(i wrote our boy being overdramatic @mostmagical @xhanisai @graythegreyt)
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"Okay, and if everything developed as it was supposed to..." Adrien muttered to himself, slowly taking off the plastic bag he'd wrapped around his hair, "...It should look..."
Adrien studied his reflection in the mirror. He was right; It did look. BAD.
He went to fish the box the hair dye came in out of the trash, just to check for sure. Indeed, they looked nothing similar: The box showed what looked like a subdued strawberry blonde, and the mirror showed an orange that wouldn't be out of place in a construction zone.
"This is fine," he said to himself, gritting his teeth. "...Nothing washing some of the dye out can't fix."
So, Adrien bent over his bathroom sink and began to scrub at his roots like his life depended on it, because in that moment it felt like it very much did. Buckets and buckets worth of bright, kindergarden-crayon-orange seeped into the sink's drain, until it finally gave way to an only slightly better highlighter-orange shade of runoff dye.
After that good 5 minutes of "fixing it", Adrien looked back to his reflection in the mirror. No change, aside from his mouth falling open in abject horror.
"Oh god, no no no no—"
Looking to his hands brought him no comfort, as they now were stained just as orange, like he was the Lady Macbeth of shoving his hands up a jack-o-lantern's ass. And just as Lady Macbeth experienced, no amount of scrubbing would rid his hands of the "damned spot"—one which covered the entirety of his palms and fingers.
A squeaky voice echoed from behind him—One who'd clearly been watching this spectacle the entire time. "Looks like you missed auburn big ti—"
"YOU'RE NOT HELPING!" Adrien shouted back, letting the sink still run—the dye wasn't even willing to part from its ring around the drain, it seemed. Adrien nearly buried his face in his hands, before he stopped himself from spreading the horrid disease further. "God, my father's going to come back from the dead just to kill me for this. —I can't go out looking like this!"
"Luka Couffaine goes out with dyed hair all the time."
"Luka Couffaine does not look like a fucking papaya, Plagg!" Adrien collapsed over his sink, debating whether or not this mistake was worth taking up teenage alcoholism. "I can hear it already.... I'll be called 'Orange Boy' for the rest of my life..... I just wanted to not be blonde anymore, and look at me," he whined, "I'm a disgrace!"
"At worst you look like a fruit!" Plagg replied. "And everybody already knew that about you."
If Plagg had shoulders to grab, Adrien would have done so, just to violently shake him. Maybe rub off some horrible mango-colored hue on his body too, just to impart upon the kwami some of his misery.
"...God," he lamented. "I have to tell Marinette... Warn her about what I've done to myself."
