Chapter Text
Paris had stopped breathing.
Gray light spilled through the poorly covered windows of Jessica Snow’s apartment, casting long shadows against the warped wooden floor. The air was still, heavy with the scent of damp wood and mildew. Rainwater dripped occasionally from cracks in the ceiling formed after months in the watery wasteland without upkeep, hitting the metal rim of a forgotten pot with hollow, echoing plinks. Outside, the world was drowned, rooftops of lower buildings peeked from beneath the waterline like jagged, broken teeth, the buildings of a once-living city now lifeless tombstones under the eternal gray of the sky. While the taller buildings yet to be fully submerged, created shaded areas on the water as the sun passed through the sky.
Jess sat with her back against the wall, her knees drawn up, arms slack at her sides. Her black hair was tangled and dull, falling like wet threads over her shoulders and past her face. She hadn’t brushed it in weeks. Her skin, once warmed by the sun and adrenaline, had faded to something too pale, like paper. Her emerald-green eyes were vacant. Empty. She blinked sometimes, but not often. Her body breathed on instinct, but nothing else functioned, not properly, not anymore.
The blanket she used to wear around her shoulders had slipped to the floor hours ago, maybe days, she didn’t know. Time didn’t move in here, not really. She hadn’t eaten in almost a month, the empty feeling in her chest outweighing the empty feeling in her stomach. She was sluggish and tired from dehydration and lack of sleep, her throat dry from disuse. She hadn’t spoken since the day she told Chat Blanc it may be better if he left her like everyone else.
And yet, he still came. The larger of her bedroom windows creaked faintly as Chat Blanc slipped through it, careful as ever not to disturb the hanging curtain too much. The white fabric swayed gently behind him, as his white boots landed softly on the wooden floor. He straightened, glancing around like he always did. He didn’t speak at first, he never did right away. As if he were afraid his voice might shatter Jess’s slowly rebuilding mind.
Chat Blanc stood by the window for a moment, his tall, lean form outlined in the dull gray light. His suit was white from head to toe, sleek and lightly armored, marked only by subtle grey lines tracing the edges of his gloves and boots. His belt, hanging from his waist like a cat’s tail swung lightly as he moved but remained decorative, not functional. His wild, silvery-white hair looked messier than usual today, wind-tossed from a fast return. Eerie blue eyes flicked toward Jess’s motionless figure on the floor.
Nothing, not eye contact or acknowledgement that she noticed he’d returned. Just like yesterday and the day before, ever since the day she’d shuffled into his hold, and they’d stayed there for hours.
He sighed softly, moving toward the small metal shelf by the far wall. He set down a satchel, weathered and patched in places, unzipping it. He pulled out a bottle of water, two small cans of food, and a slightly bruised apple. He crouched nearby, a few feet away, careful not to get too close. He always respected Jess’s space. She hadn’t spoken to him since the day she fell asleep on his shoulder, a day he still thought about more than he should. That day, she had felt…warm. Alive, if only for a few seconds.
Today, she hadn’t even blinked when he arrived.
He held out the bottle of water. “You need to drink,” he said, gently. His voice was soft, softer than it used to be. Less sharp, less cold. “It’s clean, collected it myself.”
Jess didn’t look up, nothing else moving other than the slow rising and falling of her chest as she breathed.
Chat Blanc waited, she didn’t move. He set the bottle down between them, placing it carefully on the floor so it wouldn’t roll. Then he sat down beside it, cross-legged, hands resting on his knees. The old wood creaked beneath him. He tilted his head slightly, watching her. “You don’t have to talk,” he said after a moment. “But you should drink something.”
Still, Jess said nothing. But her eyes flicked, just barely. They moved, slow and sluggish, toward the water bottle.
Chat Blanc didn’t move, didn’t speak. He just waited, like a new pet owner waiting for their new animal to warm up to them.
Jess shifted, it wasn’t much. Her hand just moved a few inches, then stopped. Her fingers trembling as if her body was using actual effort to move a single hand. The motion seemed foreign, unused. A minute passed, then another. Then, slowly, her hand reached out again. She touched the bottle, her fingers curling around the plastic. It was cold. The sensation startled her, her brows furrowed faintly, as if her body had forgotten what cold even felt like.
She pulled it toward her.
Chat Blanc didn’t breathe, scared that a single noise may break the concentration and make Jess push the bottle away.
Jess opened it, raising it to her lips. Her hand shook with the effort of holding the bottle up. The first sip was barely a mouthful, then another. Then more. By the time she finished half the bottle, her hands had steadied slightly. She lowered it again, the plastic crinkling softly as her fingers relaxed. She didn’t look at him.
But he looked at her, and nodded. That was it, no smile, no teasing remark, no smug line. Just a nod. A quiet, solemn acknowledgment of the tiny, fragile thread she’d just grasped.
Jess didn’t say anything. But her grip on the bottle didn’t loosen, and her shoulders, once hunched with unspoken weight, eased ever so slightly.
Chat Blanc leaned back slowly, resting his arms behind him, gazing up at the ceiling. Dust drifted lazily above them, caught in the pale gray light. He didn’t speak again, he didn’t have to.
She had taken the first step. And in this broken city, among the shattered dreams and drowned rooftops…that was everything.