Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Adrien isn’t sure what he’s doing, which is… uncomfortably on brand for him.

The cabin is small, out of sight, bathed in a crimson light that chills him to the bone; Felix is there too, looking supremely proud of himself, and also very purple. Which answers some of his questions, only to raise even more.

“You shouldn’t be here,” Adrien hisses, uneasy as he closes the door. “I’m mad at you. Everyone is mad at you.”

Truth be told, he isn’t quite sure how he feels about his cousin right now: it’s probably not how he should feel, or else this conversation wouldn’t be happening at all.

“I know, I know. You’re on the side of the heroes, as always.” Felix, or whatever name he goes by these days, rolls his eyes — magenta, not green. “Don’t worry, you’ll be cured after tonight.”

“Tonight…?” Adrien frowns, anticipating the next trick. “Why? What happens tonight?”

“I wanted to keep it a surprise, but I was far too excited! I simply needed you two to meet!”

“Meet who? What are you going on about —”

And that’s when they see it at last.

It’s silly, they know, but up until then they thought Felix was the ominous star; that it was Felix who bled the crimson light, the one that tastes of winter and sleep. There is something else, though: another sun, hovering above the indigo fabric, tiny enough to drown in its own light.

“What,” Adrien breathes, the question sharp on his tongue, “is that?”

“Watch your language.”

Their hands are clammy, the air sticky, and that dreadful wooden box feels a little too much like a coffin.

“She,” Felix corrects, protectively, “is Red Moon. A name she picked for herself, might I add.”

“Is she —”

“I made her. She’s my friend.” He pauses there, considering. “Our little sister, Adrien.”

Felix has gone completely mad.

There is fondness on his tongue, though, and a protectiveness Adrien knows all too well: his heart clenches when his cousin tickles the orb of doom, constricts with every affectionate flicker of its light. Red Moon is alive, and happy, and loved.

“Isn’t she a wonder?” She probably is, if one likes pentagrams and black holes and whatever roams the depths of the ocean. “We’re going to do great things together. You’ll see what I mean at the dance.”

“The dance?” With every word, they understand less and less. “Felix — don’t tell me you stole the Peacock Miraculous just so you could craft your very own spotlight?”

“Of course not. That would be unwise.”

“Care to elaborate, then?”

“It’s for you, idiot. I did it all for you.”

Adrien is horrified, of course. And yet…

And yet, something relaxes in his chest.

“Your father.” Lately, it’s been Felix’s obsession: pestering Father, stealing rings, gnawing on leashes. “I’m going to give him a taste of his own medicine. See how he likes that.”

Father is trying though, and isn’t that what matters? A leash is looser than a chain — comfortable enough to sleep in.

“Felix.” They shake their head, shake the thought away. “Please, don’t do anything stupid.”

“Nothing I do is ever stupid.” The youngest frowns; a ruby beam washes the frustration away. “Look at her. Isn’t she the most beautiful thing you have ever seen?”

He says it with such certainty, such adoration. And Adrien has always wanted to understand their cousin.

“Can I…” They’re going to regret this. They’re going to regret this so much. “… Can I hold her?”

Felix grins, and finally looks like himself.

***

The next thing they know, they’re bolting through the coarse warm sand — a very angry peacock on their heels.

“ADRIEN!!!!!” Felix hasn’t yelled at them since… actually, they can't seem to remember. “Come back here!!! Give her back!!!”

There is something primal in his voice, the cry of a wounded animal; Red Moon answers, a diffuse pulse in their front pocket.

Red Moon is in their front pocket.

They just stole a Sentimonster.

Adrien has no idea how to get out of that one: the crowd splits around them, terrified of the storm that follows, and they can’t possibly transform in plain sight. Argos doesn’t tire, snaking closer with every beat, breathing hungrily, breathing behind their back, breathing down their neck —

They always thought their shoes were cool, a rare hint of colour and risk in their branded cocoon; but today resolutely sucks , and they trip over their own laces. Red Moon rolls out of their shirt, barely noticeable in the burning sand: they catch it reflexively, suffocating its glow.

Felix is on them in seconds, pinning them in place.

“I trusted you,” he spits, with that same broken tremolo. “I can’t believe you would take her from me!”

“Oh, you’re one to talk!” Adrien squirms, and his indignation feels a lot like a rush of magic. “Like you haven’t spent your entire life stealing from me!”

“Don’t talk about her like that! She is a person!”

The enchanted fan unfolds, a blade of cobalt slicing through the evening. Felix would never hurt his cousin; they aren’t so sure about Argos.

For better or worse, they don’t get to find out: a familiar yoyo knocks the weapon clean off, whirring back with a hiss.

“You.” The word is uttered with such hatred, such a thirst for retribution, that for a second they don’t believe it came out of Ladybug’s lips. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to kick your butt.”

Felix looks terrified.

He’s on his feet before they are, always quick to recover, yet he doesn’t reach for the fan: instead, he raises his hand, fingers meeting below the smooth leather.

But he’s trembling, like a leaf in the wind, and doesn’t pull his trick off.

“I’ll come back for you.” His eyes are strange, feverish, and for the first time they look straight through Adrien. “I’ll come back for you. I promise.”

He darts off, leaping on the promenade, and Ladybug readies her weapon once more; she glances back at the last moment, and there’s a hint of guilt in all this blue.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

They nod, hands woven around their secret. They should tell her about it — they will tell her about it, as soon as they find the words.

Any moment now.

“Good.” Ladybug’s yoyo wraps around a streetlamp, yanking her forward. “Get home safely!!! Love you!!!”

Home isn’t safe, but Adrien goes back anyway.

***

The dance is cancelled, which is just as well: he hated the prospect of going without Mari, almost as much as he dreaded Kagami’s quiet despair.

That, and he has an entire Sentimonster to conceal. Which is probably something he should address sooner rather than later.

Adrien leans against his bedroom door, scanning for the familiar ringing of heels and the brand new whisper of prosthetics; no one comes, so he opens his jacket.

“Hey kid, quick question: what the heck was that???” Plagg bursts out before she does, a tiny ball of concentrated darkness. “I never agreed to this weird roommate situation. What’s the game plan here?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t have time to think.”

“Well yeah, I can see that.” Ordinarily, the Kwami would dart to his camembert stash right away: instead, he floats right up to their nose, paws crossed and ears flattened. “You don’t have her amok. You don’t have the brooch. How are you going to keep her in check? You don’t even know what she does!”

“Maybe it’s something innocent,” Adrien tries, head sinking between their shoulders. “Maybe she just… glows…?”

“Oh, please!!! The Cheese Murderer made her. Of course she can’t just glow!!!”

In response, Red Moon glows harder — a luminous stain on Adrien’s chest. Reaching into his front pocket, he endures the full weight of his choice.

Which, actually, doesn’t weigh anything at all. Add it to the list of concerning facts.

“OK,” he says — to who exactly, he isn’t sure. “OK. I’m sure this is a stressful situation for everyone involved, but we’ve got to make it work.”

“Just tell Ladybug, kid. She’ll find the amok and purify it.”

It’s the logical thing to do. The only thing to do.

But Adrien walks to his desk, and locks Red Moon in the drawer instead.

Chapter Text

She still haunts him. He doesn’t mind.

It’s strange, really: she didn’t have a name, didn’t even have a face of her own, yet she lingers in the tiny Eiffel Tower he clipped to his keyset. One more ghost doesn’t make much of a difference, and Adrien opens the mansion’s gates without a second thought.

Felix would remark on the symbolism, he’s sure; but Felix is on the run from Ladybug, and he doesn’t want to think about him right now.

“Hey. Are you OK?”

The squeeze brings him back to reality, to the joyful capharnaum of lunchtime with his friends. Marinette’s eyes dig into his soul; he dives in the aquamarine sea.

“Yeah! Just… daydreaming.”

Her eyebrows furrow, but she doesn’t insist.

Alya is in the middle of a rant, which is to be expected, but it’s not a happy rant, which is unusual: her hands flutter up and down, a mad dance  he struggles to keep up with.

“… and then Mum said that was ‘way too much money to spend on a hobby.’” Adrien takes the conversation en vol, and hopes for the best. “The Ladyblog isn’t a hobby! It’s anti-Hawkmoth activism!”

“Probably doesn’t help that you used her account to order your fancy new camera.”

“Oh, like you haven’t ‘borrowed’ stuff before!” Alya’s eyes dart to their pocket, the one that holds their phone, and Marinette’s gaze sinks into her puree. “Besides, my grades have been excellent lately, and she said I should treat myself! So really, it’s her fault for not putting a price cap on that.”

“I know how you feel.” Nino’s head hangs low, obscured by the visor of his cap. “My dad caught me playing Space Mutant VS Ghost Shark after bedtime. I’m not going to see my DS any time soon.”

“You have a bedtime? Like babies?”

“Not helping, Alya!”

It’s always been like that between them: a little bit of bickering, a whole lot of nerding out over things the other doesn’t fully understand.

Next to him, Marinette keeps quiet, bullying a lonely carrot dice with her fork. She is kind, smart, brave, and a very good friend, everything one could want in a partner; he loves her, he really does, like he loves the scent of fresh bread and the promise of crocuses in bloom.

He still can’t kiss her. He kissed Sentibug.

What’s wrong with him?

“Oh my gosh, Adrien, I’m so sorry.” This time, it’s Alya speaking — rescuing. “We shouldn’t be complaining about that.”

“About… what?”

“Parents being insufferable!” She catches herself too late, and bites her lip. “I mean, you have it so much worse than us.”

“Oh.” They blink, committing themselves to the present. “It’s fine. Father’s been trying lately.”

“Yeah, dude. About that.” Nino is quick to frown, which reminds them of someone. “That might make things worse, actually.”

“What do you mean?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence, and it’s probably their fault: Alya bites even deeper, nearly drawing blood, and Mari stabs that poor carrot with startling fury.

Nino sighs, but pushes through.

“The thing is… up until now, Mister Agreste was both controlling and neglectful.” ‘Mister Agreste’ is their friend’s own brand of rebellion: shielded by respectability, he unravels family ties. “Now he can hide behind the pretence of caring, which is a hell of a drug.”

“What?” Something tightens in their chest, a knot they had forgotten was there. “No, he’s genuinely trying. You’re worried over nothing.”

“Are we, though?” Alya crosses her arms, and she too sounds awfully familiar. “It wouldn’t be the first time he baits you with crumbs.”

Adrien thinks of his drawer.

“But he…” They gulp, then gulp again. “Can’t he genuinely care about me? Would it be that much of a reach?”

“Bro.” Nino’s voice is far too gentle.

“Don’t get me wrong, I really hope he’s sincere,” Alya adds quickly, palms rising like a white flag. “But if he wasn’t… it wouldn’t be your fault. You know that, right?”

Father would never bother to snoop through his room; but Nathalie might, and a simple lock certainly wouldn’t stop her.

Marinette still hasn’t looked up.

“I have to go,” he rushes out, nearly knocking his chair down. “I just remembered I have, uh… a photoshoot to attend!”

“Oh no, dude! Please don’t be sad!” Nino reaches for his wrist; he dodges a bit too abruptly. “Forget what we said! I’m sure everything is fine!”

“Everything is fine,” he repeats helplessly. “I just — I really need to go.”

Adrien rushes out of the canteen, keychain already in hand.

***

She’s still in there.

Adrien collapses on his mattress, clutching her tight. She is not warm, not cold either: she just is, and that disturbs him beyond words.

“This is not a viable situation.”

“Hmm, you think?” These past few days, Plagg has been in a foul mood. Not as foul as his breath, though: apparently, stress-eating is not the privilege of humankind. “Kid, you have to tell Ladybug. This could be the perfect bait to get the Peacock back — have you thought about that?”

Of course he’s thought about that. He’s done nothing but think about that.

“I need to carry her at all times,” he mumbles into his pillow. “I’ll put her in my bag. You can keep my pocket all to yourself.”

“Hello??? What if she does the whole blood moon glow again???” The Kwami is loud, too loud, and only manages to make them curl tighter around themselves. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you, kid: this whole thing is going to explode in your face. Maybe literally.”

“I know.” Adrien does not love his charge: he clings to it anyway. “I just can’t bear the thought of her falling into the wrong hands.”

“Falling into the wrong hands, uh.” Usually, Plagg would nestle close and purr against his cheek; this time, he scoffs, floating all the way up to the mezzanine. “I think it already has.”

***

“Marmalade?”

Some words don’t belong in certain rooms — in certain mouths: this one is certainly out of place in the stainless kitchen, but Adrien actively tries not to mind as he settles in his chair.

The bag is there, at his feet. Out of sight, provided it doesn’t start floating around or worse, making other things float around.

“Yeah,” Adrien smiles, reflexively. “Marmalade sounds great.”

It doesn’t. But these moments are fragile, and if they break, so will he.

Father — Dad — smiles, twisting the jar open.

“I hope you have been recovering from your, ah… unfortunate run-in with Felix.”

“I’m fine.” The silver spoon dives into the mixture with a wet, unappetising sound. “It was just a squabble. Felix wouldn’t hurt me.”

“Not intentionally, I’m sure.” White gloves can’t possibly be optimal kitchenwear. “But your cousin has always been quite… petulant. I can only imagine what he will do now that he owns the Peacock.”

“Holds.”

“I’m sorry?”

Adrien bites their lip, but the damage is already done: Dad’s hand hovers above the pancake, spoon unsheathed, orange jelly teetering on the edge of collapse.

Out with it, then.

“Sorry. It’s just —” They gulp, knuckles curled around their knees. “I read about it on the Ladyblog. The term is ‘hold’, not ‘own’.”

There is a sharp gleam behind the glasses, a dangerous tightening around the handle. Adrien leans back, which is stupid: it’s just a spoon, and it’s just Father.

“Of course.” Dad smiles, careful not to bare teeth. “Well, regardless of semantics — please let me know if he contacts you again. I’m sure your aunt would be relieved to get some news.”

Adrien nods, throat sealed. He cannot bring himself to swallow a single bite.

***

“There,” Marinette orders, shoving a bursting bag in his arms. “My dad baked them for you.”

The comforting smell eases the storm in his stomach: it’s a lot of sugar, much more than he’s allowed, but if he keeps running from every meal he will end up dead in a ditch.

Besides, he hasn’t been a very good boyfriend lately.

“Thank you,” Adrien whispers, picking up the first treat he finds. “For taking care of me.”

It’s a chouquette, and he pops the whole thing into his mouth; Marinette smiles, relieved, and he takes extra care as he chews through the soft dough.

“I’m sorry for how lunch went the other day,” she mumbles, wiping crumbs off her skirt. “I can’t imagine what you’re going through.”

That’s… a pretty accurate statement, actually. Right now, they are struggling with a question they never thought would cross their mind:

Does Red Moon eat?

No, of course not. She has no mouth.

Does she, though?

Just in case, they slide a pastry in their bag.

“If there’s anything on your mind, you can tell me.”

“I know.”

“It’s not good to shoulder things on your own. I tried that for the longest time, and it left me so exhausted, and —”

“Marinette, I don’t know where Felix is.”

Her head spins, and they can feel the full weight of her gaze on them: something like surprise, something like pity.

“Of course not,” she consoles, palm up like an offering. “Adrien, I know you don’t have anything to do with this whole mess.”

She has to be the only one, and he’s lying to her. He accepts her touch anyway, because he has nothing else: only Marinette, the scent of freshly-baked bread, and the sparrows feasting at their feet.

“Is it bad that I miss him?” They whisper at last. “Felix. My cousin.”

“Of course not,” she rushes out, squeezing his fingers. “And… I’m sure he loves you too! In his own way.”

She doesn’t sound convinced, and he can hardly blame her. He isn’t either.

But the birds take flight as she kicks the torpor off her legs, and something clicks in his brain.

Chapter Text

“Searching London…? Again???”

Ladybug rests her hands on her waist, in that way that used to make him melt. Not anymore, though: he’s got a girlfriend, the most beautiful girl on Earth, and Buggaboo is definitely just a friend.

“Chat, we were there not even two weeks ago. I saw him at Paris Plage just the other day.”

“I know it sounds counterproductive, M’lady. But I need you to be where Argos isn’t.”

“Elaborate on that.”

Chat folds his hands behind his back, swallowing the knot in his throat: the mantle of the strategist is not one he is used to wearing.

“I think Felix… I think Felix is scared of you.”

“Well, he’d better be. When I get my hands on that purple neck of his —”

“He knows,” they cut, breath sharp. “Which means he’s not likely to get out of hiding anytime soon. If he hears you’re on the other side of the Channel, however…”

“I can’t keep flying off to another country, Chat. Monarch will jump at the chance to akumatise someone.”

“You don’t need to make a public appearance,” they shrug, or try to. “Actually, we only need one person to see you.”

“Are you implying…?”

“I don’t believe for a second Lady Graham de Vanily doesn’t know where her son is, Buggaboo. If you interrogate her again, Felix will hear about it immediately.”

“And then what? He’ll show up, presumably cause even more chaos, and you’ll deal with him alone?”

Worded like that, it sounds like a terrible idea. It doesn’t matter: they need to talk to Felix.

“Just… trust me on this one, M’Lady. Please?”

It sounds a little too fragile, a little too much like a prayer: Ladybug must hear it too, for her eyes soften behind the mask.

“Of course, Chaton.” She smiles, but it does nothing to soothe him. “Just… call me if anything goes wrong, OK?”

“OK,” he promises, summoning his best model smile. “You worry too much, M’Lady. I’m paw-sitive things will resolve a-meow-zingly!”

Truth is, it all went wrong a long time ago. Adrien just cannot pinpoint when.

***

From his vantage point, Chat Noir can see Adrien’s window: gigantic, much too high, lined with bars like a golden cage. It’s funny how little light filters through; he only notices now, staring at his own life from a distance.

He needs to talk to Felix. He has no idea what to tell him.

The adults always called his cousin his shadow; the adults were always wrong, but then again they seem to be wrong about many things. Felix is the one to cast light around him like it’s nothing, the one who was born to shine and restrained in dark clothes; and now that Adrien is alone in the spotlight — now that Adrien is alone with his this thing he did not make —

“Thought you could take me by surprise, didn’t you.”

They did not hear him land, which may be a problem for future confrontations. Chat jumps back to their feet, hand hovering close to their staff; Argos is just as tense, fan deployed like a makeshift shield.

Scared, they think, and the word settles uncomfortably in their stomach.

“I’m not quite sure what I thought,” they admit, struggling to keep their voice steady. “I simply figured I should try to solve this without bloodshed.”

“Does your partner share your humanitarian views?”

“I promised her I’d generously smack you on the head.”

Somehow, the threat makes Felix smile: he can tell from the gleam in his eyes, peeking behind colourful feathers.

“Shall we battle it out already? I’m a bird on a schedule.”

“Adrien isn’t there,” they warn, cutting to the chase. “Of course, that’s hardly a problem. You didn’t come for him, after all.”

Argos’ face loses several levels of saturation.

“What the Hell are you talking about?”

“Don’t worry, I haven’t told Ladybug about your secret Sentimonster.”

Now, he is positively white; his stance shifts as well, ready to pounce at a moment’s notice.

“Where is she?”

“In a safe place.”

“How did you know?”

“Witnesses, you genius. A dozen people heard you screech to death as you shoved sand down your cousin’s throat.” Chat pauses, considering. “You still have her amok, don’t you? Can’t you order her to come back?”

“I would never.”

Apparently, peafowls can hiss. Protectiveness bristles behind the rage, and Adrien feels that spark of jealousy once more: they shake their head back on their shoulders, and let their hand fall to their side.

“There was this girl,” they blurt out, before they can stop themselves. “She was a Sentimonster, but — she was different. Unlike anything we’d seen before.”

“Because she looked like someone you loved?” Argos scoffs, which does not help. “Heroes are so easily swayed by a pretty face.”

“What I’m trying to say is…” The air is surprisingly cold: he sucks it in anyway, coating his lungs in fragile relief. “I don’t want your friend to be destroyed. So, your secret is safe with me.”

Silence stretches between them, heavy with suspicion. And perhaps with hope.

“You’re different from what I expected, wet cat.” Felix folds his arms behind his back, a posture they know by heart. “I’m not sure I understand you.”

“I don’t understand you either,” Adrien chuckles, shattering. “But I’m willing to listen. Maybe even help.”

“I…”

Felix doesn’t get the chance to dismiss him: a panicked beep rises from his catphone, startling them both.

“Uh-oh. Akuma.” Chat Noir unfolds the device, squinting at the map. “I promised Ladybug this wouldn’t happen… she’ll be so mad.”

“Are you going to tell her about our secret peace talks?”

“Nah. I’ll pin it on Monarch — say he struck before you had a chance to show up.” Once again, their gaze finds the magenta eyes. “Does this mean you’re open to negotiation?”

“It means you’re off my hit list. For now.” Argos scattles to the ledge — pausing at the last second. “You’re allowed to swear, you know.”

“I’m sorry?”

“Do you need examples?”

“I know what swear words are. Just — that’s kind of random?”

“Uh-oh. Akuma,” Felix mimics, ridiculously high-pitched. “Your master isn’t here, wet cat. Allow yourself some fun.”

It’s not much of a resolution, not much of anything really; but Adrien grins as he vaults away, something dancing in his heart.

***

They find Red Moon where they left her, or rather they don’t: she is out of the bag, dangerously close to an open porthole, and her babysitter is just —

Chilling.

“Oh, hey, Chat.” Luka grins, and it’s hard to panic when he does. “Did you get what you were looking for?”

“You — Red Moon — is everything OK?”

“Hmm? Oh, yeah.” The musician shrugs. “She got a little anxious, so I figured I’d play something to soothe her. Your friend seems particularly fond of Fall Out Boy.”

So the thing has an inner melody: all the more reason not to hand her over. Adrien crashes on the seafoam blanket, as far from his charge as he can.

“What if someone had seen her?”

“No one did. Juleka is out with Rose, and Mum is out with… actually, I’d rather not know.”

“What if she had hurt you?”

“Why would she hurt me? I did not hurt her.”

Painted fingernails brush the strings, and Red Moon twinkles happily. Adrien wants to protest; their head crashes on the soft shoulder instead.

“Thank you for watching over her.”

“Any time. So how did the family reunion go?”

“Well, I think. I mean, I’m no closer to finding a solution to that problem,” he groans, waving his claws aimlessly, “but at least Felix and I are on speaking terms. Sort of.”

“Don’t you think you should tell him who you are?”

“We don’t have the relationship you and Juleka have.” Adrien exhales, squeezing his eyes shut. “He calls her his sister. I’m just the mask he hides behind.”

Luka hums, pushing his guitar to the side, snaking his fingers through their hair; and so the two of them remain, rocking gently, while wavelets die against the hull.

***

Father sends him to his room.

It hasn’t happened in weeks, but the old fear is quick to creep back in. Downstairs, a million worlds away, Marinette is fighting for them — for him — while his hand lingers aimlessly on the handle.

“Kid?” They must look absolutely wretched for Plagg to break his sulking silence. “Kid, you’re alright. Breathe with me.”

They don’t want to breathe. They want to rush back there, by Marinette’s side, where they belong.

“I’m horrible.” Trembling hands fold over his mouth; the sob comes out anyway. “A horrible boyfriend, a horrible partner, a horrible cousin.”

“What? No! Kid, you’re spiralling again. Breathe!”

They don’t want to breathe. Their knees falter, and they accept the fall with a wail.

If Mum were still around, would they be a little braver? A little safer? Would Felix still be as he remembers, sweet and honest and quick to make him laugh?

If Father were gone instead, would it soothe the pain in their bones?

“I’m a monster.” Adrien crumples to the ground, fists tight in his hair. “Monster monster monster —”

“Uuuh, Kid?” Plagg yelps, the only thing anchoring him to reality. “Sorry to interrupt, but you might want to see this.”

His eyelids are wet and heavy, and there’s a chasm in his chest; but the Kwami’s call is urgent, panicked, and he finds it in himself to obey. It’s all he’s ever done anyway.

The room is bathed in crimson light.

Chapter Text

“OK,” Adrien mutters, even though nothing is remotely OK. “We might have a problem.”

Red Moon is —

Well, for one, Red Moon is bigger: she used to fit in his pocket, but now she is the size of a basket-ball. Secondly, she's never glowed this hard, which they're pretty sure isn't a good sign.

“It's that chouquette you gave her,” Plagg groans, shielding his burning eyes with tiny paws. “Gimmidammit, kid! I told you not to feed strays!”

“I don't think that's it,” they whisper, breath short. “I don't think one chouquette can do that.”

“Then what is it??? And most importantly: how do we make it stop???”

Adrien has an inkling, something that sits uncomfortably in his chest. He doesn't get to test his theory: a knock thunders against the door.

“Adrien? Are you alright?”

It's Nathalie, of course; for all his pancake-making frenzy, Father cannot be bothered to check on the damage he's caused. Nathalie is at the door, and there's a glowing orb of death in the middle of his room.

“Y-yeah!” They chuckle, unconvincingly. “Never been better!”

“Can we talk?”

What an out-of-character request. And what awful, awful timing.

“I'm, uuuuuh…” He pauses, scratching his brain. “... I'm not dressed yet!”

“That can't possibly be true. I just saw you.” The crease of her eyebrows can be felt from the other side. “You'll have to be more convincing than that.”

“Just… give me a minute, Nathalie!”

He stretches upwards, but Red Moon floats just out of reach, and there's no way to transform with someone within earshot. Plagg tries pawing at her, hesitantly: she only shines brighter, and he recoils with a hiss.

“Adrien? What's this light below your door?”

“... Nothing…?”

“Is there someone with you?”

Shit.

Adrien looks at Plagg, who looks at him. They both know they can't keep her at bay forever: his space has never been his, and it's not about to change today.

They have to try something, though, and the Kwami darts towards the blanket.

“I'm coming in.”

“Don't!” Adrien squeaks, fumbling with the ocean of fabric. “Sorry, I mean — just — I need more time —”

This is the furthest Plagg has gone to help with this whole ordeal, and it's too little too late: the drapes hang around Red Moon like a shroud, like an avenging spirit bathed in its own blood.

There is a hand on the handle, forcing its way in.

***

It's the end of the world.

The worst part is that it drags on, a painfully slow realisation that barely touches Nathalie: her mouth twitches, a flutter of wings in the deluge, then falls back into its usual, perfectly straight line.

“Adrien,” she begins, and it bears the subtle inflection of a reprimand. “Did your cousin make this?”

They don't answer, which is answer enough.

Plagg is — not there. Out of sight, which is good, but not there, not there, not there. For all intents and purposes, it's just Nathalie and Adrien and the bleeding star in this cage of a room.

The next question is cold, practical. A line like any other at the end of her pen.

“Do you have its amok?”

“What…? N-no, I don't…” Adrien stumbles backwards, and nearly trips on his own shoelaces. They shouldn't be untied — they’re never untied. “What would you need it for…?”

Nathalie echoes his earlier silence, eyes aimed at her target: suddenly, he remembers the crossbow in her room, the hunting parties on his grandfather's estate.

“How do you know what an amok is?”

It's hard to keep the technicalities of Monarch's attacks private, especially with the Ladyblog around, but he and Ladybug try their best; they certainly don't go shouting magical verbiage from the rooftops, at least.

Still no answer. Instead, her eyes fall to his hand, the one that bears the glimmer of magic; he pulls it up to his chest, and regrets it instantly.

“Adrien.” He knows what she is going to ask long before the words make it out. “Give me that ring.”

“It's you,” they breathe out, and the scraping of their throat takes them by surprise. “You were Mayura.”

“Now is not the time, Adrien,” she cuts, as naturally as if he had just asked about school, or his birthday dinner, or his family on the other side of the sea. “Sentimonsters can't be left to their own devices. Give me the amok.”

“You can't hurt her,” they roar, and suddenly Plagg's presence is tangible again, a rush of power under their skin; suddenly Sentibug is in the hollow of his pocket, in the burn of his tears, in every droplet of her little sister's light. “I won't let you.”

But Nathalie isn't out of ammunition yet, and she fiddles with Mum's ring like she would with a trigger.

“Take it off,” the order rings out, and this one isn't the clean cut of a bolt, but the bloody mess only shrapnel can leave. “Give it to me.”

Adrien obeys, and so it begins.

Chapter Text

Felix has never used Adrien's amok, and he's not about to start now.

Paris is a desert, and therefore easy to search. The only magic he needs is his sister's light, blinding red in the starless night: her rays bristle with something he recognises, a defiance that flows through his veins like liquid pride, a resentment he knows isn't entirely his. Red Moon is alive, and it's only half his doing; Red Moon is alive, and his feet are light on the blood-lit slates.

As expected, Adrien is easy to find. Too easy, perhaps: he hasn't moved from his room, when he could be going anywhere. The world is theirs now, but maybe he hasn't realised yet; maybe it's up to Felix to show him.

Argos climbs down through the hole in the roof — the marble shell from which his sister hatched.

***

Adrien leaps when he reaches out, away from the blade of light, away from the gentle touch; but Felix is used to being clawed, and his love isn’t fragile.

“Relax, my favourite cousin,” he calls, and there’s a hint of hesitation when he adds: “it’s just me.”

The last time they met, things didn’t exactly go as planned; and this is all a big change, a good one of course, but Adrien has never been good with change, and Felix is used to being blamed for anything and everything, so —

So he stumbles when Adrien crashes into his arms, gargling and whimpering and clutching for dear life; so it takes him far too long to realise the shivers, the ones he feels through the fabric of his coat, are actually sobs.

“Felix.” There’s something broken in their voice, something that scratches his heart once more. “Felix Felix Felix Felix —”

“I’m here,” he promises, arms folding like wings around his most precious treasure. “You’re alright. I’m here.”

“I–I did something bad.” Adrien always feels guilty about one thing or another. “Felix — I did something really bad.”

‘Did you?’ is the question on his lips, but he doesn’t want to rush: his cousin has already come so far, much farther than he ever expected. Instead, he asks:

“What happened?”

Because Adrien isn’t supposed to know about the snap. Adrien isn’t supposed to know how Red Moon works.

“I–I don’t know.” They pull away just a little, just enough for Felix to get a grip on their shoulders. “Nathalie took my ring.”

“She’s had it for a while.”

“Not the wedding band — the other one. My…” They gulp, trying and failing to swallow tears. “I didn't want to give it to her.”

“I know.”

“But I did.”

“Adrien, I know. It’s alright.”

“No, it’s not!” Their muscles tense, their eyes disappear behind the heel of their palms. “If I had just said no — if I had resisted for once, if I had actually done something instead of just getting…”

“Getting what?” Felix nudges, excitement bubbling in his chest. “What did you feel?”

He knows the answer already, a familiar buzzing rising from his Miraculous; but he needs to hear it to be sure, needs the word to lift in the cherished voice.

Adrien’s breath hitches, but tumbles out at last.

“Angry,” he says, and Felix cannot help but grin. “Like I wanted her gone. Like I wanted everyone gone.”

***

“Alright, here’s my working theory.”

Felix has always hated that garden, but the night paints it in a different light: with the bright blush staining her cheeks, Aunt Emilie's statue seems just a wink away from taking flight.

“Red Moon wasn’t just born from an emotion: she is a bubble of feelings, all bundled up in a beating heart.” The scarlet sun flickers, adoration illuminating the velvety sky. “She must have sensed how much distress you were in — must have decided to protect you.”

“Why…?”

“I told you I made her for you.”

“But why, Felix? Why would you make her like — like that?”

Adrien hasn't moved from the threshold: he grips the stone as if it could grip back, as if there were any warmth there. Adrien is smart, but there are things he never seems to understand.

“Look around you, my favourite cousin.” Felix deploys his arms, spins around like the dancer he's always been, fills his lungs with the dizzying scent of roses. “This is what I've always wanted: safety, freedom, the two of us together. Don't you find it beautiful?”

“Not like this.” They shake their head, shake all the way down to their toes. “Not with the rest of the world dead.”

“This is what you wanted, though.” Felix crosses his arms, brow furrowed. “I didn't have to lift a finger, much less two. You did this on your own.”

Adrien's eyelids fall shut.

“I understand,” the youngest concedes, softly. “You've been taught this part of you is something to be ashamed of.”

“How could it not be?”

Their voice is hoarse, their knuckles white around the column: it looks out of place in all this red, something ghastly in an ocean of life.

“Well, your anger saved us, didn't it?” Gloved fingers find their way between the bones, loosening their icy grip. “Something needed to break, and you broke it.”

Adrien still doesn't move. They've been doing that dance ever since they were born: one step forward, two steps back.

Once again, Felix leads, tugging him out of hiding.

“Just… give this world a chance,” he instructs — suggests. “You might find you like it well enough.”

Helplessness runs through the brooch, a shiver along the golden plumes.

Chapter Text

“Free ice cream!” Felix grins, manoeuvring the cart with childlike glee. “I've always hated that horrible little man… he had such conservative views on flavour combinations.”

Paris is quiet, but alive: he can hear the Seine breathe a few feet away, a gentle caress against the banks. Homer's wine-dark sea rising from the pages of a book.

Adrien, on the other hand, looks completely depleted.

“Mint's still your favourite, right?” Felix asks, brandishing the dipper like a magic wand. “That's bound to make you feel better.”

“I'm not hungry.”

“Yes, you are. Malnourished, even.” Scoops pile up in the fragile cone, green over green over green. “When was the last time you treated yourself?”

“Right before you showed back up,” they mumble, or maybe accuse. “With Marinette.”

“What kind of name is Marinette?”

Adrien's eyes drift towards the tacky bracelet on their wrist: evidently, being jewellery-obsessed runs in the family.

“Well, at least you're not in love with Ladybug anymore,” Felix shrugs, compromising the precarious balance of the cone. “Now eat up before it melts.”

Not that Red Moon can actually melt a thing.

***

“Oh no!” Felix reads, as passionately as if he were reciting Hernani. “An akumatised villain just showed up to your school-slash-workplace-slash-favourite-bar, and they have a bone to pick with you! Do you A. run and hide, B. smack their head with a steel chair, or C. analyse your surroundings to plan your counter-attack?”

The questions are ridiculous, and it’s… sort of a surprise. All things considered, the Ladyblog is a respectable source; that quiz feels like a stain on its credibility.

Adrien’s ice cream remains untouched, his eyes glazed with fog.

“Won’t you at least pretend to pay attention?”

“I already took that one,” he whispers, tiredly. “My friend Alya made it, remember?”

“Right. Your friend.” Decidedly, Felix hates the people in Adrien’s phone. “Won’t you at least tell me who you got?”

“I thought you hated superheroes.”

“I do,” he scoffs, eyes narrowing. “I’m just trying to understand you.”

His cousin still won’t look at him, but it’s only a matter of time; for now, Felix shifts on the mattress, legs kicking through the saturated air.

“Fine! If you won’t take the stupid quiz, I will.” Then, lower: “I hope I get Ryuko.”

No information is useless, and Felix is always eager to study himself.

***

“Do you remember this song?”

Felix’s fingers dance across the keyboard, caressing, resuscitating: it’s been an eternity since the cheery notes have filled the music room, but he does not need a partition to find his way back.

“Come on, sit with me,” he consoles, tapping the worn-out velvet of the bench. “It’s been a while since we’ve played together.”

Adrien obeys, and their shoulders brush when he settles close: it’s not much, but it’s progress, and Felix will take anything he can get. His cousin lifts his hands — only to fall back into himself.

“Do you miss it that much?” The question takes Adrien by surprise: he trembles and gasps, as if he’d seen a ghost. “Your ring. It seems to bother you an awful lot.”

“It does,” they breathe out, teetering on the edge of a confession. “But it’s probably better this way.”

“Oh, so you agree with Nathalie now?” Felix reaches to his left, tickling the lower notes. He’s always loved their gravitas; his cousin, not so much. “You’re incorrigible.”

“I know.” They torture one of the keys, a white one, as if all the tension in their body has flowed to their hands, as if their delicate index has turned into a ruthless hammer. “This reminds me of my friend —”

“Again with your friends?”

Music was supposed to be their thing, theirs and Aunt Emilie’s. And he —

He doesn’t understand why Adrien would do this. Why he would let other hands soil everything they once shared.

“It’s just…” Their fingers flatten, a cacophony that makes Felix wince. “Luka was kind, so impossibly kind. He would have never hurt a fly, and yet he’s gone.”

“So you admit it: the others did hurt you.”

Adrien presses his lips shut, and traps his hands between his knees.

***

“Could you stop?”

They’ve been stuck on the same level for an eternity now, and Adrien is just… not moving. His avatar does nothing but ram into the wall, over and over and over again; and while it was strangely hypnotic at first, now it’s really starting to get on Felix’s nerves.

Adrien lowers their gaze and their controller; there’s a bright green sticker there, a little turtle they caress with their thumb, and it’s not hard to put two and two together.

“Why are you so upset?” Felix seizes the remote and makes the pixels disappear. “Those people can’t possibly be that incredible — otherwise they’d still be here.”

His cousin’s head sinks between their shoulders. Silence stretches between them, which isn’t anything new, but shouldn’t be happening anymore: not now that Uncle is gone, not now that they are safe in this brand new world of theirs.

“They didn’t always understand me,” Adrien admits at last, as if it was a failure of theirs. “But it wasn’t a reason to hurt them. They don’t deserve to be — gone.”

It’s enough to make Felix’s blood boil. If those better, kinder friends didn’t even understand Adrien the supermodel, Adrien the straight-A student, Adrien the perfect son with blonde hair and green eyes and a flawless smile —

How could they begin to accept Adrien the Sentibeing? How could they tolerate Argos, and Red Moon, and a creature so angry it swallowed humanity whole?

Felix’s fingers drum against the insipid suede of the sofa; then, in a childlike impulse, he jumps back to his feet.

“Alright, you won. Let’s go.”

Adrien looks up, as empty as before.

“Go where?”

“To the roof,” he groans, popping the window open with that ridiculous pole. “Let’s see if you know what you want.”

His cousin doesn’t understand; but that’s not new either, and they were never good at protesting anyway.

Adrien takes the gloved hand, and Felix leaps into the crimson sky.

Chapter Text

“So you want to fix the world,” Felix says, nudging a tile with the tip of his boot. “Go ahead. Fix it.”

No one ever comes to the rooftop, so it doesn’t need to be perfect; he’s willing to bet it’s also true of the foundations — that termites have been consuming them since forever, since before the two of them were even felt.

“Fix it…?” Adrien looks at him with big green eyes, a window open and shut. “Do you really think I can?”

“Of course.” Felix shrugs, but something twists in his stomach. “You willed them out of existence. Just will them back into it.”

Jealousy: it’s the name of that thing inside, the insect gnawing at the beams of his perfect world. Only it’s not perfect, because Adrien has decided to be miserable, so Felix will make the sacrifice: he will tolerate the intruders, if that’s what it takes.

“How do I do it?” They ask immediately, ravenously. “Is there a magic word? Do I need to hold her amok?”

“None of that.” They should really, really have had that conversation by now: it was the first item on his new world to-do-list, but then Adrien got sad, and that’s always the problem, isn’t it? Adrien gets sad, and Felix has to carry their weight on his own. “Convince Red Moon to release them, and she will.”

“Convince her?” Their brow furrows, already accepting defeat. “I–I don’t think I can. You said she reacted to my emotions, but if that was the case, surely she’d have freed them by now…”

“Have you tried talking to her?” Adrien bites his lip, which is not encouraging. “You did talk to her while I was gone, didn’t you?”

“I had many things to think about,” they hiss, hands balling into fists. “Don’t look at me like that! You never talk to me!”

“Adrien, you can’t possibly compare —”

Anger. Fear. Red Moon flickers frantically; Adrien buries his nails in his skin.

“Alright, alright! I’m sorry!” Felix rushes out, prying his fingers open. “Just… talk to her. See what happens.”

Adrien nods, breath sharp; but the tiles are all out of place, just like his eyes, and Felix doesn’t let go when he approaches the ledge.

“Hi, Red Moon.” In lieu of greetings, the brooch picks up something pleasant: a hint of curiosity, a note of excitement. “I’m sorry for the way I treated you. That wasn’t right.”

Now this… this is where things get complicated. Argos’ power is new, and huge, and overwhelming, and emotions are rarely as pure as a beam of light: what he senses is a mix of everything, anger and sadness and jealousy and self-hatred and love, his and theirs and hers all mixed up into this mess of a thing.

“I know you were just trying to protect me, and… thank you for that…? But I’d like things to go back to normal now,” Adrien whispers, looking up at last. “I — please?”

Liar. Liar. Liar. He convinces no one, not even himself, and Red Moon does not budge.

“Maybe you could just bring my friends back, then,” he bargains, lip trembling. “They’re good people. They did not deserve to… Please, Red Moon. I miss them — I miss them so much.”

This time, he’s sincere, and wipes his eyes against the cuff of his shirt; Felix pulls him back, away from the void, away from the darkness that rushes through the bond.

Red Moon shines on. He cannot tell what she feels.

“It didn’t work.” Adrien’s knees buckle, and he has to hold them upright. “Felix, it didn’t work! What do I do now?”

And Felix —

Felix really, really doesn’t want to do this; but grief devastates the space between his ribs, and no dream is worth this feeling. No dream is worth his cousin’s shattering.

“Nothing,” he consoles, lowering him onto the slates. “I’ll fix it. Just leave it to me.”

Adrien sniffles, and Felix tears himself away.

“Alright, sister,” he sighs, arms folded behind his back. “I know this wasn’t the plan, but I need you to let a few of them roam free. Can you do that for us?”

No response: he can only assume she’s sulking.

“For me, then.” She’s a baby. She’s bound to be capricious. “I don’t like this any more than you do, but…”

This time, he senses something, and he thinks —

He thinks that’s a scoff.

“Very well,” he frowns in turns, massaging his temples. “We’ll do this the old-fashioned way, if you insist.”

Argos raises his hand, the one that held Adrien’s, and snaps four times: one for each of the intruders, one for each horseman of the apocalypse.

Except the dream does not end. The world is still empty, apart from Adrien and Felix and the crimson veil of night, apart from one more wave through the bond, a feeling so sharp and clear it turns into a word:

‘No.’

Chapter Text

“Felix?”

It has been a while since their cousin has looked so scared. Even back then, before the funeral they didn’t attend, he had a way of making the monsters seem small — smaller, at least, like something that would fit under their beds, like something they could survive another night.

Tonight is not one of those nights. Tonight, his fingers tremble like autumn leaves.

“No,” he chokes out, and snaps again, and again, and again. “No no no no no —”

“Felix?” Adrien asks, and he jolts away like he’s been slapped. “What’s going on?”

No answer. The hood falls away, gloved fingers tangling in bright green locks, and his breathing picks up, and his eyes seem — lost.

“Felix?”

“Sister, please!” Felix shakes his head, violently, and Adrien finds themself mirroring him again — slower, duller. “Please, I need — I need you to —”

Nothing. Red Moon stares them down, a bloodshot eye that never blinks, and something fractures between his ribs.

“Do something.” There’s that bile again — the storm swirling in his stomach. “You have her amok, right? Tell her to let my friends go.”

“Adrien.”

“We gave her a chance to be good. Now I want my friends back.” He extends his hand, demanding, and it feels like a cycle repeating. “If you won’t do it yourself, just give me the damned ring!”

Felix scuttles away, words stuck between his teeth — something like traitor, something like don’t take another step; Adrien reaches for him, but all he grasps is black.

The light is gone.

***

Her brothers do not understand.

Adrien is not a surprise: he has never loved her, not even when she was little, not even when she was a spark purring against his heart. They’re cut from the same cloth, drawn in the same blood — and he must know it deep down, for his disgust envelops them both.

But Argos is different. He was supposed to always be by her side.

Red Moon has turned her light off, but she watches over them still: when they have had enough of the darkness, they will find her again, and it can just be the three of them for all eternity.

***

Peacocks weren’t built for nocturnal life.

In his fugue, Felix has run into a chimney, a car, and what he’s pretty sure was a trash can; he’s thrown himself against bricks walls and down a gutter, splattered in a puddle of ink, and it reminds him of the cold bite of black and white tiles under his cheek.

‘Monster,’ the growl comes, a memory he’s tried his best to silence. ‘Monster. Monster. Monster.’

He presses his eyes shut, but makes it back on his knees. There are no stars above: Red Moon has swallowed them all.

Felix wants his mum, and he thinks she’d want to talk to him too. But he’s shed his phone with his civilian clothes, and if he detransforms —

“Running away again?”

At first, he thinks the voice belongs to Adrien, which is ridiculous. It’s been an eternity since Adrien last chased him, since Adrien last wanted to be around him — and it’s too strong, too gentle, and he remembers the fire in his cousin’s eyes, the anger he had praised turning against him like a hurricane.

“So she didn’t snap you away,” Felix whispers, leaning against the dampness of the wall. “She must have sensed what you told me, somehow. Must have known what you did for her.”

“I didn’t do anything.” Chat Noir approaches, masked by the lack of light, and little pockets of rain cry under his feet; it reminds him of his father, of the mud he would drag all over his grandparents’ atrium after a fruitful hunting session. “What a hero I make, uh? I said I’d help you, and now we’re stuck.”

Felix wipes his tears away, which he’s pretty sure just means he’s spread filth all over his face. Chat slides down next to him, another black spot in this lightless world, close enough that he can pick up on his ragged breathing.

“Your cousin.” The words tumble out of their throat like a boulder, rolling down the other side. “They’re one of them, aren’t they?”

Argos slams his arm to his chest. The hero of Paris knows — Chat Noir knows — and the world is ending, and it’s all his fault, and if anything happens to Adrien —

“I’m not taking it away. I promise.” A hand lands on his shoulder, warm and bare. “I just… I’d like to be sure. Please.”

Felix doesn’t want to tell them. Felix wants to protect Adrien. But the alley is dark, and cold, and the pain builds in his throat until he can’t hold it anymore — until he shatters, like a ring or a dream.

“I thought I could have him back,” he gasps, suffocating. “I–I thought he could love me again.”

“What makes you think he ever stopped?”

The sobs blur into laughter, into something that lacerates his throat. Chat Noir’s grip strengthens, painful around his shoulder, until he claws at the fabric, until he tugs him forward and —

Holds him. Holds him tight, holds him together, and the warmth brings them both back in time, back to a light that shines brighter than Red Moon ever could.

“I love you,” Adrien chokes out, pressing a kiss into the mess of his hair. “Felix — I’m so sorry. I have always loved you.”

Felix wants to scream, but lets himself be rocked instead.

***

They don’t seek the light out.

It’s a terrifying revelation, one that comes crashing over her all at once. Red Moon has felt many things before, joy and fright and rage that burst out of her like flames, but this —

This is new, and big, and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

Her brothers don’t seek her out: instead, they cling to each other, drifting. Turning away from the beacon of her glow, preferring the endless ocean that storms around them.

Shouldn’t they be happy?

Shouldn’t they want to hold her, too?

***

“Aren’t you angry with me?”

Adrien can still see in the dark… sort of: it’s enough to solidify Felix’s presence, to guess the slope of his shoulders. This vulnerability between the two of them is more than they’ve had in months — maybe more than they’ve ever had.

But Felix can’t see him, and Felix is a flight risk, so he doesn’t let go of his hand.

“What would be the point?” Comes the answer, sincere and tired. “To break the world even further? No, thank you. I’ve caused enough damage for today.”

“Adrien.”

“Maybe that’s all I’m good for.” The asphalt is rough under his skin; but then there’s Felix, who has let go of his gloves, whose pulse beats just as strongly as it ever has. “This thing in my chest, do you — do you think that’s what I was made from?”

“I don’t think it matters,” his cousin says, so softly he almost misses it. And then: “If I’m mean, it’s my own mean.”

“Are you seriously quoting East of Eden right now?”

“Why not? Seems thematically appropriate, don’t you think?”

Adrien chuckles, despite it all, and lets their head rest on the soft coat. Felix holds his breath, like he’s afraid to break them —

And that’s when they realise who the flight risk truly is.

“She wasn’t made from anger, though,” they try, eyelids falling shut. “Was she?”

“No. No, she wasn’t.” Adrien exhales, or maybe Felix does. “It was always about love. It was always about you.”

***

It was always about the two of them.

***

“I know what I need to do,” Felix admits, and it nearly kills him. “I just… I need a little more time. A little more courage, maybe.”

Adrien keeps quiet, and he fears they might let go; there’s a heartbeat — an eternity — before they squeeze him tighter, a promise or a seal in the knot of their arms.

“Maybe I should take care of it.”

“What? No!” Have they lost their mind already? It hasn’t been that long. “Adrien, no. I made her. I should be the one to —”

“You said it didn’t matter,” they interrupt, and he can practically hear the frown. “What we were made from. Ergo, who made us.”

“Don’t speak Latin at me.”

“My point is, she spent most of her life around me. Which makes her my responsibility.” He gulps, trying and failing to pull himself together. “I kept her because I wanted to keep you. But at the same time… Gosh, Felix, can you believe I’m still jealous of her?”

“Don’t be. You have no reason to.” Argos caresses the brooch, tracing the cold plumes like he would sharpen a sword. “I–I think I’m ready now.”

“Really?”

“No.” How could he ever be? “But I love you. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Adrien rises before he does, pulling him back on his feet; he’s not sure he could have gotten there on his own.

“We’ll work it all out, OK?” They sigh, or maybe pray. “Once this is all over.”

“You don’t have to buy my cooperation. I’ve made up my mind already.”

“I’m serious, Felix. I can’t — it can’t have all been for nothing.” He wishes he could probe the gleam in their eyes. “I want you in my life — I need you in my life.  Why do you think you were the only one left?”

‘Because Red Moon loves me,’ comes the immediate answer. ‘And I’m about to betray her, like I betrayed you.’

“You have to promise,” Adrien insists, finding the outline of his face. “Please, Felix — we have to fix things. I know you want to fix things.”

Of course he does: it’s all he’s ever wanted, all he’s ever worked towards. His mouth falls open, twisting around an answer —

But there’s a burn in his eyes, the red-hot iron of guilt all over his body. An eye in the sky, a cyclops in his cave.

For the first time, Felix is afraid of his sister.

“Don’t touch him!” Adrien growls, tear stains like blood in the newfound light. “I won’t let you take him too!”

But there’s nothing they can do, and the glow grows fiercer with each second ticked by. Anger, jealousy, guilt, love swirl in his stomach, and Argos raises his hand, and Felix closes his eyes and breathes an apology through his teeth —

But the bond snaps on its own, a stab wound straight to his Miraculous. There’s a scream in his throat, clawing its way out of him like a cataclysm, and the shock of the pavement against his knees, and his brother’s arms around him, and it feels like death — it feels like an egg hatching anew.

Then the pain subsides, and the city wakes, and the ink of night stains the sky once more.

Chapter Text

“Do you have everything you need?”

The question would be hilarious, if it weren’t so cruel; he does not bother to respond, and closes his suitcase instead.

“We can go through it together, if you’d like.” Her fingers drum against the marble frame: it’s the faintest sound, the ghost of a beat, but it tumbles like stones into his stomach. “As we usually do.”

“Why linger by the door, Nathalie?” He shoots back up, gaze defiant, and the god-awful noise dies on the spot. “Scared I’m hiding another Sentimonster in here?”

“Adrien.”

The name comes out as a warning; he knows to let his shoulders slump. Nathalie must regret it, for she lets out one of those sighs.

“I hope you know we’re not punishing you.”

“Right,” he chuckles, and it does sound a little bit insane. “You’re simply pulling me out of school, sending me across the sea, and tearing me away from my friends.”

“Being in Paris isn’t good for you right now.”

“Being near my cousin isn’t good for me, you mean.”

“I don’t see him in this room,” Nathalie fires once more. “Do you?”

There comes the bile, creeping up his throat, and he wants nothing more than to knock those stupid glasses off her face; but anger hasn’t gotten them anywhere, except to the pits of Hell, and he is so, so tired.

It flows out of his eyes instead, which is worse, probably. He doesn’t want to cry in front of her — in front of Mayura.

“Adrien…” For a second, he fears she might touch him; wisely, she opts to settle on the mattress, bending that weird exoskeleton of hers. “Come sit with me.”

“Is that an order?”

“A simple request.” If she understands the implication, her face does not betray it. “Come sit with me, please.”

There isn’t much else to do, so he complies.

And it’s very, very uncomfortable — dreadful, even. Nathalie obviously wants to say something, but he’s certainly not going to help her; silence stretches between them, and the room seems even bigger somehow.

Finally, she clears her throat.

“Do you want her amok back?”

He blinks. She straightens her back, which is no small feat, considering she’s already stiff as a plank.

But then she uncurls her fingers, and there’s a glimmer of silver there. The unmistakable tingle of magic, calling to something near his chest.

“What’s the catch?”

“There is none.” Nathalie reaches for his wrist, and his first instinct is to leap, away from her, as far as possible; but she is quicker, and shoves the jewel in his palm. “It is obvious how much you cared for her. And she is no longer a threat, so I figured…”

“Did you put it on?”

“I distinctly remember being erased from existence before I could.” She frowns, but lets her hand fall away. “And after she vanished…”

“After she died,” he corrects, holding her gaze.

“After she died,” Nathalie agrees, strangely cooperative today, “it seemed indecent to do so.”

She still has no idea what the ring truly is, then; he could have used these scruples earlier, but he’ll take what he can get.

“Your father and I have had our share of… disagreements, as of late.”

“Have you?”

“There are things to be fixed. And you have some healing to do, which will better be done away from this house.” Nathalie pauses there, choosing her words. “I’m not asking for your forgiveness, Adrien. Only for your patience.”

Well, that’s cryptic. But she stands and smoothes her coat out, and he decides the answer is irrelevant anyway.

There are more important things at stake.

“Wait,” he calls, when she’s already halfway out the door. “Nathalie?”

“Yes?” She turns, and readjusts her glasses. “Do you need anything —”

The hug takes her by surprise, and her arms fall limp at her sides.

“Thank you,” he breathes out, almost drowned out by the fabric of her suit. “For making things a little bit easier.”

Nathalie lowers her guard.

***

Felix doesn’t hate Adrien’s friends anymore.

They’ve made it impossible, with this barrage of love that rose from the ashes of that night. The Ladyblog girl has been spamming his inbox with notifications, calling out fashion designer Gabriel Agreste for sequestering his son; some bro-dude with a ridiculous cap swings by every day to argue with the cameras; and Felix is pretty sure that caterer’s moustache was a fake.

Most of all, he likes Luka, who hides his brother in the hold of his boat. They will meet there, once everything is over.

For now, that colossal bodyguard carries his suitcase down the stairs, the ones that never seem to end. Nathalie lingers by the handrail, arms crossed and none the wiser; Duusu stirs in his front pocket, holding onto the rings — the one she gave back, and the one he took from her.

Maybe this is Red Moon’s legacy, the only gift he’ll ever get from his sister. Maybe she gave him what he couldn’t get on his own: a chance to make things right.

Uncle waits by the car, twisting the other half of the amok. Felix comes to him, unafraid.