Hola, look at me jumping on yet another fandom bandwagon!

I know, I know, what the hell am I doing with my life? Question me later, after you get your daily fix of angst. But for real, this was supposed to be a full length story but I was weak and the drabble flowed like silk. Oh well, enjoy the word vomit and let me know what you think?

Disclaimer: I wish I owned this garbage bc if I did my babies would be making out in a daily basis.

Proceed.


Da Capo; to repeat from the beginning and stop on the final chord


"I love you." He whispers, and he almost hopes she doesn't hear it, hopes that the wind would carry it far, far away. But she does. And she turns.

"I love you too." She manages, eyes wide and blue and sincere, but he sees the sorry in its midst. And he knows. They both know.


His smile shatters her.


"Just not the way I love you."

It isn't a question.


Her silence shatters him.


She doesn't say anything as he bids her an entirely too jubilant goodbye and bounds off into the night. Or at least anything he could hear.

Personally, she thinks he doesn't want to hear it.

Doesn't want to hear her.

But she knows who he does.


The midnight-drenched Parisian city is unusually silent, so when the soft thud of a dulled-landing reaches her ears, she knows he's arrived.

She takes off her mask and dons another, careful to school her features into calm neutrality.

She doesn't wait for his knock, and she doesn't want to hear his explanation.

The moment he tumbles in without the slightest hint of grace, he's in her arms.

And then they crumple.

And then they fall.


She doesn't ask questions. She doesn't even speak. Her fingers weave through his golden tresses, providing a comfort words couldn't.

In that moment, he whispers a quiet thank you- not for her silence, not even for her touch. He thanks her for her very existence.


She knows he isn't crying-otherwise, her shirt would be soaked through. But he does tremble. Violently. To know that she, or rather her alter ego, has managed to so thoroughly destroy him, one of her very best friends, makes her wonder why she has any to begin with.

A small part of her had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he'd be fine. A small, desperate, stupid part of her had prayed for that right up till the moment his body found hers.

Of course he would be hurting. No sane person wouldn't be.

But his smile had been so bright. So seamless. She could almost manage to convince herself it was real.

She wonders how often those boundless grins hid something darker.

She wonders how often she's the one to cause them.

She wants to let the tears welling up in her own eyes fall, beg for forgiveness, do something- anything.

But no.

How can she cry, when he doesn't?

No.

There would be time to wallow in guilt later.

Right now he needed her to be strong when he was not.

She could do that. She could do that one simple task that her partner, one of her best friends, needed of her.

She would be his life buoy, and she would let him sink no further.


He only realises how much time has passed when her breathing goes shallow, falling into a different pattern. Hoisting himself up slowly, he finds her eyelids sealed shut. He also finds himself detransformed.

"She fell asleep before the detransformation." A small voice pipes up.

He doesn't respond.

A ghost of a smile nips at his lips as he gently pulls her sleeping form into his arms, delivering her to her bed. Having already ruined her night, he doesn't want her to wake up with a back ache either from snoozing on the hard wood floor.

He's done enough damage already as it was.

The curl of his lips softens as he takes her in one more time. His saviour. His princess. It was funny how it was the shy designer who'd coined the term princess, and the masked hero whom became her damsel in distress. She truly was a gem amongst dirt. He wishes he told her that more often.

His lips brush against her cheek in appreciation, just like hers had his oh so many nights ago. Sometimes when he thought about it, he could still feel the whisper of her innocence, the touch of her kindness. Brave, beautiful, Marinette. His saving grace right from day one.

She never left his thoughts- not even after he'd bundled her up in her sheets and taken off into the night.

And as the homeless boy lays in his house, he thinks,

Maybe it's time to begin again.


I'm thinking of writing a series of musical themed one shots? Should I? I'm v conflicted because on one hand I love this fandom and I want to contribute but on the other I'm already trash and I shouldn't be risking my sanity for two miserably in love idiots. Thoughts?