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“You know,” Adrien hums, voice light as a feather, “this is nice.”
Nino still isn’t sure how they got from open warfare to this surreal state of existence: Claw Noir perched on his bunk bed, in the spot that used to be Chris’. In a few hours, the sun will rise on new battles and new losses, but for now…
For now, they get to enjoy — whatever this is. Which is, in fact, very nice.
“The movie, I mean.” Oh. “It was really… fun.”
“Dude, you don’t have to like it. I know it’s kinda stupid.”
“It isn’t.” Words don’t come easily when they’re out of costume, so this has to count for something. “OK, it is kinda silly, but that’s what I like about it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” A beat passes in silence, and Nino is happy to leave it at that. But then: “This is the first movie I’ve watched in months.”
“For real?”
“For real.” She likes repetition: it gives her a roadmap, a lifeline to hold onto. “My mother, she, uh, she was an actress.”
“I hadn’t thought about that… It must be hard.”
“It is. But… not in the way you’re probably thinking of.”
When the mattress shifts, Nino holds his breath: it’s been so long since he’s had life above him. All this silence, it’s been driving him nuts — he wouldn’t force anything out of Adrien, but it matters that she tries.
“When you care about something in the way Mum cared about cinema — in the way Betterfly cares about Paris — what you actually care about is bits and pieces of a whole. The shards that hold meaning, and nothing else.”
“So like… clever scenarios? That kind of stuff?”
“Or movies that broke the aesthetic conventions of their time. Or career-defining pieces. The point is,” Adrien breathes, “that a movie couldn’t simply be a movie. Wasn’t allowed to simply be a movie.”
“That sucks.”
Nino realises, too late, that he probably shouldn’t talk of the dead like that; but he has never been one to disguise his feelings, and lately, they’ve turned sour. Betterfly used to be his mentor, his hero, a beacon of light shining through the gloom of his life — but ever since Claw Noir dropped the mask, he’s learnt the Agrestes aren’t what they seem. None of them are.
Adrien doesn’t hold the remark against him: they giggle, the notes tumbling down like warm raindrops.
“If you think that was bad, you’d hate my cousin. He’s a writer, so — he literally makes meaning out of thin air.”
“Gosh, there’s two of you?”
“There’s two of us.” Her voice bristles with fondness. “Where’s your clone?”
“I’m sorry?”
“Bunk beds,” Adrien remarks, which, yeah, he probably should have seen that coming. “Do you have a twin? Wait, no, a twin doesn’t make sense. An older sibling who’s moved out?”
“I…”
There’s a knot in his throat, a chasm in his chest. Someone under the dinosaur-dotted blanket that isn’t his brother.
The slats creak again, and he knows Adrien is leaning into the void.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” Nino wipes his eyes, but the burn doesn’t stop. “He’s not… I–I don’t think he is, at least. They took him.”
“How long has it been?”
“Six months. He’s missed his birthday, and mine.”
“Is that why…?”
“Yeah. Alya too — her little sisters went to the same school.”
“I’m sorry,” Adrien whispers again, as if it were their fault. “I’m sorry. I can’t even begin to imagine.”
“It’s fine.”
It’s not fine. Nino twists and turns, until he’s facing the little star stickers on the wall.
He doesn’t hear the feet on the ladder, doesn’t feel the shift of the mattress. All he knows is that there’s an arm around his waist and a face pressed against his back.
“I had fun tonight,” Adrien mumbles into his shirt. “Thank you.”
“Any time, dude.” Dude. Why does he keep saying dude? “There’s like, three sequels, if you want to do this again. They don’t exactly make sense, but…”
“Perfect.” She tilts her head up, getting comfortable, which means she has no intention to leave. Also, that her breath tickles his neck. “The less I need to think, the better.”
Nino is thinking. Nino is thinking for two, although it feels more like a tangle of questions, with some exclamation points for extra fun — a total keysmash of a thing.
If there’s one thing he knows, though, it’s that their hand feels warm under his: so dainty, so pale, so unlike the daggers he used to fear. Claw Noir fought in the Supreme’s name, it’s true, but Nino can’t find it in himself to hold it against Adrien — not now, not like this, not when his room finally feels a little less lonely.
“Do you want to try and get some sleep?”
When they nod, their nose brushes against his skin. Shit. Fuck. He’s so doomed.
“OK then.” He gulps, pretending to close his eyes. “Good night.”
“Nino?”
“Yeah?”
“Are we friends?”
That’s one hell of a question, especially when they’re holding each other like this. Especially when his cheeks are burning, and he’s still not convinced this isn’t actually a dream.
Is this friendship, or is it something more? Does he even know what “more” is? It’s not like he and Alya didn’t try dating, but things between them always felt a little off. If he starts dating Adrien, will things feel a little off too? What if they break up and Claw Noir starts terrorising him again??? What if —
Adrien shivers. The tremor echoes through Nino’s body.
“Because, you… you really don’t have to be as kind as you are.” Oh. Oh. Of course it’s what they meant. Of course Nino jumped to conclusions again. “Just because we’re close in another universe… doesn’t mean you have to do all this here.”
And this — all this, as she put it — is far more important than whatever mess he’s made of his brain.
When he dislodges her arm, she cowers; but Nino only means to curl closer, to turn away from the stars and towards Adrien.
“We’re friends,” he promises, both of her hands safe between his. “But not because of whatever happened in that other universe. Because of something much, much more important.”
“Which is?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Nino asks, grin returning. “Our love for the arts. Our warriors’ bond. Our shared appreciation for Space Mutant VS Ghost Shark.”
Adrien laughs, and the night turns a little brighter.