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It had been four years since the breakup.
It was... messy. It was messy, it was painful, and it left Nathaniel sulking on his room for a long, long month. Maybe two, or three. His brain didn't like to recall it.
He couldn't remember the reason. Something about a comic, he supposed? About not being able to match with the deadlines...Marc couldn't get the script ready, the plot was drastically different from what they had decided, and there was many broken promises he had made.
They had an fight about it.
Marc had called him insensitive. Maybe he was, in fact. He should had seen something was wrong. He should had offered his help. But... He'd only screamed.
He called Marc some hurtful things as well. Things he wanted to take back. Things that his mind refused to remember. He just a sixteen-year-old who thought that his problems were the most important at that moment. If he only knew...
It had been three years since they lost contact.
Obviously, their comics came to an abrupt end. They erased each other's contacts in a fit of rage, and soon after, Marc was transferred to another school. He wasn't sure if it was his doing. He wouldn't appear in patrols either, or at least, not at the same time as him.
The mornings felt longer, the evenings felt empty, and the nights felt cold and lonely. It didn't matter how many 'I'm fine's he had told to his mother. He wasn't fine, and both knew it.
He knew Ziggy could hear him crying to his pillow. He knew it, every time they would nestle on his hair, without saying a word. Their silence felt more comfortable than a thousand words.
It had been one year since Marc disappeared.
He received messages from Marinette, asking if he knew something. He had gotten out his new job and hasn't returned home. M.Anciel was broken in a million shards, and there's nothing that could put him together, it seemed. A few months after what happened, he'd come back to a couple of relatives, to help him sort things out. He'd never stopped searching.
As for Nathaniel? Heck, he was a wreck when he came to know. All the worst-case scenarios came parading on his mind, each one felt like a twist of a knife on his heart. Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months...
Three months later, he knew what happened to Marc. But... he couldn't tell it to M. Anciel.
He himself wished he didn’t know.
It had been nine months since Rooster Bold had switched sides.
It was no secret that the new Butterfly Holder was... tough. Like, 'made Hawkmoth seem like a kid throwing an temper tantrum' tough. And apparently, they found something better than an Catalyst to aid his plans.
An akumatized Rooster Bold was everything they could fear of and more. He could give himself any power he wanted at any time he wanted, with no limits, for as long as he wanted. The most usual one was to enhance the butterfly holder's powers and help them create as many villains they could imagine. What wasn't very pleasant, for neither the heroes or the civilians.
But, no matter what happened, no matter all the difficult fights, Nathaniel was sure that that wasn't Marc. That stranger in black, purple and gold wasn't the Marc he knew. It just couldn't be. He had seen the sadness on this Rooster Bold's amethyst eyes. It couldn't be his own choice.
That last fight, his suspicions had been confirmed.
Rooster had him on his hands. Helpless. His paintbrush knocked over to one side, there was no Genesis to save him, the rest of the team was busy with other villains... Bold could have ended him in a second.
But... he hesitated.
He let his hands fall to his sides, looking at the goat hero with a hurt, fragile look. Then it came the butterfly symbol in front of his face, making him curl on himself, hands flying to his head, the searing pain punishing his little moment of disobedience.
And that little moment was all Capricorn needed.
The first time he tried to touch the ring, or even Bold himself, he recoiled his hand immediately. The miraculous was quite a literal white-hot iron, and the holder felt like he was made out of fire.
But it didn't matter. It didn't matter! He had lost Marc once, he wouldn't lose him again!
He tackled the broken hero, and all felt blank after that...
It had been two days since Marc was asleep.
They couldn't take him to the hospital, nor couldn't reveal his whereabouts to his father, at least, not yet. How would they explain the situation? What could the doctors do? No, Ladybug had decided, it was better to let Orikko take care of it. It seemed like the little bird kwami knew what they were doing.
The artist had brought Marc back to his apartment, that he was sharing with Alix for about two years or so. He let the writer lie on his bed, he'd take the couch, in theory, at least. In reality, he'd barely slept at all, too busy taking care of Marc.
The most he tried, he couldn't describe what he felt to hold an unconscious, burning-to-the-touch Marc on his arms, his head resting on the fluffy collar of his chest. The purified miraculous didn't help. The Miraculous Cure didn't help. All he could do was wait and sob and hope for the best.
Orikko had managed to stop the fever with some weird kwami ritual, and Alix and Fluff had been helping to take care of him. Ziggy, for the most part, was set in don't let Nathaniel have a breakdown. The rooster kwami had assured him that Marc just needed to rest, but he couldn't help but feel horrible.
On the evening of the third day, Nathaniel was trying to cool Marc off with a wet towel on his forehead, stomach and wrists. It seemed to be working, as his skin didn't feel as hot anymore when he gently caressed the other's chin with his thumb.
He had almost forgotten just how beautiful Marc was, and the thought scared him. He didn't want to forget anything about him. From his favorite food to his deepest secrets, trusted to him on silent whispers against his lips, burning on his brain and heart like a brand. He didn't want to forget not even one single detail.
'You could have stopped this,' says his mind in a bitter tone, sending him spiraling in guilt and regret. ‘If you were by his side, if you hadn't been so selfish, you could have stopped it you could have stopped it you could-‘
A faint, low groan pulled him back to reality. An groan that slowly turned into hissed breath, until it turned into slower, deeper breaths.
Emerald eyes peeked from under long eyelashes, pinkish lips trembling.
"Marc?"
His voice was hoarse, so weak it was barely noticed. But to the artist, it came out clear and limpid.
"N-Nath...?" He said in a light tone of disbelief, like he was questioning if he was delusional.
The artist recoils his hand, concerned and worried that Marc would still be angry at him. Was it the reason he was akumatized for that long? No, it must have been something else... was it? He wanted to apologise a thousand times, but before he could start, the writer coughed out:
"M-my h-head hurts."
The thoughts were still running on Nathaniel's mind, burning all remnants of racional thought and clear words as he slurred something about getting some painkillers while Orikko flew around his holder excited, exclaiming about how glad he was that his hatchling was awake.
His spiraling got once again interrupted when Marc turned to him, sitting up on the bed while holding Orikko close to his face.
"..Can I go outside? I'm hot." He back tracked, his face burning a bit when he realized what he had said. "I-I mean, I'm feeling hot. It's...a bit stuffy in here. N-not that it's bat, b-but-"
Well, at least he wasn't the only one feeling awkward.
Nathaniel stammered to get an answer out, his hands yet to decide if they played with his hair, or fiddled with the hem of his shirt, or fanned himself because Marc was right and it was so hot and stuffy in there- "Ah, sure! I just need to prepare some things, n-now that you woke up... oh, I almost forgot." He handed over his cellphone, flinching a bit when their hands accidentally touched. "Better talk to your father, he's been worried sick about you. I'll tell the others."
It have been over two hours or so. It was enough time to follow the instructions Orikko and Ziggy has passed on to him and to text all the other worried heroes and say that Marc was alright, but possibly would need a day or two to rest.
"S-sí, papá, estoy bien, no te preocupes. Dile a la tía y a la abuela que dije hola. También te amo."
He heard as Marc finished the call, his voice a sobbed out and trembling.
Before he could think better, before he could consider if the other man wanted some time alone, he heard himself asking, “Are you ready?”
Marc looked at him, eyes reddish and glimmering with tears. With a silent nod, he tried to stand up- but his knees failed.
His body slumped against something soft. His head spun like a roundabound, he could feel an migraine starting to bloom behind his eyes, too dizzy to notice as his body was guided to somewhere else while the artist cooed encouragements on his ear and kept support on his backs and chest. He could only open his eyes again when he felt someone sitting him in what seemed to be an beanbag. He could see Paris’s sky slowly changing colors, it’s gentle blue getting replaced by warm yellows and oranges. The breeze grazing his skin was so… relaxing. He had forgotten when was the last time he felt like that…
Looking back to Nathaniel’s balcony, there was a small table in the center, an sort of cooler resting on it. The redhead reached out for inside, taking out a pinkish home-made popscicle.
“Here, it’ll help to cool you down.” His host said, looking at the rooster kwami still resting on Marc’s hair, who gave him a silent nod.
Marc took the frozen desert, giving it a testing lick. Oh, pink lemonade, it seemed.
Nathaniel looked from one side to another, seeming uncomfortable on his own skin. “A-ah, well, uhm.” He stuttered, slowly backing off to the door. “I’ll… I’ll let you have some time for y-“
"No..!"
He looked down, to where the writer's hands held his own, shy gentle eyes looking back at him, saying so much without a single word.
"P-please, don't go. Stay."
It was said in a fragile, quiet voice.
The artist found himself muttering "Okay."
He sat in the other beanbag, still trying to avoid his eyes.
“So…”
“Yea…”
To say it was uncomfortable would be an understatement.
They should be able to talk. To just… leave everything in the past and move on.
Then why was it so hard…?
Fortunaly for the boys, a tearing, beyond-themselves kwami interrupted their awkward silence.
“I was afraid you would catch fire!” Orikko nuzzled to his neck, a small tear on the corner of their eyes.
He smiled, bringing the little kwami closer to him with a gentle hand. “Don’t be silly, I’m alright!”
And just like that, Nathaniel’s mouth moved before he could think.
"Marc, your body heat was beyond human limits." He said, looking at his eyes for the first time since they sat down. The other looked at him, now seeming increasingly more worried.
"It wasn't normal? I feel normal..." His voice was low, careful, fading out in soft nervous laughs.
"It would be normal for 'cooked alive' standards. It was so high that... it's a miracle you're not..."
An break.
Of his voice, of his heart, of his resolve to keep talking. He leans back, backs to the wall, tearful eyes focused on the sky above. It was just so close. So close…
The writer didn't say anything, instead just silently putting his popscicle on his mouth.
The silence continued until Marc finally said:
“I-I’m sorry for worrying you. I could… pay for dinner or maybe pastries… to make up for it…?” He says, obviously not knowing what to say.
The artist covers his mouth, tears dripping from his eyes. But he was laughing. It was the first time in a while, too.
"You didn't change, did you?" Nathaniel said between sobbed laughs, reaching for the taller’s hand, who held it almost immediately. Almost like an instinct.
Marc had grown up, impossible to not notice it. He had gained some muscle, and was much taller than him, now. He had his hair on a undercut, messy, overgrown raven-dark bangs fell upon his eyes. His hands, he could notice as he held them, were scarred, and slightly burned at some points, but still kept their natural softness he remembered so fondly of. He also kept his golden, kind heart even through the corruption, if his eyes and soft smile said anything about it.
He wanted things to return to those days.
Days of innocence. Of sunlight and warmth and love, of just finding comfort on the shared silence and unspoken love vows. The days before his life faded into relentless winters.
He needed to take them back.
“I’m sorry.”
He didn’t know what hurt more. The fact that those simple words never crossed his proud, young mind when things still could be fixed, before all this mess went down, or the fact that Marc seemed surprised to be hearing them.
Not getting an response, he continued, trying his best to hold his tears back.
“You were right, I was being insensi-“
“No, don’t say that, it’s not your fault, i-it’s mine! Y-you didn’t know…”
Now.
Now the silence was deafening.
Nathaniel couldn’t hear anything anymore. Nor the birds chirping above, giving their last flight before coming back to their nests. Nor the cars crossing the streets beneath them, or the day people giving space to the night people fill the streets.
Nothing.
Only an hurried heartbeat he was sure wasn’t his own.
He couldn’t piece together how Marc, sweet innocent Marc, could be at fault of…
But then again… There certainly was something he had been hiding. All the dates he didn’t appear. All the secrets. Why he suddenly exploded when he was called out… it all could have been something bigger than he put himself to believe and care.
“K-know what?” He asks, afraid of the answer. Judging by the writer’s eyes, afraid and guilty and quickly forming tears, he had a suspicion that he wouldn’t like it.
The other didn’t answer, once again, his body making slow back-and-forths, timed with his heavy, rapid breathing.
Nathaniel sighed in concern, gently making small patterns with his finger on the noirette’s palm while he pushed his long red bangs out his face, trying to pin them with the rest of his ponytail. “Look, you don’t need to answer now if you don’t want to. You went through a lot, and you… you almost died. Not to say all those months you spent… “
He couldn’t say it. Think of Marc being poisoned by evil magic for so long was a struggle just to imagine, and he doubted that the thought gave any contentment to Marc himself, either.
“That must be a lot. But I… I want you to know that I’ll be here for you when you’re ready.”
The writer tearfully smiled, almost dropping his frozen desert -that was quickly grabbed by Ziggy before hitting the ground- when he launched himself and captured the other on a tight hug.
He could stay like this for hours. Honestly, right now, that simple hug felt like Heaven. The warmth, the heartbeat against his own, the silk of the raven-dark hair between his fingers… Oh, how much had he missed it…
“L-Ladybug asked me to go on some missions in secret.”
Marc finally said, careful and quiet.
“You know, to find out the new butterfly user’s identity. Use my Sublimation and all. But… the missions had been taken their toll on me. The frustration each time I failed, Ladybug’s disappointed look every time…”
By now, his voice was rocked by sobs and sniffs, his arms holding him closer and tighter, tears falling on the artist’s shirt.
“I-I should have told you, but I was too proud to do it! I thought you wouldn’t understand… And maybe I was so excited about receiving an direct mission from The Ladybug I had gotten arrogant. ”
He stopped, burying his face on the others neck to muffle out his sobs. Nathaniel looked from him to the kwamis. Orikko gently patted his holder’s hair while Ziggy finished the abandoned popscicle, looking as confused and uncertain of what to do as he was. All he could do was to stay by his side.
“…Are you sure you want to hear everything? It’s a long ride.”
“I have time. As long as you’ll feel better, I’m here for you.”
The sobs stopped gradually, until they were replaced by a small kiss on his cheek.
“…Thank you.”
It had been four years since the breakup.
Three years since they lost contact.
One year since Marc disappeared.
Nine months since Rooster Bold had switched sides.
And, as he held Marc’s hand once again, and looked at those sparkling emerald eyes he had missed so much, it was the first time Nathaniel had sure that things were finally going to turn out alright.
It might be a long way, but they would manage it. Together.