Alex didn't stumble across Adrien. He planned it.
Two days. That's how long he'd been trailing the kid — learning his rhythm, his paths, the blind spots in his life. Not to hurt him. Not yet. Just to understand.
Adrien's world was small — school, café, bookstore, home. Ava had raised a boy who didn't run from things. He stayed rooted. Anchored.
Alex hated him for it.
That morning, Adrien was at the record store near 6th — the one Ava used to take Alex to back when they were both dumb and reckless, dreaming of love that wouldn't rot.
The bell jingled overhead as Alex stepped in. His boots were heavy on the hardwood floor, his eyes already locked on the familiar silhouette hunched over the vinyl crates.
Adrien looked up before Alex could say a word.
And the contempt was immediate.
"You again," Adrien muttered. Not a question. Not surprised.
Alex offered a slow, icy smile. "Miss me?"
Adrien yanked an earbud out. "What are you doing here?"
"Just browsing," Alex said, flicking a record with mock interest. "Didn't realize I needed your permission."
Adrien stared him down, jaw tight. "You always show up where you're not wanted?"
"Funny. Your mother used to ask me the same thing."
Adrien stepped away from the vinyls, now squared in front of him.
"I know what this is," he said quietly. "You're trying to crawl back into her life through me. It's not going to work."
Alex chuckled, low and humorless. "Please. I wouldn't crawl anywhere for anyone. Least of all you."
Silence stretched. Cold and jagged.
"You've been watching us," Adrien said suddenly. "The beach. The café. School."
Alex tilted his head, impressed. "You noticed."
"I told her," Adrien said. "I told her you were stalking us."
Alex's jaw twitched. "And yet… here I am. She hasn't stopped me."
Adrien didn't rise to the bait. "She's scared of you."
"She used to love me."
"That's the same thing."
Alex's smirk faltered.
Adrien's eyes were steady now — far too old for his age. Like Ava's when she was hurting and pretending she wasn't.
"She used to cry herself to sleep," Adrien said softly. "You know that? For a whole year, I'd wake up at 2 a.m. to get water and find her on the floor with your name on her lips."
Alex looked away.
"I was eight."
His hands curled into fists.
"I watched her break. Piece by piece. And then I watched her put herself back together."
Alex's voice was gravel. "You think I don't know what I did?"
"No," Adrien snapped. "I think you do. And that's worse."
They stared at each other. One boy with a spine made of his mother's survival. One man with a soul rotted by regret.
"I didn't come here for a lecture," Alex said, stepping closer now. "I came to see what made you so damn special."
Adrien didn't move. "And?"
"You're not," Alex spat. "You're spoiled. Grumpy. Ungrateful. You snap at her. Roll your eyes. Walk ahead like she's not even there. And she still adores you."
"She's my mother."
"She was mine before she was yours."
Adrien blinked.
That was it. The crack. The ugly truth beneath it all.
Alex wasn't angry at Adrien for being rude or arrogant or loud.
He was angry that Ava loved him through all of it.
"I told her once not to feed me with her hands," Alex whispered. "Told her I wasn't a child. You let her do it. You let her. You let her take care of you without ever saying thank you."
Adrien's face changed — not in fear, not in shame. But in understanding.
"You're jealous."
Alex laughed bitterly. "You think that's some kind of revelation?"
"I think you're pathetic."
Alex's expression turned sharp.
"You hate me because she stayed for me," Adrien said, voice flat. "Because she didn't flinch when I raised my voice. Because she didn't cry when I walked away. Because she never left."
"She shouldn't love you," Alex hissed. "You're just like me."
Adrien didn't deny it.
"But she isn't like she was with you," he said. "That's the difference. She's better. Because she learned. Because she escaped."
Alex stared at him like he could burn him to dust.
And then —
"You don't deserve her," Alex said, voice trembling with fury. "And she gives you everything. She stays. She forgives. She laughs when you're cruel. I gave her flowers, she gave me silence. You give her sarcasm, and she gives you the fucking sun."
Adrien's voice dropped.
"Maybe she gave up on you because she realized you didn't want to be saved."
Alex's mouth parted, like he might say something. But nothing came out.
"Don't come near her again," Adrien said. "Don't come near me."
Alex didn't move.
He just looked at the boy who had everything he wanted — not money, not power, not respect.
But Ava's love. Ava's smile. Ava's loyalty, even on the bad days.
And with a final look, a storm boiling behind his eyes, Alex turned and left.
But the air he left behind crackled with danger.
Because hate like that doesn't disappear.
It waits.
And Adrien just became the reflection he never asked for.