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“Adrien.” Felix’s knocks were soft, yet insistent. “Please, open the door. Let’s talk.”
They had not meant to shut him out. Just like they had not meant to push Nino away, to leave Luka on read, and to break up with Marinette.
It was just… too much.
“You don’t need to forgive me.” The offer was redundant: their cousin was not the target of their rage. “But you also don’t need to do this alone. Please, Adrien — I promise it’s not as bad as it sounds.”
Indeed: it was much worse. Felix did not know about Chat Noir — about Antichat. He did not know about the fiery sky, about the shattered moon, about their partner’s ashes on their murderous claws.
Adrien had killed his mother — killed his father too. If the apocalypse was to come, it would not start with what little family he had spared.
“I’m not going away,” the youngest said, with the resolve he knew by heart. “When you’re ready, I’ll be there.”
Adrien sunk deeper, all the way down, into the white abyss of his pillow.
***
The worst part — the selfish, monstrous part — was that Chat Noir still snuck out.
‘Just one last time’ was on his mind and lips as he bounced from rooftop to chimney, cherishing the rough caress of the icy air. Addicted, he chased the next high, the next fight, the next rush of adrenaline to distract him from his pain.
That, and he had to see her.
Marinette’s cracks showed behind the spotted mask, crevices he had dug with his own claws: her attacks had grown a little sloppier, her Lucky Charms a little more direct. Slowly, quietly, she was bursting at the seams.
Adrien loved her still, of course — if anything, he loved her even more. Despite the curse, despite the monster lurking below the surface, he came back over and over again.
Just one more time. Just one last time.
Of course, nothing could ever be the same. Ladybug's eyes always fled; Argos’ chased him across frostbit rooftops.
***
“Are you going to stay here all day?”
Those were the first words they had spoken in days, a half-hearted attempt to drive their cousin away: guilt creeped in as soon as they rose, gnawing at the shards of his heart.
“Do you intend to make me leave?” Felix talked softly, relentlessly; never once had he coaxed them to the door, but that did not stop him from trying. “I brought a book. I’m fine.”
When Felix was not writing, he was reading — which was the same thing, really. Sooner or later, he would take to composing ballads in the middle of a chess tournament.
The thought blossomed into a tiny smile, a miracle in its own right.
“Which one is it?” He could not help but ask, just like he could not help but sneak out the window. “The Shadow of the Wind ?”
“I finished that one months ago. In Spanish, no less.” Adrien wondered why their parents had forced them to learn so many languages, only to immure them in silence. “I liked it well enough. Then again, you can’t go wrong with cursed authors and mysterious grimoires.”
The eldest snorted, squeezing their eyes shut; if they strained their ear, if they muzzled the monster long enough, they might hear the soft ruffle of pages on the other side. From the thump against the wood, they knew Felix pressed closer, as close as he could.
Then came the throat clearing, and the incipit.
***
“Are you insane???”
Apparently, body-slamming them onto the wet pavement was not enough: Argos had to question their sanity, over and over again, driving annoying pecks at the crumbs of their self-esteem.
“Hey, I was kicking butts back when you were still a Miraculous-stealing baby.” Chat Noir cracked their neck: the Miraculous Cure did wonders, yet the soreness lingered. “I knew exactly what I was doing.”
“May I remind you that man was pointing a gun at you?”
“A paintball gun.”
“Magically engineered to colour the city with your guts! And you walked right up to the barrel!”
“Again, I knew exactly what I was doing.” Huffing, groaning, they hoisted themselves back on heavy legs. “Except you had to barge in, for some reason. What are you even doing here? Don’t you have identities to steal? Pockets to empty?”
“I was checking up on you.” Air leaked out of their lungs, a steamy cloud tainting the winter sky; Argos grimaced, massaging his shoulder. “You’ve been dying at an alarming rate lately.”
“I see you’ve been talking to Pegasus.”
“According to my own observations. No one else seems to have noticed.”
Luka knew, because of course he did: Adrien had ignored any and all invitations to “hang out”, fearing the therapy trap. As for Ladybug, she was anxious, on edge, horrified — but not as much as she had been around Adrien, back when she cautiously ‘protected him’ from the truth.
“So you’ve been stalking me,” Chat mumbled, unfolding their staff. “I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised.”
“‘Stalking’ is a strong, ugly word. I am merely trying to protect you from yourself.” Argos flicked his fan back and forth, mouth twisting behind the soft feathers. “Tell me, wet cat: are you actually trying to kill yourself, or is this simply an elaborate method of self-harm?”
Chat Noir did not bother with a reply: one click, and he was out of reach — cold wind soothing the burn in his eyes.
***
“Twins? Really?”
Felix did not yield to the acidic words: instead, he shifted, peridot eyes burning through the door.
“Why are you surprised? You’ve seen the film before.”
“Yeah, and those guys looked nothing alike… except for the hair, maybe.”
“Aron and Cal are fraternal twins. Which is lucky, considering there was only one James Dean.” There was a pause then, and a devilish grin the eldest felt in the depths of his chest. “Actually, shortly after they wrapped up, there was no James Dean at all.”
“You’re incorrigible.”
“Thank you. It’s an art.”
Adrien had missed their cousin’s dry sense of humour, the strange alchemy through which he turned darkness to gold: part of them resented its return, too little too late in the pathetic tale of their life.
Slowly, painfully, they brought their knees to their chest.
“You’re not subtle, you know.”
“About?”
“Your literary choices.” Trimmed nails clawed at the comforter. “Not only are they not subtle, they’re downright counterproductive. Doesn’t one of the twins die at the end?”
“Am I to infer you identify with Aron?”
“I —”
Behind wet eyelids, memories flashed in technicolor: a secret revealed, illusions tarnished, the shattered window of a departing train.
“I just think you shouldn’t waste your time. We both know how the story ends.”
“Do we?” Felix’s voice was wonderfully, fantastically, unbearably soft. “This is the most we’ve talked in months.”
Adrien bit his lip, blood pearling down cracked skin.
***
“There is something wrong with you.”
Leave it up to Ryuko to tell it how it is. Perched on a nearby chimney, scales glistening in the pallid sun, she was every bit as intimidating as the gargoyles watching over Notre-Dame — even when they hunted construction workers and littering tourists.
Chat Noir should have known better than to talk back. Then again, Chat Noir was not exactly on a good decision streak as of late.
“Your boyfriend roped you into talking to me, didn’t he.” Of course he had: these two shared everything, down to their darkest secrets. As it turned out, Kagami had no problems with liars, as long as she was amongst their ranks. “Like I said: I’m fine. I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Resorting to harsh words will not drive me away. I have heard much worse in my time.” Ryuko blinked — a sideways, reptilian blink that sent shivers down his spine. “Please consider opening up to someone, even if it is not Argos or I. Your mental and physical health have a ripple effect on the entire team.”
“And we wouldn’t want to inconvenience the team, would we.” With a scoff and a swing of his staff, Chat Noir fled to the next rooftop. “Thanks for the pep talk, but I can handle myself.”
“This exact philosophy got me akumatised countless times. Why do you think your odds are better than mine?”
“Because unlike you, I can’t afford to go off the deep end.” Ryuko sucked in a breath, petrified; he regretted the venom, but failed to swallow it back. “Unlike you, I can’t afford to lose control.”
***
“‘Thou mayest’?” Adrien burrowed into the mattress, biting his tongue: once again, the Shakespearean syllables had taken them by surprise. “What does that even mean?”
“You were always an impatient audience.” Felix’s voice lifted from unbearable fondness; one second later, it bristled with academic might, handing over to the Trasks’ surprisingly wise servant. “... This was the gold from our mining: ‘thou mayest.’ The American Standard translation orders men to triumph over sin (and you can call sin ignorance). The King James translation makes a promise in ‘thou shalt,’ meaning that men will surely triumph over sin. But the Hebrew word timshel — 'thou mayest' — that gives a choice. For if ‘thou mayest’ — it is also true that ‘thou mayest not.’ That makes a man great and that gives him stature with the gods, for in his weakness and his filth and his murder of his brother he has still the great choice. He can choose his course and fight it through and win."
“Couldn’t they have found a better translation? Something a little less pedantic?”
“If you’d like to pick up Hebrew and report back, be my guest.”
He was joking, not scolding — and perhaps hoping it might kick them into action: if Felix was an unstoppable force, it was all thanks to the inextinguishable fuel of his own spite.
“I don’t remember this being in the film.”
“What about the beans? The brothel? Cal’s entire character?”
“Gosh, that really was a brothel, wasn’t it.”
“Aunt Emilie’s love for the seventh art knew no bounds. Not even those of her own censorship.”
As irreverent as it was, Adrien could not help but snort.
“The quote itself didn’t make the cut — neither did Lee and Samuel Hamilton. But that does not mean their message didn’t get through.” Felix, no doubt, was pressing the book to his heart; his cousin remembered how it felt to hide between his arms, to nuzzle in English wool and let their worries drift away. “Blood is irrelevant. What was done to us is irrelevant. All that matters is that one word: timshel. The capacity to defeat evil. The choice to be good.”
Burnt skies. Moon shards. Ladybug crumbling under his touch.
“I didn’t picture Steinbeck as the optimistic type.” Adrien threw his neck back, smacking the headboard with a comforting shock. “That’s a nice sentiment. Too bad he didn’t know about us.”
***
“Oh great! So we’re having full-on interventions now!”
Honestly, he should have expected it: Argos and Ryuko were not known to give up easily. Neck-deep into a textbook episode of folie à deux, they had cornered him in everything but name, staring daggers behind strangely-coloured irises.
Chat too had inhuman-looking eyes. Maybe that was a Sentimonster thing.
“I am afraid you have left us no choice.” Had she intended to run him through with her blade, Ryuko would not have sounded any more threatening; now that he thought about it, he would have much preferred that fate. “We are worried about you, Chat Noir. You need to talk to someone.”
“I don’t want to talk to either of you.”
“Obviously not.” Argos was unreadable, face expertly darkened by his hood and fan. “Which is why we have taken the liberty of getting you a therapist.”
The therapist in question was remarkably calm, considering he had just been abducted from his own boat: back straight, legs folded in a lotus position, he managed a polite wave.
“This is your friend Luka. He is also Viperion.”
“No I’m not.”
“Yes you are. Now shut up and let her speak.”
Ryuko resumed, positively glowing.
“Luka has an excellent track record of protecting civilian identities. Anything you tell him will remain strictly confidential.”
“What part of ‘I don’t want any help’ do you not understand?”
“It’s your right, of course.” Luka smiled, pensive, understanding. “Rushing your healing journey will accomplish precisely nothing.”
Argos’ fan smacked the back of his head.
“Ouch!”
“See? Even your expert agrees you should get lost.”
“That is definitely not what I said.” Luka hoisted himself back up, massaging through his hair. “… But maybe you could escort me home? We don’t have to talk about anything. It’s just that… I miss you.”
Chat Noir knew better than to take another prisoner, to welcome more begging and scratching against his bedroom door; but he too missed the late night talks, the easy laughter, the soft notes rising from the strings and into the summer sky. Before long, he was fleeing the terrible duo again, Luka curled up in his arms.
Selfish. Monstrous.
His friend kept his word, kept quiet, except for the soothing hums against his shoulder.
“You really don’t know, do you?”
“I know you’re mourning a father who treated you horribly.” Cerulean eyes fluttered open, unjudging. “But I also know there is something else. Something very loud.”
“I can’t tell you, Luka. It would —”
It would not change anything, most likely. Luka knew them better than anyone in the world, better than they knew themselves: if he were to run, he would have done so long ago.
With a thump of their boots and a pang in their heart, they lowered their friend onto the rain-soaked deck.
“It’s funny how life goes.” Luka’s arms lingered around him, featherlight against his suit. “Not so long ago, I may have gotten akumatised over this.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Wavelets brushed against the hull, sighs of agony neither dared to breathe. “Secrets are a part of life. I learnt that from you.”
***
“I don’t think I like that ending.”
Complaining was an ugly thing to do — especially when Felix had read until his voice went hoarse, especially when they had not left their bed even once. Selfish, selfish, selfish.
“Of course you don’t.” There was a small thump, the echo of the hard cover bouncing through the Salinas Valley. “You remember crumbs of love on a deathbed. I am afraid the original Adam is not that kind, or perhaps not that strong.”
“Did he even forgive his son? In a way that matters?”
“Cal does not need to be forgiven. What he needs is to break the cycle, to do good and therefore become good. Timshel — thou mayest.”
The eldest considered his rings: two broken chains forged from the most delicate silver, a ticking time bomb fracturing the moonlight.
“I don’t think he’ll make it,” he whispered, trapping his fist underneath the pillow. “I don’t think there’s hope for him.”
“Adrien.”
We are more than what we were made for. We are more than what we were made from. They had heard it all before, solemn oaths and desperate prayers whispered through the keyhole. Felix meant every word, because he had penned them down himself; to Adrien, they were nothing but ink stains on crumpled paper.
“So you didn’t like that one. That’s fine! We can find something with a happier ending.”
“Felix...”
“How about some Molière? That man always found some ridiculous way to make everything right last minute. Or maybe Une Vie? Granted, this one is not exactly a walk in the park, but I always found it quite hopeful —”
“Felix, please. I know what you are doing, and it won’t work.”
Silence pulled at the corners of the room.
“Can you fault me for trying?” The chuckle came out wrong, broken. “You like my stories. I like telling them.”
“Look, if you’re trying to Scheherazade your way into —”
“Keeping you alive?” For the first time in weeks, his tone rang bitter and sharp. “Of course I am. You are my family.”
“I wish you had thought of that every time you lied to me.”
“I did.” Felix shifted, soft fabric rustling on the other bank. “In fact, I pictured this exact scenario. I pictured missed trains and shattered glass and bullet holes — over and over again.”
***
One last time.
Chat Noir had lingered too long, a ghost of what he had once been: roaming the rooftops aimlessly, fleeing the living before they could crumble under his claws. The wind still ruffled his hair, but had dropped the smells of the city somewhere along the way.
So he had made his decision: one last day of freedom — of what he had fooled himself into calling so. Then, he would renounce his Miraculous, for good this time. After that…
He would rather not think past that point.
“Hey. Can I ask you something?”
They could have spent this last day racing against Carapace, quietly sitting by the Seine with Luka, trying and failing to talk to her: instead, they sat by the rust-nibbled gutter, legs dangling in the void.
“And I thought you had gotten your own tongue.” Behind the rare pun, Chat caught a hint of relief — something he could almost mistake for fondness. “Go ahead. We’ll see if I am inclined to answer.”
“Why…” Claws tightened around the ledge, digging into sheet metal. “Why do you care so much? We’re not even friends. What does it matter to you if I die?”
“Hmm.”
Argos did not sit, did not surrender to the call of the chasm: arms folded behind his back, he kept his eyes trailed to the dying sun.
A ray of light fractured against the garnets.
“It’s the brooch, isn’t it?” Guilt pooled in his stomach, crept up his throat, knocked against his teeth. “Oh my god, have you been feeling my emotions this entire time?”
“I am not a mind reader, if that’s what worries you.” There was a pause then, a crease of strangely coloured eyebrows. “But yes. I can sense… enough.”
“I’m sorry.”
At least he would not torture him much longer. At least it would be the last time.
“I have a cousin,” Argos offered, as if it explained everything. “A brother, really. Although I don’t think he would ever think of me as anything other than a nuisance, not after —”
Adrien’s breath caught in his throat: Felix had lied before, time and time again, but what reason would he have to lie now? To Chat Noir of all people? He could have said “twin”, the obvious term, the one no one would question; but he had gone out of his way to pick the kinder, gentler word, the one that bristled with a different kind of magic.
Brother. Brother. Brother. Did Felix mean it? Did he even know what it meant, how much it meant?
“You’re being weird.” Argos tensed, gloved fingers tracing the indigo plumes. “What’s up with that?”
“I…” Just because he was about to renounce his powers did not mean he was ready to talk about it. Just because Felix could be relatively civil did not mean he had forgotten Strikeback, or Feast, or Sentibug. “… I also have a complicated relationship with my family, is all.”
“Is that what the bell is about?”
“Uh?”
“The bell. Kitty Noire does not have one, neither does Lady Noire.” Cursed be those observation skills! “Deep down, what you really want is a home to return to. I can relate to that.”
“Aren’t birds the literal embodiment of transience?”
“A nest is a home built through sheer strength of will. Weavers compete in intricate architecture contests. Corvids exchange gifts and build community.”
“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you.”
“Did you know many species of birds mate for life?”
“I guess that explains certain things about you.”
Fuschia flared through the cool lilac.
“When I am near you,” Argos breathed through his smile, “I pick up on the same emotions that radiate from my cousin.”
“Oh.”
“Oh indeed.” The softness lingered, shifting, rearranging. “I’ve been trying to help him, but… it’s not going well.”
“Is that why —” Iron scraped his tongue, pouring from martyred lips. “Is that why you’ve been trying to help me? Because you can’t help Adrien?”
“So I can help Adrien.” Argos peeled away from the skyline, holding the sunset in his eyes. “I may not be great at being a hero or a family, but I am even worse at giving up. Sorry, wet cat — you’re basically my practice run.”
Chat Noir took in the sharp silhouette, the tailcoat ripped right out of a fairy tale: their protector, through and through.
“In any case, I should head back.” Boots battered the sheet metal, a prelude to flight. “I don’t like leaving them alone. I always fear they might not be there when I —”
The embrace happened in a blur, an instinct rather than a choice: holding, clutching, clinging. Argos tensed up, attacked from behind, not daring to move.
“Hmm, wet cat? What are you doing?”
“It’s called a hug.”
“I am familiar with the concept. Why are you hugging me?”
“I need it, OK? Just —” Chat Noir’s breath trembled on the edge of a sob; tightening his grip, he burrowed into the soft fabric. “Please, let me have this.”
Between their arms, Argos’ chest lifted with a sigh; still, he remained, steady and strong like he had been on the other side of the door.
“Does this mean we’re making progress?”
“More than you know.” Against all odds, they let out a chuckle. “Your cousin is an idiot.”
“I know.” The roll of his eyes was almost audible. “He is my idiot, though. We’re tied for life.”
“Do you mean that?”
“You’re being weird again.” Argos’ arm snaked out of their hold — reaching backwards, twisting uncomfortably. “There, there. You’re going to be OK.”
Something tapped the crown of their head, a reassurance and a reprimand all at once: flames lit up in their eyes, at the back of their throat.
“You’re going to cry, aren’t you.”
“N—no.” No matter how hard he fought, the ache swole on and on. “It’s not like that.”
“It absolutely is. Good grief, wet cat, you are really asking a lot from me today.”
“No, really, it’s not —”
Something tickled his nose. Actually, something scratched his nose, violently, from the inside.
When Chat Noir opened his eyes, he found the fluffy fan patting between his ears.
“Oh. Oh no.”
“What do you mean, ‘oh no’? You’re starting to frighten me!”
Panic coursed through every vein, every neuron, every inch of his body. Chat flung himself backwards, as far as he possibly could, but the harm was already done: Hell raged in his sinuses, fanned with every breath, and then —
“ACHOO!!!!!”
One sneeze. Two sneezes. Three sneezes. Before long, he was bent in two, miserably coughing his lungs out.
“Oh great. Now you’re dying on me.”
“I’m fine!” No matter how hard they shook their head, the firing wouldn’t stop. “Just — achoo! — just that damned pollen acting up! It’s the season!”
“We’re well into December.” Argos frowned, that damned weapon dangling from crossed arms. “Are you sure you’re not allergic to m…”
This time, his cousin was the one to lose his breath.
“I—it’s not what you think!” Cheeks damp, claws held up, Chat backed towards the ledge. “It’s not — I’m not —”
“Adrien.” They could not bear the crack in his voice, the fog veiling the bright magenta. “It was you. Of course it was you.”
“I’m not him!!!” Trembling hands tugged at their hair, seeking relief from the pain. “Just go back to your stupid books and leave me alone!!!”
“Please, let’s talk. Let me help you.”
No. No. No. He could not be around Felix right now, not in that state, not when they had been so close —
“Adrien, watch out!!!”
Argos leapt, but Chat Noir was faster; in a flicker of an instant, their heels were drumming against the rusted gutter, biting into the void. Out of their cousin’s reach, and straight into the trap.
Dark wings nestled in his bell, painting the sky with amber and blood.
‘Well well well! Would you look at that. The mangy cat and the model were one and the same all along!”
“No.” Chat Noir pulled and twisted, but the leash only tightened. “No no no no no!!! I will not listen to you! I will not obey you, I cannot —”
‘You cannot resist.’ Felix rushed through the darkness, lips parted in a silent cry. ‘It’s been a long time coming, hasn’t it, pussycat? All those ugly dreams that kept you up at night… they were spelling out my name.’
Selfish. Monstrous. Gloved fingers brushed his claws, already bristling with dark magic: the world could end right there, starting with the brother he never knew he had.
Or Chat Noir could be a hero. One last time.
“Plagg,” he choked out, surrendering to the call of the void. “Claws in.”
***
‘Thought you could get rid of me that easily, didn’t you.’
Adrien woke up to searing bruises and desperate arms, a morbid tug-of-war in a dimly-lit alley: not dead, not free. Stupid failsafes.
‘Wouldn’t it be easier to give in to my charms? We both know you’ll end up back under my spell anyway.’
He was no stranger to orders, but these — these were something else: a pernicious purr, a treacherous echo of their own voice. And they were tired, so tired.
“Adrien.” Felix clung tight, much too tight. Memories danced between the two of them: summer dying out, Mum waiting in the backseat of a brand new car. “Stay with me. Tell her to fuck off.”
‘Is that the kind of company you entertain, pussycat? Failed supervillains without an ounce of class?’ Farfalla scoffed, a jolt on the other side of the bond. ‘Purple looks so much better on me.’
“Take my ring.” Trembling claws fumbled with the Miraculous, firmly shackled around his phalanges. “Take — take all three of them. Please.”
“I can’t. I would never do that to you.”
“Then just snap me!!!”
The words bounced off the mould-eaten walls, ricochets in the ocean of their thoughts, and Argos —
One of the shards pierced right through Argos’ heart, bleeding him out of colours.
“Just snap me,” Chat begged, sweaty palms pressed against swollen eyes. “Let it be over, please let it be over, please —”
“I’m not helping you kill yourself! You don’t get to take the easy way out!”
‘Birdie’s right, you know. You’ve seen the result of your little stunt — there is no escape for you.’
The voice had grown loud, impatient: nails on a chalkboard, digging into the crevices of their brain. If they could just move their arm… If they could just…
Argos was quicker, ripping the brooch off their own chest.
“Why is everyone so sad??? Why is everyone so scared???” Duusu leapt out like a lightning bolt, shaking and spinning and crying tears as big as they were. “Are you mad at me??? Did I do something wrong???”
“No one is mad at you, I promise.” Felix held his fist high, out of reach. “I need you to take this and find Mum. Can you do this for me?”
“But — you’re not well!!! I don’t want to leave you alone!!!”
“I am fine. We will all be fine, just… please tell her to hurry, alright?”
The tiny creature sniffled, sinking under the weight of their own Miraculous. Felix had always been the strong one — the brave one.
Farfalla’s claws dug deeper, squeezing all hope out of their thoughts.
“I — I don’t want to hurt you.”
“Then don’t. It’s as simple as that.”
“You don’t know, Felix! You don’t understand —” The sob shattered them, knocking against bruised rings. “It’s happened before! It will happen again!”
‘Uh? What are you talking about?’
“Then you will fight it and win, every time.” Desperate hands held them close, held them together, guiding them to the crook of their neck. “And I will be here, every time. Waiting behind the door, or forcing it open.”
“She knows who I am.” Farfalla kept quiet, contemplating. “She will be relentless. She knows who I am.”
“So do I.” Gently, desperately, he pressed his forehead against theirs. “I love you, Adrien. I am not letting go.”
***
“It’s so fragile.”
Adrien held the first bean as if it were a heart, as if it were pulsing against his palm: the day was young, the garden thawed at last, and lemonade waited underneath the porch.
The world kept on spinning, not dead, not crumbling between his claws.
“Isn’t it?” Felix slid his gloves off, satisfied with his work: perfectly circular dents dotted the forest-scented soil, lined up for inspection like a well-trained platoon. “One thing about Steinbeck is that he had the subtlety of a truck running over a cricket.”
“I thought you liked the guy.”
“I do. He had the intelligence to recognise that sometimes, evidence is the most powerful metaphor of all.”
The truth of these words warmed them down to their bones: softly, delicately, they tucked their treasure into the soft bedding.
“I’m not fixed yet,” Adrien confessed, green eyes seeking green eyes. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”
Felix nodded softly, joining in as they stitched the Earth back together: dust sneaked below manicured nails, slithered under polished rings, splattered all the way up their wrists.
“I don’t need more than this,” he hummed, leaning against their shoulder. “I will take the storms and the planting in between.”
Adrien wiped his eyes against his sleeve, and instantly regretted it: had he entertained any doubts about the extent of the stain, Felix’s muffled laughter would have dissipated them in an instant.
He had missed him, missed this. The two of them simply — being.
Before he knew it, he was reaching for his brother, wiping filthy fingers down his cheek; Felix let out a wild chirp, utterly outraged.
“You fiend! How dare you?!”
“I am making good use of the great choice. You know, the one that gives a man stature with the gods, and all that!” Adrien cleared his throat, grinning from ear to ear. “For if ‘thou mayest’, it is also true that thou mayest n —”
A soil-filled shell murdered the sentence, wrecking chaos in its wake: they coughed and trembled, shaken by the dampness against their tongue.
“If you want to play foul,” Felix warned, “then I shall unleash horrors your weak human brain cannot even dream to comprehend.”
“Neither of us are hu —”
“Silence, mortal, for you shall face me and despair!”
This time, cat-like reflexes kicked in: Adrien ducked between a giant bag of fertiliser, swiftly launching his counter attack.
Laughter echoed through the blooming garden, filling the gushing wound of the alcove.