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Adrien Agreste sat in his room and looked at the group chat.The smiling faces of his friends beamed up at him from profile pictures. His own was simply a blurry picture from his most recent photo shoot.He tapped the keyboard. "I want to kill myself"He paused and stared at it. His finger shook over the 'send' button.He deleted it, paused, re-typed it, then saved it to his drafts."Tired."He clicked send.There. Still the same sort of meaning. Just that their ininterpretation would be different from his intention.Their icon rims flicker to green. They're online. Just at one message he sends? 'They care too much.' he thinks, and hates himself for it, because of course they care, and it's selfish of him to think otherwise.He wonders what would happen if he broke his phone. Just said "Tired." and then never responded after that.Would they understand? Would they realise what he really meant?He stared wistfully at the sky beyond his window before setting his phone down and fiddling with his ring.Plagg makes some sort of noise, but he's already slipped the miraculous off to set it on his bed.He wondered what would happen if he just jumped out the window now. Would he regret it the moment his feet left the sill, as many survivors attested? Would he not care anymore, would he be happy he did it? Who would find him, Nathalie?...Dad?He pulled out lined paper. Wrote 'people who would care' at the top. Scribbled it out. Rewrote it. Wanted to tear the paper apart. Split it into two sections; 'Would' and 'Wouldn't'Without thinking, he moved to the 'wouldn't' section, almost instinctively. Writes 'Dad' and 'Nathalie' and 'Mum' before freezing and staring in horror at what he's wrote.His phone buzzed. He picked it up and saw a notification from the group chat. Bile rose in his throat. He sent a 'going to bed early' without looking at chat before turning his phone off.He wondered what would happen if he said the same everyday. "I'm tired.'Would people care? Would they catch on?He scribbled out 'Mum' from the 'Wouldn't' aisle before staring at the paper and shaking, almost crying."She can't care, technically" he managed, before running to his bin and throwing up.The bile shreds his throat. It doesn't help. He still wants to claw away his insides for even thinking it.His dad never said it explicitly, but Adrien could tell. Knew. Dead, Dead, DEAD.He imagines Ladybug next to him, as he normally does to feel better, but this time he shoves his fingers down his throat and throws up again and again until he feels skinned raw because he can only imagine his lady's eyes full of pity and mockery, being condescendingly patted on the back, smirks hidden behind polite raised hands as he poured his heart out."Keep smiling, Chaton. Smile" he breathed into the mirror, desperate for the image before him to shape into what everyone wants him to be, and felt himself crumble as his reflection didn't respond.