{un malheur ne vient jamais seul}

thanks for being patient lovelies. wait for me. <3]

That’s mad creepy, Chloe.

The rooftops are their home, their freedom, the place where they need to be nothing but themselves. (Heroic alter egos aside. There have been plenty of nights when Félix wonders if this isn’t who he wants to be, this loud-mouthed catty brat who doesn’t care how his words affect other people. Who doesn’t have to hide and bottle up his emotions for the sake of the people he loves. Who doesn’t have to be the pillar that holds everyone else up.)This isn’t about him. It’s not about the screaming boy behind the mask of Chat Noir. This is about Ladybug, about the pressure their ‘argument’ has put on her. How he so carelessly uttered the words, “This is just what we do, it’s how it is, you should be used to it by now.” Félix spoke that truth as easily as telling her the weather. He should have known better than that, should know his lady better than that. There she stands, her cheeks as flushed to match her suit, tears clinging to the corners of her eyes and his heart feels too tight in his chest, too swollen, too sore. Too much. He opens his mouth to fix it, to say something that might help ease the pain of the truth. The honest to god truth; they were just a couple of teenagers, trying to get by. Trying to keep their lives and the entire city of Paris in one piece at any given time.  They were in over their heads and had no one but each other to rely on for comfort, no one else who understood what had been placed on their shoulders. Chat Noir swallows, hard, acutely aware of the silence that stretches on between them. The only sound is Ladybug’s occasional stifled sniffle.“...I didn’t forget,” he promises her at last, far softer than anything he’s ever said as Chat Noir before. “I just...didn’t think it would be such a sore spot, still. My apologies, my lady. It won’t happen again.” Next time, he would be sure to choose his words more carefully.

     On the odd occasion, things pile up. No one knows this better than Félix. Some people are equipped to handle it - or at least, are better versed in hiding it until they can yell and throw a fit in solitude. Adrien? He’s vulnerable. He’s open, he wears his heart on his sleeve and he can only hide so much.      Their father is his weak point. He cancels plans, shoots Adrien down, but still somehow acts as though everything he does is for his own good. Without their mother still in the picture, it’s infuriating. Fé finds himself at a loss for what to say, what to do, even after all this time. For what comforts him does not always do the same for his brother.      Like reaching for something porcelain and cracked, he presses his fingertips to Adrien’s shoulder and hopes it’s consoling. Selfishly, he hurts at the thought that he isn’t enough to keep the tears at bay.  “Not...everyone, Adi. I’m still here.”     Though, he knows he can not replace what’s missing.      

     “She was huddled under a bench near the bakery,” trying to escape the rain, and he had heard her crying through the downpour. “I thought...maybe you’d like a friend.”

Without further explanation, he reaches into his shirt and pulls free a tiny, slightly- damp ball of mewing fur. The tiny thing is a bit on the muddy side but once they clean it up, it might be a stunning shade of white. Félix sets it into the towel, wrapping it up and gently rubbing its back.

“Adi,” he speaks quietly as he slips inside, closing the door behind him.  “Turn on the heating blanket. I’ve got a surprise for you.”And while he wasn’t much for surprises, or spontaneity, this was something he couldn’t resist.

“Obvio--” Stop. Breathe. Lower your voice, you’re in public. “Obvious, Bridgette? About prancing around the rooftops in a polka-dot unitard?” As he spoke, he realized he was going to have to reveal more than just the truth he knew about her. 

Didn’t give a chance. “Bridgette, you... were you ever going to tell me?”

                 The sound of porcelain shattering on tile comes as in immediate response. Fuck.  He’s not clumsy. He isn’t fazed by things like that, he does not respond poorly to confessions. Hell, hearing them consistently from Bridgette had completely desensitized him to such a thing.                  No. He’s cool and level-headed, able to keep a leash on whatever emotion tries to leap forward and cheer loudly enough for everyone in within a mile radius to hear.                   Right now, that list of people was blessedly limited - to himself, and Nathanael.                   Félix drew in a deep breath, his shoulders rigid with a tension he knows is completely irrational.                    “That’s a bit...” Forward? Forward is what he wanted to say. What he didn’t say. What he swallowed and felt hit the pit of his stomach like a boulder. “I-it’s probably the death. Dying. Threat of extinction brings out, er, adrenaline and...”                  He was practically speechless, his well-organized thoughts knocked off their shelves and scattered about helplessly like the shattered cup at his feet, too much of a mess for him to sort through on short notice.  What in the hell was it about Nate that did this to him?  It was infuriating. It made his stomach churn, though not in a wholly unpleasant way.  Perhaps that made it worse - he had no reason to dislike the boy.                   The blond did not move, not even to clean up his mess.  Fingers gripping the counter top until his knuckles turned white.                   “........We could survive, you know.” He finished lamely, groaning internally at how idiotic that sounded.  Quiet and unsure.  Perfect, way to be reassuring. He kind of hoped the ground would just open up and swallow him whole, at least so that he could have time to recompose himself.