Work Text:
Today he woke up with a weird weight on his chest. Was he sick? He considered asking for a day off, but his throat clogged up at the look on his father’s face, so he had no choice but to go to school.
His head lolled back and forth all day as if weighing more than his body. It burned just under the skin on his forehead. Focusing on the blackboard or the teacher’s dulling voice was useless, so he wrapped his arms around his head and tried to sleep this headache out.
The moment he stepped foot onto the courtyard, the first tear fell out.
Why are you crying?
He dropped his lunch bag to the grass, sliding down just beside it. His breath came out ragged as he clawed at his dampening cheek and his sleeve.
Why are you crying?
He coughed. He pressed his lips together to muffle it. When that just diminished it into undignified whimpers, he bit the hen of his sleeve, pulling at his hair strands. He was shaking.
Did anyone give you any reason to cry?
He needed to breathe, but the rocks in his pockets dragged him down and down to the bottom of a pitch-black ocean. Where oil infiltrated his lungs and blindfolded him and he couldn’t feel or hear anything around him.
Do you want a reason to cry?
He needed to scream. But then he’d drown for good.
You better stop before I give you one.
Félix covered his ears, pressing his face on his pants’ fabric. He could taste the salty tears streaming down his face. He pierced his nails on his temples as if that’d make the headache leak out. It didn’t, so he punched it. Then again, and again. Each hit numbed his head for a blessed moment where he didn’t feel anything but a faint ring in his head. He knocked his head on the wall behind his back. It made him scream, but the numbness lasted longer, so he knocked it again. And again, and–
The back of his head connected to something soft.
Confused, Félix glanced back at the pink bag between his head and the wall, then followed the hand attached to it to Marinette’s frightened face.
“S-sorry, but t-that hurts, no?”
Without the numbness to wash over his head, Félix’s bottom lip trembled and his eyes stung. He slammed a palm on his mouth, a hand going to his hair, and screamed.
“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! Are you hurting? Should I call a teacher?”
Félix shook his head, shoulders jerking as more whimpers scratched through his throat and fell out of his lips. He hit his head again and again, as if that’d hit some on and off button. It just made him scream louder.
The tug on his scalp and repeated thuds on his forehead muffled all his other senses till he was back on the pitch-black ocean, where nobody could reach him. Except for the little voice in the back of his mind reminding him he wasn’t alone. Cry about this, why don’t you? Félix bit his pants’ fabric, hands tangled on his hair as he shook uncontrollably.
When his vision unblurred, he was able to make out Marinette’s form across from him, rocking anxiously on the grass, a water bottle settled between them.
She flicked her eyes to him and, seeing he had calmed down a bit, nudged the bottle in his direction. “Hydration. It’s important a-and, you– you cried a lot,” she mumbled the last part to her bag.
With some effort, Félix managed to disentangle one of his hands from his hair and shakily reach for the bottle. It slipped from his hand the moment he lifted it from the ground.
Félix hiccuped, another tear rolling out.
“H-here!” Marinette scooted closer to him and pressed the bottle between both of his palms. She opened it and secured his hands on it so that he could tilt it over his mouth without dropping it. Félix was glad for it. Not only because of the cool water irrigating his arid throat but because her warm and firm hold reminded him that having his senses working wasn’t always bad.
He held up the half-empty bottle on top of his knees and rested his forehead on it, letting out a shaky breath. From the corner of his eyes, he could see that Marinette had her attentive gaze fixed on him. She remained unmoving for a few moments then turned to her bag.
“Did you eat?”
“Not hungry,” Félix said, barely above a whisper.
She hummed, posture deflating a bit at having her idea so quickly and uncaringly scratched off.
“Do you… wanna talk?”
Why are you crying? Why are you crying? Why are you–
Félix buried his head behind his knees, shaking it forcefully.
“O-OK. A-and… a hug? Do you want that?”
Félix thought about it. Thought about how warm her hands were on his and how cold he felt now. He gave a tentative nod.
She shuffled closer and, slowly, as if not to scare him away, wrapped her arms around him. It was awkward at first, especially with Félix still all curled up, but eventually, he unfolded his knees to let her pull him closer. He still had his palms stuck on the water bottle. Shaking. His lips were shaking too as well as his vision of Marinette’s bag on the grass behind her.
He hiccuped. Then whimpered. Then threw his arms around her neck as the tears streamed out with a vengeance.
“Why–” Félix buried his face in her hair. “Why am I crying?”
WHY? Just tell me already you little freak!
“Because you have lots of emotions stuck inside,” Marinette said softly. “And they need to be let out.”
The dam was never intact, to begin with, but this time, Félix didn’t try to hold it up.