Trigger warnings – Self harm and suicidal thoughts.

Such a small knife it was, only about six inches in length, and yet it's edge was so acuminous and sharp. It was a small birthday gift from his father instead of a pen that year, and he felt guilty for using it for such sickening purposes, but he figured it was his now; so, it was his choice, his right to do whatever he wanted with it.

He swallowed hard as he unzipped his superhero suit, revealing his scarred bare biceps, his green eyes wandering over the scars, varying from pink to white, ranging from deep to shallow. It was wrong, it was so bloody wrong, what he was doing to himself; but he just couldn't make himself care. He needed it, he needed the physical pain it caused to take his mind away from his overwhelming emotions, from his problems; he needed the blood to keep his attention, his sadistic fascination.

He briefly wondered how his friends would react to this, how Ladybug would react to this, since she was partly the reason for it. It's not that he hated her for it or blamed him for it. On the contrary, Ladybug was best thing in his life, and there was nothing she could have done differently to stop this.

He did this while transformed on the rooftop of an abandoned building. Nobody would find him, and this way Plagg was unaware, because the kwami wasn't aware when Adrien was transformed, so as long as he concealed his biceps—which was achieved by his normal clothing—he was fine.

And then suddenly, his eyes grew wet, his vision became blurred, and a small sob formed inside his chest, and he slowly eased his eyes to a close, releasing his tears.

Because... because out of so many people on this Earth, why did it have to be him? Why did destiny have make him be alone and isolated? Neglected by his father and only lectured? He didn't wish it upon anyone, the pain and the loneliness. He wasn't strong enough; the gods should've known that. He couldn't bear this weight. He didn't deserve a Miraculous either, someone who did this.

And now he was holding a knife in his hands, and crying so hard he could barely breathe, and he couldn't stop; because he just wanted to end it all, despite knowing he couldn't. He wanted to be selfish, just once, because he had already given enough, and now there was no strength left in him to lose anymore.

But knew he couldn't leave his Lady to fend for herself, even though he was expendable and easily replaced, he felt the responsibility of protecting her fell to him. He couldn't leave Paris vulnerable to Hawk Moth.

So, he pushed those suicidal thoughts out of his head. He sniffed softly and swiped the back of his hand against his cheeks, and then placed the edge of the knife against his left bicep, right below a very old scar and above a slightly recent one, about a few weeks old perhaps, he wasn't sure about the exact period of time.

And he dragged the knife across his bicep.

Blood formed instantly from the newly-made cut, ruby red liquid rising above the surface of his skin, slowly trickling down the side of his arm in a thin trail. His features that were previously set in stone, vacant and impassive, were now slightly twisted in pain.

He wasn't worried about anyone seeing him. It was night and this building was abandoned, which meant nobody would be coming. It wasn't Ladybug's patrol tonight, so he was sure the beloved wouldn't need him anymore, and she would certainly not be looking for him.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Because when he began to make the next cut…

A gentle hand, encircling his upper forearm, stopped him; and then slowly steered the knife away from his skin.

He swallowed, and his wet, red-rimmed pale green eyes nervously flickered up to meet a pair of intense bluebell orbs, which belonged to none other than Ladybug.

His wide, panicked eyes quickly ducked down, staring down at Ladybug's feet.

No, no, no, no. She caught him. She saw what he was doing. Oh God, how would he ever be able to look her in the eye after what she found of him?

But then, the warmth of two fingers under his chin, lifting his head up to meet them again.

"I guess I always knew you were hiding something, Chaton." Ladybug's voice was soft, gentle, comforting even—like when she would talk to akuma victims after being purified. She never used that tone with Chat, and it was such a huge emphasis on how wrong this was, what he was doing, on how broken he was. "I just never thought it'd be this." She added, her voice now a sad whisper.

His stomach clenched at the pain in her eyes, the pity in her voice.

But he knew, somehow, he knew, there was more than just pity.

There was caring—true, honest caring.

"You never fail to surprise me." She said softly. The warmth under his chin was gone, now dropping to his shoulders.

"Whatever it is, Chat. You know you can tell me." She offered earnestly.

Chat's heart started pounding against his ribcage, his eyes filling again with tears. Her tone, the sincere desire to help in her eyes, her words that can only be spoken by a true friend, a partner; he was tempted to tell her everything, in the hopes she might accept him for who he was.

But he couldn't.

And that was why the dull ache in his heart returned, why the tears came back. Something clogged his throat, a bitter taste on his tongue, and his breaths came out shuddery. He swallowed, his face crumpling as he stared into his friend's... his partner's eyes. "I... I c-can't... can't t-te..." He was cut off by his own sob, unable to talk any further as a stream of hard, gasping sobs wracked his thin body.

Ladybug sat down beside him, "Chat, you don't need to hide something so serious as to make you do this from me." Then she realized, "Can you not tell me because it would reveal your identity?"

A shake of the head, then a nod, followed by more sobs. She gasped silently, and Chat wouldn't have heard if he didn't have superhuman hearing.

"Chaton, keeping our identities secret doesn't matter if it means you can't talk to me…I couldn't bear it if you…" she hesitated, "went too far." But he knew what she was implying.

He looked up, "T…Thank you, M'Lady…But I'm not ready—" he started crying again, partially out of mortification for being caught, and some because his Lady really did care about him. He wanted to tell her, but it just sounded stupid when he said it out loud, and he didn't want her seeing him any more differently than she would now.

And that was okay, because he didn't have to tell her. Not yet at least. Ladybug understood and respected that.

Her arms wrapped around his thin shoulders and his back, one hand on the back of his head, the other fisted against his shoulder blade, and she tugged his forehead against her collarbone, wordlessly holding him as he cried.

She slipped a piece of paper in his pocket,

"If you need me, my e-mail is on there. I will always listen, and I will never judge you."

"Thank you, Bugaboo."

A/N: Hey guys! I hope you enjoyed it, hope it wasn't too OOC—I mean, come on, that poor boy has been put through the ringer, and how else would Ladybug react to her best friend/partner/love of her life's tears and the fact that he self-harms.

Review if you want me to continue, otherwise it can just be a one-shot.