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Nathaniel was going to lose it with his mother.
He thought they had gotten better. He thought she would have understood, after the whole “Ruler” thing. But she didn’t. She didn’t care—not about what had happened, not about what Marc meant to Nathaniel, not even about Nathaniel. She didn’t care enough to change. She was still the same and she was always going to be the same and he didn’t know why he had convinced himself she cared enough.
Pacing around his room, taking one deep breath after another, Nathaniel stalked around the room. He was seething. He knew he was seething. Hell, he was talking to himself, and if he didn’t get under control soon—I can’t let the new Hawk Moth control me. Digging his fingers into his hair, squeezing his eyes shut, Nathaniel shook his head. I won’t!
“Until this little issue of yours is resolved—” His mother’s words echoed in his head.
“He’s not an issue. He’s not!” He turned to look back at his door, gritting his teeth. Sure, his mother wasn’t there. She couldn’t hear anything he was saying. That was a good thing. He didn’t want her to hear what he was saying, what was going on in his head. His chest ached, ribs tight around his heart and his lungs. Swallowing, Nathaniel tried to take another breath. He didn’t want to be angry. “He isn’t an issue. I love him. It’s not an issue. It doesn’t need to be resolved.”
He went back to pacing around his room. Ziggy fluttered around him, eyes wide and worried. As another tear began to roll down his cheek, she flew over, reaching out to brush it away with a tiny hand.
“I’m sorry that she’s like this, Nathaniel. It’ll be okay.” She said. Ducking down, she wrapped her arms around his neck. An attempt at a hug.
Glancing at her, Nathaniel took a deep breath and sighed. “You’re right, Z. I just…” He sighed again, leaned into her touch for a brief moment. As he stood there, he added, “I need to get out of here. I need some air.”
Ziggy pulled away from him, floating around to look him in the eye. “Then transform and run, as far as you can. I will always guide you home.” Her hands wrapped around his finger. Blinking, Nathaniel studied her. He nodded.
“Ziggy, transform me.”
His costume rolled over him. Somehow, it meant he could breathe easier. Sprinting out into the Paris sunset, he threw himself from one roof to the other. He’d skipped dinner. His stomach ached, his lungs were burning as he ran harder, and he could feel the burn in his legs as he kept moving. Sure, the Miraculous helped on a normal basis, but he was still new to this. He was still—
Shaking his head, Nathaniel reached up and scrubbed at his eyes with one hand, glancing to the side. His boots slammed onto metal roofs, his paintbrush slammed into his back, and he almost wished that he had brought his backpack. (Maybe his mother would miss him more if he was gone for longer than just a couple hours, a night, something like that. But where would he go? He couldn’t go to Marc’s, that might get him in trouble. Same for the rest of his friends. He’d have to skip out on school as well, for however long he was out. For however long he was gone, actually. Would he be able to leave Paris? Should he leave the Goat Miraculous behind? Hand it off to Ladybug, to Marinette, give her the chance to pick someone else? He wasn’t sure.)
He didn’t know how long he ran for. It wasn’t long. The Miraculous made them faster, even if he hadn’t had it for a super long time (not like Marinette or Adrien had with the Ladybug or Cat Miraculous), so it couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds. He was already at the edge of Paris. As he jumped from one roof to the other, his foot slipped.
His jaw slammed into the roof first, he went sliding down a few feet. Catching himself on the edge of the building, he hauled himself up. His ribs ached. His chest ached. Shoving himself up, Nathaniel panted and dragged himself further up the roof. There was a chimney nearby, he dragged himself over and shoved his back against it.
He couldn’t breathe.
He really couldn’t breathe.
Gasping, Nathaniel tipped his head back and squeezed his eyes shut. The wind whistled around him, playing with the ruff of fur at his neck. Okay, okay, breathe—the anger had changed to sheer panic. What if his mother did something to Marc? What if she called the school and claimed he was harassing Nathaniel somehow? What if—what if she managed to break them up somehow? Or blackmailed Marc? She was using to use akuma powers on him, what if she got akumatized again? Would she target him? Would she—
His throat was tight, his ribs ached, he tangled his fingers in his hair again. The paintbrush on his back dug into his spine, his shoulders. He had his heels braced against the roof, pushed himself further back into the chimney. The plaster dug into his suit. His breathing sounded awful, he could hear the rasp.
This wasn’t great, either.
Anger was one thing. He could handle anger. Panic was worse, if he got too panicked—he dropped his hands from his hair, wrapped his arms around himself and dug his nails into his arms instead. I can’t breathe.
Can’t breathe—
—I have to focus—
—what if she gets akumatized? Is she going to hurt Marc? What if she hurts me—
—I can’t let the new Hawk Moth get to me—
Can’t breathe—can’t breathe—I need to breathe—
His stomach did a flip. He’d skipped dinner. He hadn’t eaten in too long. Pulling his knees tighter to his chest, burying his head beneath them, Nathaniel rasped in another breath. His shoulders were shaking. He was shaking. Please. Please, just let me breathe, please just stop. Shaking his head, he curled in on himself more—
A hand landed on his shoulder.
“Caprikid?” Flinching, Nathaniel raised his head. Juleka was right next to him now, orange and yellow eyes wide behind the black and pink mask.
“Tigress.” He managed, chest heaving as he gasped for breath. When he swallowed, his stomach did another flip. Yanking away from her, he slapped a hand over his mouth, hiding a rather gross-sounding retch. She touched his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry, I—”
“It’s fine. Breathe.” She said, simply. On the edge of the roof, Nathaniel could see Marinette standing guard with her yo-yo in hand and her eyes on the sky. Glancing back, she met his gaze for a second, smiled softly. Then, she went back to searching for any butterflies. “We have you.”
Gently, Juleka tugged at his arm. He dropped against her, clung to her arm as she wrapped both around him. Her cheek rested against the top of his head, despite the fact he knew the horns on his suit wouldn’t be comfortable, and she held him tight. The Paris skyline was blurring now, he could see purple night approaching and casting the clouds in a velvety blue.
He didn’t know long he cried.
He didn’t throw up, that was a good thing. By the time they didn’t have to worry about any of the akumas, it was just past twilight. Marinette turned, holding out a hand for him. She and Juleka helped him stand. “Come on, let’s get you back home. My home, not yours. You need something to eat.” When he opened his mouth to protest, Ladybug’s eyes narrowed. She quickly added, “This is not a request, it’s an order. Either you pick what we’re getting you, or I’ll pick it for you. Got it?”
“Yes, Ladybug.” Nathaniel sighed. She smiled.
“Good. Come on,” she started to lead them towards the bakery.
Marinette handed him a mug of hot chocolate, wrapping his fingers around the black-and-white ceramic.
It was warm under his fingers. Comfortably, not overly hot—she had made it with milk, he’d watched her make it. “Alright. What kind of tart do you want? We have au citron, au chocolat, Framboise, aux Fraises, and aux Myrtilles.”
“Blueberry?” He replied.
“Got it.” Turning on her heel, Marinette strode across the kitchen and found what she was looking for. “Anything else?”
Mostly joking, Nathaniel asked, “Do you have any pain au chocolat?”
She brought a small plate over—with both things. Eyes wide, Nathaniel paused and looked at her. Meanwhile, she had already turned to Juleka with a smile, miming holding a pen and a notepad. “Do you have any macarons? I had dinner right before patrol.”
“Sure. Vanilla or raspberry? Oh, I think Papa has been trying a matcha recipe, if you want to try that.”
“Anything works.”
Marinette ended up bringing over a whole plate of macarons, plated excellently and rather delightfully, actually. When she saw Nathaniel eyeing one, she placed it on his plate without a second word. “Everything’s kosher. As always.” She offered. Nodding, Nathaniel turned back to his food. “So, do you want to hear the recent gossip that Mama and Papa shared with me earlier? Someone came by for a wedding cake.”
“A wedding cake?” Juleka and Nathaniel shared a glance. Turning back, Nathaniel asked, “Hold on, I want to know now.”
Marinette launched into a story about the couple who had appeared in their bakery earlier, asking for a wedding cake. Specifically, they wanted a pure white, six-tier wedding cake as tall as the groom. The man had very easily been the height of Adrien’s paternal grandfather, according to Marinette—and she not only had met the man, but could eyeball most fabric measurements even if she did triple-check said measurements. They’d wanted to have a spiral of roses all down the entire thing, coming from a bunch lining the top to a circle at the bottom. They had even wanted decals on the cake in a very, very faint rose-gold that they had brought pictures of. The decals were going to be their initials and then patterned like lace on the rest of the cake. And the price they wanted to pay?
Not even two hundred and fifteen euro.
A cake that size, Marinette guessed, would easily be over a thousand euro, maybe almost two thousand depending on the actual size. The supplies alone would cost more than the original price! When her parents had made it clear they were not making the cake for that little a price, the bride had thrown an absolute tantrum. The groom hadn’t said anything. “I’m shocked we didn’t have an akuma in the bakery! Maybe it was because the new Hawk Moth didn’t want to bother dealing with a bridezilla akuma.”
“I don’t know, they dealt with my mom.” Nathaniel sighed. Taking a sip of the hot chocolate, he took another breath and finally started explaining, “I thought she would change. But she hasn’t. It’s like she’s worse than before, just not about my art. Just about Marc.”
“I’m sorry, Nathaniel.” Marinette sat down next to him, frowning in concern. “Do you think there’s anything we can help with?”
Turning to her with a weak, bitter laugh, Nathaniel asked, “Can you make her care about me?” His eyes watered. He was crying again.
Sniffing, he turned away, trying to hide his face as Juleka touched his arm and pulled him into a hug again. “She does care about you.” Marinette had moved again, crouching in front of him to set a hand on his knee, “She’s not showing it the right way, and she doesn’t understand. But she does care.”
“She cares for whatever…idea of me she has in her head.” Shaking his own head, Nathaniel continued, “She wants me to sit down and be straight, for my issue to be resolved,” he sneered the words, felt Juleka stiffen as she held him and watched Marinette glance Juleka’s way, “and that issue includes Marc and I staying far away from each other and never falling in love with one another again. It means playing straight and pretending to be someone I’m not. She doesn’t even think being bi is a thing—it’s one or the other, but I’m bi. I’m bi and it’s fine and it’s okay and anyone who has something to say about it can mind their own business because I’m me and they can’t change that!”
He was shouting. It was late. Marinette’s parents were probably trying to sleep so they could get up on time in the mornings (on time for bakers, that was). Actually, he was probably waking them up. Still, knees pulled to his chest and trying to breathe properly, Nathaniel just snaped his mouth shut. “It’ll be okay.” Juleka said again.
Marinette nodded, “And we’ll handle it. If you don’t have anyone in your bio family, then you’ll just have to turn to your miraculous one.”
“Thanks, Marinette, Juleka.” He glanced at each of them in turn. Sighing, he turned back to his food, adding, “I appreciate it.”
Since he didn’t have much else to do but bury his feelings in food, he took a bite of the tarte aux myrtilles. It was good. Really good, actually. Letting out a content sound, he glanced at Marinette. “You better enjoy that.” She said, lightheartedly. “It took Papa and I five hours to make on Monday. My feet still hurt.”
“I am enjoying it! It’s great.” Glancing down at it, he added, “The crust kind of reminds me of shortbread cookies.”
“Probably because there’s a fourth cup of sugar and a whole American-size stick of butter in there.” Laughing, Marinette shook her head. “It’s a lot of butter. This big.”
She held her hands apart, showing the size.
“That is a lot of butter.” Taking another bite, Nathaniel asked, “Think we could have some of this for the class?”
“Only if you help me make it! These take a long time! For some reason we don’t have a double boiler, so we have to put the blueberries in a saucepan and get water in a second saucepan and then wait for it to boil, then we have to strain it through the smallest strainer we have because the normal ones broke and so did all our glass bowls and—”
Nathaniel glanced at Juleka, holding back a smile, as Marinette continued to rant.