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"Want to join me for lunch?"
Félix did not, and he knew it was wiser to say it, but one look at Marinette's hopeful face and he was putty in her hands. He could not say no.
“Sure,” he nonplussed while his heart garnered speed. He smiled but it was surface-only. A strained mask to hide behind, when his emotions were spiraling out of control.
“ Maman packed enough to feed an army,” she blabbered enthusiastically to fill the space between them. “You know what she’s like when she gets wind of any trouble.”
Marinette was similar to her mother in that regard.
Félix surmised it ran in the family.
“Where would you like to eat?” he asked in a dull voice instead of voicing the thought.
“I was thinking we could go to the park maybe?” Marinette fiddled with the purple tassel dangling from the zipper on his pencil case, avoiding his gaze.
Félix could tell how hard she was trying to be nice to him. He appreciated the effort, even as the actions made him feel even worse. They made him feel like she was being kind out of pity—even though he knew her better than that.
Marinette didn't do things out of pity. She did things because she cared.
He knew that because they were close friends and close friends were honest with each other, even when truth had the potential to hurt.
“The park it is,” he nodded without looking at her.
“Great!” She grinned, though he could tell she was eager to get away. “I'll meet you there in a jiffy. Just gotta go by my locker first!”
Any other day, Félix would have offered to help her. It was the proper thing to do. But as she turned around, he was struck by a strange sense of déjà vu. It stopped him in his tracks, the familiarity chilling him to the bone.
He was losing her.
Félix clenched his jaw and began packing up his things. He was not going to let it hurt him. He could not afford to let it hurt him, not when everything else in his life was already going south.
With that in mind, he hardened his heart, snuffing out the twinge of hurt the best he could, and headed out. His somber expression fooled no one.
The weather was perfect for a picnic: warm and sunny, with enough shade to keep them from getting sunburnt. Marinette was already sitting on their bench, with a small feast laid down beside her, consisting of bear claws and fox cakes among other things. She was uncapping a medium-sized coffee flask he knew to contain hot tea.
“You weren't kidding,” he remarked, as he sat down on the other side of the makeshift table.
Marinette laughed nervously. Her hands shook, as she poured the drink into two identical paper cups, spilling drops of tea on the lunch mat on which she had placed everything.
She was trying so hard to make things go back to normal. So hard it hurt.
What was going on with him was not something she could fix, not even with all the love in the world, not with all the affection.
He loved her for trying, and hated, too, afraid he would never be worthy of it. Afraid that each time she tried, it would be that dreaded one time too many.
He bit his cheek to banish the thought and vowed to focus on the moment, where it was just the two of them and lunch. There was nothing inherently difficult about that.
He could do it. He was sure he could.
Marinette handed him a cup. “It's sweet, the way you like it.”
“Thanks.” He sloshed it around, studying the tiny leaves floating in the murky brown, as though they could divine the future and reassure him that everything would be alright.
How could he even hope to read something good out of so cloudy?
Félix looked away. Marinette had no part in his messes. He was determined to keep it that way.
She had a different idea.
“Actually,” Marinette started, trembling. She was being brave, he acknowledged, biting his tongue. “I've been observing you for a while, and I've noticed… I've noticed that you're skipping meals, and your poems… They're so much darker now, and I—I'm worried about you! It hurts to… to see you like this.”
Something in Félix snapped at her tone.
He clenched his fists to stop the tremors in his body. He told himself that he was better than the overwhelming rage coursing in his veins, stronger than his fear of abandonment.
She was too important for him to mess it up. If there was anyone he wanted in his life, it was her .
His soul rattled the chains he'd placed on it, as words tumbled from his mouth, hot and hurtful like molten lava scorching the prosperous slopes of a volcano thought no longer to be active, burning everything in its path indiscriminately.
“It hurts? It hurts? And you think this,” he gestured at their small picnic, “doesn't?”
Marinette faltered. “It's not supposed to!”
His brain told him to stop but his body didn't listen.
“I never asked for this! I never asked for any of this! I don't care for any of this!” He shot in a single breath. “I don't care if it hurts you.”
He regretted the words the instant they had left his mouth.
Marinette's face twisted in pain.
Seeing tears form in her eyes drove a dagger to his heart—a dagger he deserved for hurting her. He gritted his teeth and bore the guilt and shame with his head held up high.
He could not, in good conscience, ask Marinette to extend her suffering. She deserved to be happy.
Better a painful ending than endless pain.
Félix drove the dagger in deeper and twisted it. “None of it concerns you.”
Cruel as it was, it was also the truth. Marinette was not to blame for his woes, and, as much as he loved her, if it was too much for her to see him suffer like this, it was better for her to let him go.
He summoned all his strength to hold his composure. Her pain hurt him a lot more than he had thought it would.
“I can't believe you!” Marinette spluttered.
Félix clenched his fists and watched silently how she turned and ran, instinctively reaching after her a moment too late. He didn't want her to go.
“Things will be better this way ,” whispered the naughty little voice in his head. It was a comforting thought, there to balance the debilitating pain.
Félix waited until she was out of sight before crumbling. A gasp escaped from between his lips, prompting him to cover his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, muffling the whimpers that followed.
Letting someone go had never hurt this much before.
She'll be alright. You'll both be alright.
Everything will be alright.
He cried quietly, without worrying about being seen. Several months' worth of pent-up frustrations and grief trickled out of his tear ducts; Félix couldn't have stopped it if he tried.
He didn't try.
“You always do this,” remarked a small voice, more observant than comforting. “Push away people who care about you.”
Félix stilled before looking up.
Plagg had an unreadable expression on his face, though his displeasure was evident enough.
“I'm only good at destroying things,” Félix muttered, drying his tears. “She deserves better.”
“Damn right she does!” Plagg snarked. He launched himself at Félix's chest, bouncing right off. “ You could be better.”
“I want to be better!” snapped the boy in anger. “I would like to be different! I would like to be someone else ! I would like to be the one that always makes her smile! But it's never like that, don't you get it?”
“She's better off without me.” Félix bit his lip, as part of him argued against his own words.
Plagg sighed, and floated higher, so he could be eye-level with his chosen.
“You don't get to decide that.”
Félix sniffled indignantly, “I'm pretty sure I just did.”
“You could still apologize! You could fix things!”
“I could.” He agreed, knowing that he wouldn't. Not anytime soon, anyway. “Eventually.”
“Félix…”
“Just leave me be!”
“Hey, kid. Listen to me,” Plagg's voice was laced with worry. “It's going to be alright.” Félix said nothing. “I've got you. You're okay. I promise. But you've got to at least try to—”
“Plagg,” sighed the boy tiredly.
“You cannot avoid her forever,” Plagg warned him, dropping the subject.
“I don't intend to.”
“Good.”
“Only as long as necessary.”
“You’re an idiot.” Plagg headbutted him affectionately. Félix shifted, unclenching his fists, as he folded his arms across his stomach in a protective hug. “But I’m sticking with you, no matter what you choose to do. I hope you know that.”
“Thanks.”
Plagg helped himself to the bits of cheese on the picnic table, reminding Félix it existed. The boy’s heart sank; he felt a lump in his throat. He swallowed it without a word.
Plagg had the grace to look guilt-ridden, as he shoved a piece of camembert into his mouth, before returning to his holder’s personal space. He twirled around the boy’s head once in what he considered to be a touchless hug. When he came to a stop, he had come up with a fully-formulated plan on how to improve his boy’s mood.
The glint in his eyes was mischievous at best and cataclysmic at worst, and his voice was full of troublesome delight that Félix always had trouble saying no to.
“May I offer you a distraction?”