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Fine, Félix says in Adrien’s head. Don’t talk to me. See if I care.
Adrien does feel a twinge of guilt at that, but mostly, he’s angry. Angry in a way he can’t really describe, a heated coil in his gut that never seems to die down. It isn’t about Félix, not really. Or, no, it is. But Adrien thinks he’s probably just angry about a lot of other things, too, and Félix is the only one who is there to feel it on the other side.
He focuses back on his computer, typing and retyping a meaningless paragraph about the history of the guillotine, some assignment he’s been working through between powered up akumas and frustration every time his father arranges something for him he didn’t want and never asked for. Adrien should be used to it by now, but he isn’t. And now that Monarque has the miraculous, he’s even harder to stop.
Thanks to someone.
Adrien sighs and shifts irritably in his seat. It’s not like he wants to be angry. He just is. And Félix isn’t helping, either, what with his refusal to explain any of the things that actually matter. If he wants Adrien to talk to him, he could at least actually say why he did what he did instead of making vague assertions about what was and wasn’t necessary.
Homework. Right. Adrien pages over to his history notes and drafts out a few more sentences. Frowns at his screen and rewrites one of them. He’s good at topic sentences, but Mademoiselle Bustier always reminds him to work on his transitions. The flow between paragraphs, he thinks.
Something flickers in his chest. Adrien doesn’t notice at first, concentrating on the tap of his fingers against his keyboard, the letters printing out on the screen. But the sensation builds, tightens, until it can no longer be ignored.
His eyebrows furrow and he looks down, feels at his chest. Takes a breath and watches it rise and fall. He doesn’t feel like anything’s wrong. His body is responding as it should. Where is the tightness coming from?
Pain starts to splice out from behind his sternum.
Adrien pushes away from his desk, trying to distract from the sensation by running his hands over his arms. If he could ease it up a little—it’s starting to really hurt, but his limbs aren’t shaking. He isn’t having trouble breathing. He’s experiencing symptoms without a source.
No, Adrien realizes. There is a source for the spike of muted fear, distinct from Adrien’s own feelings in his head. There is someone else who lives a little inside his body.
Félix? Adrien thinks, trying not to sound too worried.
Félix doesn’t respond, except with another spike of panic, sharp where it slices against Adrien’s thoughts. And that would be ironic, except Adrien isn’t thinking about irony anymore, or his anger, or the miraculous Monarque has in his possession. Whatever is happening out there, there’s something wrong with his cousin. That takes precedence.
Félix? Adrien says with more concern. What’s going on? Are you all right?
His lungs start to squeeze. It’s a strange thing to experience, because his head is still clear. Adrien’s aware of the tension in his body, but he just keeps breathing.
Stop it, Félix thinks back, after a fitful minute. The words come strained, fragmentary. I thought—you didn’t want to talk to me.
I was just mad, Adrien responds. His worry increases, ballooning under his skin. Different to Félix’s fear, but close enough that both tangle in each other along the tightness in his ribs. Are you hurt? Are you okay?
He gets a wash of panic in response, wordless and making his fingers go a little numb. It’s lucky Adrien is already sitting down, because he would have had to.
Félix, Adrien says again. He tries to stay calm, even though he really isn’t, now. Secondhand fear. Firsthand, too. I think you’re having a panic attack. Can you try to take a deep breath?
A few moments pass. Sensations of terror bleed down Adrien’s spine. Frustration, a bit. Rejection. He blinks compulsively, even though he isn’t crying. His vision remains intact.
Can’t, Adrien hears, a beat later, and Félix doesn’t say anything else.
You can. Adrien projects as much reassurance into his voice as possible. I promise. Try again. Please.
I can’t, Félix says again. Distress spills from him into Adrien, coming out like a sob. S-stop it. Go away.
I’m not going to leave you like this, Adrien tells him, curling his fingers to remind himself the panic isn’t his. It isn’t going to consume him. He’s breathing fine, even if his chest hurts like he’s going to die.
That’s not fair, Félix retaliates in a gasp. You won’t—talk to me when I want to talk. But now—that I don’t, you won’t leave me alone?
I can’t exactly focus on anything else when you’re like this, Adrien snaps back, a little irritated. He regrets it immediately when his throat tightens in response. He opens his mouth to breathe. Maybe somehow the oxygen will reach Félix.
Sorry, Adrien says when he’s re-centered himself, I didn’t mean it. I’m just worried about you. Is Tante Amélie there? Can you find her?
Félix sends back a flood of pure misery.
Adrien doesn’t know whether that means his aunt isn’t there or Félix doesn’t want to find her. Either way, there isn’t much Adrien can do about it. His heart feels like it’s being crushed by a claw machine. His legs have the consistency of jello even when he’s sitting in his chair.
Are you breathing at all? Adrien asks, keeping an eye on his own compressed lungs. Can you focus on something? Like my voice. Or anything. Maybe something you can touch? Can you see anything nearby?
His knuckles start to ache after a moment, so he figures Félix has latched onto something.
Good, you’re good, Adrien comforts. Keep holding onto that. Do you think you can take some deep breaths now? Just inhale. I’m doing it too. Can you feel that?
He really isn’t sure how much of his calmness is getting through, especially when he has to push down his own anxiety, but he takes as deep a breath as he can. Inhale, exhale. It doesn’t help with the feeling in his chest, the feeling that isn’t his, but it does make his thoughts clearer. Easier to distinguish between the sphere of his mind and Félix’s, seeping in through the sides.
It hadn’t been like this with Ladybug. He couldn’t help her, not as himself, not from the outside. She’d fled before he’d thrown open the door. With Félix, Adrien is always right there.
There’s no change for a long bit, and Adrien subtly shakes his shoulders in an attempt to chase away the tension that’s gathered there, but finally, the fear recedes an inch or two and the tightness loosens slightly from around his rib cage.
Good, Adrien repeats. You’re doing great. Just keep doing that, okay? You’re okay. I’m with you.
He breathes in and out for several more minutes, relief blossoming in him as Félix calms down on the other end of their link. Adrien’s knuckles pang with residual soreness, but it’s a small price to pay for the release of pressure in his chest and the ebb of the pain as it quiets away.
Did that help? Adrien asks when a few more minutes have passed and Félix hasn’t said anything. The feelings have all melded into something manageable, on Adrien’s end at least, but he can’t not make sure. Do you feel a little better?
Yes, Félix says stiffly. Thank you.
You don’t have to thank me.
Félix doesn’t say anything to that, and Adrien… should just leave it. The crisis is over. Félix is okay now. He can handle himself.
It doesn’t sit right with him, not making one last try.
I’m mad at you, Adrien says, but I wouldn’t actually ignore you if you were in trouble. You know that, right?
From Félix’s side of the bond, Adrien feels a sharp stab of something he can’t name.
And I’d… I don’t know. I might stop being mad if you would just tell me why you did it. What was going on.
I can’t do that, Adrien. Félix’s voice is fragile, almost. There’s a thread of vulnerability in the words, one Adrien could almost reach out and catch. Not yet.
But Adrien’s fingers hurt, and now that Félix’s feelings have vacated his chest, Adrien’s anger is crawling back into the empty space they left.
Why not? Adrien asks. What’s stopping you?
A moment of silence flies in the face of his impatience, and Adrien tries to reel himself back. Félix clearly isn’t doing well. Adrien shouldn’t push too hard. He returns his attention to his assignment, typing and deleting another phrase. It’s hard to let the paragraph go.
I don’t know, Félix says eventually, and neither of them say anything more.