, and then leaned down to kiss him on the temple. He blushed, staring at her as she diligently refused eye contact to lie down and pull her blanket up and around her shoulders. He was about to melt into the roof with the warmth of everything he felt for her.
“Thank you, by the way,” he said, voice half-mumbled. “For letting me talk, and stuff. And sorry for crying on you.”
She shifted, rolling over onto her side to face him. “You don’t have to be sorry for that. You’re my partner, I want to be there for you. It’s okay, my love.” She seemed to realize what she’d said the second she said it but it was too late for her to un-say it and Adrien was letting the pet name bounce around in his brain again and again, letting the words echo in his ears. My love.
Ladybug’s cheeks were as red as her mask as she stammered out apologies. “I didn’t — um — I wasn’t thinking, I didn’t, um. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he said. It was more than okay. He would give everything he had for her to call him her love for the rest of his life.
“I was just —”
“Please, my lady. I don’t mind.”
“Okay,” she said, cheeks still burning, clearly pushing down another apology. He wondered if she could see his blush in the ambient light of the city.
“Good night, my lady,” he said, letting the moment go even as the words still echoed in his mind.
“Goodnight, kitty cat,” she responded, her eyes fluttering closed, and Chat Noir stared up at the stars, a soft smile on his face despite the dried tears on his cheeks and the blurriness of his vision leftover from all the crying.
My love.
