The door opens slowly with a loud creak despite the best efforts of the woman to make the least amount of noise possible. It's stormy outside. The small apartment seems to rattle as a draft gusts through the place.
There's an unpleasant damp odour lingering in the room and something else which the fourteen year old can't quite put his finger on as he steps in. It's dark, dingy and there's mould on one of the walls. This isn't what he had been hoping for… Drenched to the bone and still shaking from events which he still haunt him, he had been hoping for somewhere warm, comfortable and dry… This place looks as if it had been abandoned a couple of days ago by some squatters. He stands there, looking around as if this is some alien planet.
"This is it." The woman informs him simply.
She doesn't pretend that it's any nicer than it is but neither does she dwell on the unpleasantness. This is their new reality and there's no sense either denying it or embellishing it. The woman dumps the bag which has been weighing heavily on her shoulder for the past few hours on the couch. The teen's still wandering round in something of a haze. He doesn't quite seem to be able to take in his surroundings. His companion watches him in silence. In other circumstances, she might tell him to pull his act together and not to look so listless but they're both a bit too tired for that right now.
Instead, she makes her way over to the fuse box which is in the corner of the room, only just managing to cling to the wall. She flicks the few switches. A lightbulb flickers on overhead and a loud humming confirms that the fridge is now working.
The teen winces, shielding his eyes from the sudden influx of light. It allows him to view the room in all of its non-existent glory. It arguably looked better with the lights turned out. At least he couldn't see the damp in quite so much detail… He doesn't comment. There's not much to comment about. The carpet's been torn up in several places making for a potential tripping hazard, in places the wallpaper is peeling off of the wall and one of the windows with a charming view of the peripherique seems to be held in place with some duct tape. There's only a couch, a coffee table and a shabby armchair in terms of furniture. In the corner of the room, is a tiny fridge and a cooker which even he can tell belongs on a skip.
"You live here?" The young man finally pulls himself together enough to speak.
"No. Not exactly." There's something of a stern look about her, as if she's anticipating complaints. "I bought it in case things went south with your father and I needed to lie low for a while."
The teen doesn't respond and the woman doesn't take offence at how quiet he's being. Instead, she gives him a tour. It's the world's fastest tour. Here is the one bedroom (just ignore the broken glass) where I will be sleeping and here is the bathroom (yes there is no toilet seat). Adding to the overall charm of the inside is the sound of some rowdy and drunken individuals outside. Not all of whom were outside of the building. Still, the young man doesn't complain. He seems to accept that this is what he's going to have to live with.
She manages to get the pot to simmer as she pours in some tomato sauce. The boy is changing in the bathroom, his clothes were drenched so he chooses pyjamas instead. She's already in more casual clothes, abandoning her expensive suit in favour of a jumper and set of jeans. It's not warm in the flat, it goes without saying that there's no central heating and the radiator died probably two decades ago. The boy emerges from the room a few minutes later, his hair's still drenched. He sits down on the couch quietly. He refuses to speak, fixing the city lights in the distance, lost in thought. Somewhere out there was his home. This will be strange for him… She doesn't linger on what it's like for him for too long.
She knows it's going to be hell for him. It doesn't need much more reflection than that.
She puts two warm bowls of pasta and sauce down on the table, settling in the armchair before taking her own. It's not much but it's better than nothing. The boy pushes his around for a moment before tentatively taking a few mouthfuls, hunger getting the better of stress and fear. Content that at least he'll eat something tonight, she finished her owl food.
"How long are we going to have to stay here?" He speaks quietly on the few occasions that he does break the silence.
"Hopefully not long. Until I come up with some kind of plan or until Gabriel Agreste moves out of Paris."
The fourteen year old doesn't answer. He's likely been expecting as much but it's perhaps not what he wanted to hear. He finished his meal without saying so much as another word. She doesn't push any further. The silence suits her as well. They've already talked enough today. Things are as clear as they need to be. She picks up the bowls when they're done and washes them. For tonight, he can escape chores. She's going to be as lenient as possible. He sits there awkwardly for a while, with nothing better to do, his kwami hovering nearby. For all of his faults, Plagg has realized that this wasn't the time to create mischief.
Exhausted, the woman is content to simply sit in the armchair, with her head lying back. The events of the day replay in her mind. It's insane. She's insane to be doing this. At best, she's risking jail time for this, at worst… She doesn't even want to think about it. Her gaze rests upon the young man for a few moments. He's lost. That much is clear. Staring blankly at the table now. It's a lot for him to take in.
"Go to bed." Her instruction is firm, leaving no room for debate.
Not bed so much as the couch. It's better than nothing and all that she has to offer. He nods slowly. They brought a few supplies with them. It's not much and she can't help but feel a twinge of pity as she watches the boy struggle to make himself comfortable on what is not a comfortable sofa. He lies there, pulling the blanket up so as to keep warm. Once she's sure he might be able to find some rest. She gets up from her chair, rubbing her strained and tired eyes as she goes.
"Goodnight Nathalie..." Comes the tired mumble from the couch as she retires.
"Goodnight..." She whispers back softly as a reply.
Tomorrow things will look different. Good or bad, she can't say but they would be different.