Chapter 2
Chloé felt a cool breeze blow across her body, goosebumps standing on her skin. She pulled herself further under the soft luxurious covers, cocooning herself in warmth. The large window for the condo was wide open as the calming sound of tropical Caribbean waves crashed outside. Chloé, in nothing more than a loose pair of shorts and an old t shirt, pulled the blankets of the large bed closer to her, and subsequently away from the other occupant.
The figure lying next to her, grumbled at the cold, and nuzzled closer to her in response, wanting more of the blankets she so greedily held. Chloé giggled as he held her close to his chest, scattering little kisses down her neck and along her collarbone. She turned towards him to either scold him or push him away, but she was silenced by his lips. Her hands went to the back of his neck while his went to her waist beneath her shirt. But, that was as far as he got before a loud creaking noise echoed it's way through the condo. Both of them turned to their bedroom doorway.
There stood a little girl. Even in the darkness, Chloé could make out the bright royal blue eyes that looked like they were on the verge of tears.
"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Chloé held her hands out.
Without hesitation, the little girl rushed into her mom's arms and was pulled up onto the bed. She was shaking, her lip quivering, with the dam about to burst any second. Chloé placed a kiss on top of her messy hair which was as red as the man lying next to her.
"...I-I had… a-a nightmare…"
"Oh, sweetheart," Chloé held the shivering girl tightly in her arms, the girl's father pulling the two of them into a larger hug. The girl was calming down, but Chloé's heartstrings were being painfully pulled. She wanted nothing more than to keep this girl snuggled in the safety of her arms.
The man lying behind Chloé pulled the blankets over his wife and daughter, holding both of them close. Eventually, the little girl's sniffling quieted it, and she was soon fast asleep in her mother's arms. Soon, her mother was the only one awake, enjoying the comfort of her life. Chloé sighed, her shoulders relaxing, as she allowed the pull of sleep to take her.
The sharp piercing wail of a phone woke Chloé from her dreams. The Blonde, half asleep, grumbled at the annoyance. Something felt… wrong. She felt dazed and confused. She tried to take a breath in, only to find her nose constricted. Her throat felt sore, and her skin had become frozen.
She was sick. Perfect.
Luckily for Chloé and her tired eyes, the sky was still quite cloudy, so she wasn't blinded by an annoying morning sun. There was no rain though, so it must have stopped from last night. Her eyes widened.
Last night.
Nathanaël!
The ringing of the phone, of which Chloé had ignored, now became evident. She snatched it.
"Miss Bourgeois?" She recognized the voice as Valérie, who had been working at the front desk of her father's hotel well before Chloé had even been born, "Miss Bourgeois, a boy was here wanting to see you."
Great. Now Nathanaël probably thought she blew him off, "...ummm… Valérie?" Her voice sounded weak, "... can you call him back?"
"Oh, don't worry, dear, he's on his way up."
Oh no.
"Miss Bourgeois, you sound very sick. Do you need me to send up some medicine or some soup or-"
Chloé threw down the phone, her mind racing. This was bad, very bad. It took all of her strength to push herself out of bed as her bones felt like they would snap. She groaned as it took all her will to abandon the comfy warmth that was her bed. Her grouchy Kwami made herself known by fluttering off her pillow, "It's a Saturday, why do we have to get up?"
Chloé tried to run to her bathroom to fix her hair that was undoubtedly a mess, but she struggled as nausea took over. Leaning against the wall, her mind spun in a sickening swirl of confusion and worry. The dreams of the night before rushed into her like a freight train, only making her already weakened state worse as the true scale of the situation made itself known. She had dreamt about Nathanaël without smuttiness. Every other dream that she had been having of him for the past four months each could have been dismissed as a product of teenage horniness. Those dreams did give her some breathing room to remain in denial as much as she wanted. Not this dream.
Suddenly, a soft knocking at her door followed by a muffled voice, "Chloé, you awake?"
Shit!
The butterflies in Chloé's stomach made her want to throw up. She desperately pulled herself up from her wobbling knees, her entire body too exhausted to operate or function. A cold sweat made its way down her arms, as her clammy hands tried to straighten her bedhead. Deciding that her hair was manageable enough, she looked at the door with dread.
More knocking.
With her mind still hazy, it took all of her courage just to open it. Standing outside was, unsurprisingly, Nathanaël. He was in his usual casual attire, jeans and a sweatshirt. Tucked underneath his arm was a folded up poster board. He was carrying some art supplies, clearly excited to spend the entire day working on it. His bright smile dropped immediately when he saw her. Her blood shot eyes, tangled hair, and sweaty skin probably had something to do with it.
"Oh my god, Chloé, are you-"
Chloé held up her hand, "...I'm fine..." She attempted to sound strong and healthy, but instead her words came out tired and weak.
Nathanaël didn't hesitate. He slipped past her into her bedroom, much to her dismay, and set their poster down on the table. Chloé followed him, trying to dissuade him from worrying about her.
"...Seriously, Nath… it's just a cold…"
But he wasn't having any of it. He gently grabbed her arm and the two sat down on Chloé's rather expensive couch. Hitting the soft cushions made it hard for Chloé not to fall asleep right then and there. The redhead cautiously reached up to her forehead. He tried not to focus on how smooth Chloé's face was, or the way her eyes fluttered to his touch, or even the way that his own cheeks began glow red.
But he still couldn't help but notice just how much she was burning up. He pulled his hand away, "Do you have any medicine?"
She nodded, "...in the bathroom…"
Nathanaël bounded off the couch, leaving Chloé to herself for a brief moment, before returning with the orange colored fluid, "Here," he handed her the cap, "This should help." Chloé, without even thinking, downed it in one go, probably a mistake. When the intense foul taste reached her throat, she almost gagged.
Nathanaël, meanwhile, was feeling awful, "God, I'm sorry Chloé. I didn't mean for you to get sick."
After sipping her water, the blonde curled up into a fetal position on her couch, "...just get me a blanket…"
He nodded and bounded into her bedroom. Normally, Chloé would be horrified at the notion of any boy, much less Nathanaël, wandering into her personal sanctuary. But at the moment, she just wanted nothing more than to sleep.
When Nathanaël entered her room, he was absolutely shocked, to say the least. Knowing Chloé for so long, he thought that he had a pretty solid idea of the kind of person she was. But, it seems that day by day, his perception of her was changing. He expected her room to be a mess of expensive designer dresses, boxes upon boxes of shoes, maybe potent in the stench of makeup and nail polish. Instead, her room was filled with books, mainly, history books. Some were neatly organized along shelves, others piled up in the corner. There were some old period-piece novels and a few non-fictional historical guides.
It was also at this moment when Chloé, who had finally struggled through the haze of sleepiness, realized the huge mistake she had made of letting Nathanaël into her room. With cold sweat trickling down her neck, she desperate grabbed onto the couch, attempting to pull herself up. But, once the microsecond of what was left of her adrenaline wore out, the world was suddenly spinning. She became nauseous, bile trying to force its way from the bottom of her throat, and her knees gave way.
Suddenly, she felt two strong arms catch her half way down. Nathanaël, who had come back with her red blanket, had managed to grab her shoulders in order to keep her balanced, "Chloé! Are you alright?"
Said blonde was struggling not to vomit right then and there. She looked towards him, her tired expression painfully stretching into a fake smile and a weak thumbs up.
Obviously, Nath wasn't convinced, "C'mon,"
He lead her right back to the couch. Chloé begrudgingly followed him. Once he had her back on the couch, he handed her the fuzzy blanket, to which she happily cocooned herself in.
"Happy now, your highness?"
Chloé, despite her tiredness, stuck her tongue out at him, "Very," She threw her feet up onto the couch, pushing uncomfortably against Nathanaël in an effort to instigate the redhead, "Now, make yourself useful and fetch me some pillows made of the finest asian silk."
They both laughed. Nathanaël sighed. He looked over at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes, "You're acting very cocky for someone who's hiding a big secret."
Her eyes widened, her face paled, "...S-secret?"
Nathanaël's villainous grin grew, "You know, the one hiding inside your bedroom…"
Instantly, Chloé's stomach dropped. A cold layer of sweat covered her entire body, her breathing stopped, her mouth frozen in terror. Her brain was sending out alarm bells, her heart racing at a mile a minute. Unfortunately, all of these actions occurred at the exact same moment, and considering Chloé's state, it didn't take a genius to see what would happen next.
When Chloé felt vomit jetstream from the back of her throat, she tried climbing out of the restricting cocoon that she had foolishly made inescapable. She got her torso out, fell off the couch, and proceeded to vomit over her tiled floor. Nathanaël staggered back in shock.
"Oh god! Chloé!"
Chloé, now lying on the floor, tried standing up. Thankfully, Nathanaël, with no hesitation, immediately held her by the shoulders and got her to the bathroom, where Chloé proceeded unceremoniously vomit the rest of her stomach contents into the toilet. Nathanaël patiently held the loose strands of her hair away from her face, all the while cringing at the way her whole body tensed in pain. It took a minute before Chloé finished, and she slowly stood from her mess.
Her eyes, now bloodshot and burning with anger, flashed towards the unsuspecting artist. Nathanaël briefly staggered back, almost afraid of the beastly appearance of his classmate. She looked like a caged animal ready to kill.
"...what… secret…?"
"U-uh u-um…" Nathanaël stuttered, "...y-your…" Chloé was shaking, her body tearing itself apart. Her brain was currently going through fight or flight, which either entailed awkwardly escaping her bathroom past Nathanaël, or trying to fight someone who was clearly stronger and bigger than her. Nathanaël had found out she was either one of two things, or maybe two of two things. Either Nathanaël, a civilian, found out her identity, or he happened to see a certain little object that she was certain was laying on her bed at this very moment. The very thing she worried about day after day. But how? He must have seen-"...a history nerd…"
"...what...?"
Nathanaël rubbed the back of his neck, "I saw your collection. I just thought it was funny that you, of all people, had a taste for history."
Chloé's adrenaline wore off. The once fiery heat pulsing through her body had left. She felt cold and numb. She wanted to laugh, or cry, or scream, or something. Only someone like her would take Nathanaël's little joke so seriously that she would vomit the entire contents of her stomach right in front of him.
She fell to her knees, her cheeks brightening by the second as she began to truly comprehend the state that she had put herself into.
With a flush of the toilet, Nathanaël cautiously kneeled down to her, "Chloé? Chloé, you alright?"
She nodded unconvincingly, her mind barely functioning. She stood, her feet a little wobbly, "Can you… can you start the shower?"
The nozzle squeaked as Nathanaël stuck his hand past the curtain, making sure that the water was hot, but not to the point of scalding. Had Chloé not been so delirious over her current state, she may have giggled at his intense expression over such a frivolous thing. Finally, once the redhead decided what water temperature was the most perfect for her, he stood outside the bathroom door.
"What do you want me to do about your clothes?"
Chloé completely forgot about her state of uncleanliness, so she looked down at her puke stained shirt, "...shit… can you just… hold on…" She closed the door for a few seconds, Nathanaël awkwardly standing outside, before it creaked open once again. Chloé held out her clothes, all bunched up in her hand, "Here, leave these outside." Nathanaël grabbed the clothes, but not before experiencing a brief flush of embarrassment as he realized that Chloé stood naked behind the door. His cheeks turned red at the mere thought.
The door slammed shut in front of him, and for a moment he was nearly disgusted with himself. Of all people to fantasize about, you chose Chloé? Nath rubbed his eyes, especially when it occurred to him that he would have to clean up Chloé's mess.
He wandered back to the living room, immediately regretting coming to Chloé's place. A puddle of vomit sat gloriously in the middle of her room, staining the couch, the floor, and Chloé's blanket.
Nathanaël sighed.
The redhead wandered throughout Chloé's room, determined to find something to even attempt to clean the mess. Her searched through cabinet after cabinet until he found some rags and baking soda.
He walked back to the crime scene, cleaning supplies in hand, ready to finally get rid of the stench that had slowly started to accumulate through the room. He didn't get far though.
An oddly placed magazine, which he didn't remember being there before, was lying on the ground, just out of his vision. So, when he stepped on it, the magazine slid with surprisingly little friction across the waxed floor, and Nathanaël along with it.
The artist landed on his back, right onto the very puddle of vomit he was trying to clean. Nathanaël groaned, his back not only aching in pain, but also feeling distinctly wet. He stared at the ceiling for what felt like a minute, just contemplating whether or not to call it a day right there.
Chloé slowly stepped out of her shower, the scalding water feeling luxurious against her ice cold back. She stood there for a moment, basking in the steamy air of her bathroom, the sopping wet blond hair cascading down her bare shoulders. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her, smooth pale skin and bright blue eyes.
Her hand wandered down to her stomach, feeling the soft hints of muscle. Her secret identity as Queen Bee did help with her fitness a lot, but unlike Chat, Ladybug, or even Jade, she wasn't a brawler. Her role was to hover back, keep civilians safe, and get some shots off on the Akuma from a distance. Volpina and Bee's own partner, Le Paon, were responsible for sneaking in at close range to do real damage, before falling back to safety. In pairs, they had learned to become pretty good. But together, they were unstoppable.
A sigh escaped her lips. Self doubt began to creep into her mind as she began to scrutinize the image before her. Would Nathanaël ever go for a girl like me? She'd be lying if she said that the thought rarely crossed her mind. Quite the opposite really. It was something she wondered to herself a lot recently.
Quietly, she dried herself off, before slipping into a fluffy bathrobe. A brief smile of comfort spread across her features as the soft pink material enveloped her cold body. Thoughtlessly, she swung her bathroom door open, ready to lay down under her warm comforter. Only problem was, she completely forgot about a certain guest.
"Oof," Her head collected with something strong, and before she knew it, she was plummeting towards a very hard and very painful looking tiled floor. Luckily, a pair of strong arms quickly grabbed her shoulders, and before Chloé knew it, she was right in the middle of a scene straight out of her dreams.
She was being held in the arms of her very own redhead crush, except not only was she in nothing but a bathrobe, but Nathanaël himself was shirtless. On a side note, she was so surprised at just how muscular the artist was, she did a double take. He wasn't bulky, like Kim, instead he was lean and tall but packed with taut muscle. If he wanted, he could do some great modeling. Chloé had absolutely no idea why he wasn't surrounded by adoring women 24/7. Just one crazy blonde.
Nathanaël, despite the awkward as hell situation, took it surprisingly casually, "Heh, guess I should have knocked."
Chloé's face burned hotter and redder than a thermometer on the surface of the sun, "W-w-w-what…?"
The artist finally realized the damage, "Uh, I'm sorry," he pulled the sputtering blonde up onto her feet, "I was trying to clean you're… um… mess, and I kinda slipped in it." He showed her his back, which had a large stain of her vomit.
"O-oh."
He looked around, "You wouldn't happen some clothes I could borrow, would you?"
"I… I might."
"Speaking of which," he pointed to her bathroom, "You don't mind if I use your shower, do you?"
She shook her head, "Go for it."
He smiled, and headed for her bathroom. When the door shut, Chloé finally breathed.
She made haste for her bedroom, which at that point, was a complete mess, filled with books and assignments everywhere. Her eyes scanned her bed, upon which rested her most prized, yet embarrassing secret, the one that she had thought Nathanaël discovered.
Laying under her pillows was an item that Chloé had contemplated on throwing out, or preferably burning, as if anyone caught her with it, it would be game over. She reached in and pulled it out, a finely crafted item that she had gotten from her "sort-of-by-still-awkward-friend" Marinette. A little doll that had an uncanny resemblance to a certain art-themed akuma.
The redhead stepped out of the steaming bathroom, wearing, surprisingly his own clothes. He had completely forgotten lending Chloé his own sweatpants and shirt the night before. Luckily, the blonde forgot that she was wearing them, so Nathanaël had a convenient pair of clothes to wear.
Of course, there was the unmentionable fact that Chloé, a girl, had worn it over nothing but her underwear no more than a night before, and now Nathanaël was wearing it. So by convoluted child logic, the artist deduced that he was currently making second hand contact with Chloé's body.
He ran a hand through his west messy hair, thanks hormones.
Nathanaël stuck his head into Chloé's room. The blonde was sitting on top of her bed, a few notebooks scattered on top of the duvet. She had changed into a pair of bright blue pajama pants with a grey t shirt. Most interestingly of all, she kept her hair down, rather than putting up into her normal ponytail. Despite it being a little messy and her face clearly in need of more rest, she she still managed to look, dare he say, beautiful.
"Do you normally keep your hair down?"
She looked at him, puzzled, "Not normally, no. Why?"
"Just wondering," He shrugged, "It looks… cute…,"
Oh god, why did I say CUTE?! I could have picked any other word, yet I picked that one. She probably thinks I'm a creep.
She blushed at his compliment, and patted the bed next to her. After a beat of silence, she cleared her throat, "So I was thinking that we could split the project up. I can work on writing the information down, and you can build the poster itself."
He pulled out the poster board, "Why me?"
"Because I'm sick and I don't have the strength to spend all day gluing stuff together. Plus…," she huffed, "... you're the better artist…"
Nathanaël grew a cocky grin, "You said it, not me," Chloé groaned, regretting her actions. The aforementioned "artist" merely laughed. He climbed up right next to her, Chloé shuffling a little.
Silently, they went to work.
Chloé was bugging him, horribly. Not intentionally of course, but it was annoying and distressing to say the least. She wouldn't stop shivering. This had gone on for a couple of hours, before Nath finally had enough.
He looked towards her, "Is it too cold in here?"
Her eyes widened, "No! No, it's fine," he wasn't buying it, "I'm good Nath, just a little chilly, that's all."
Nathanaël, silently, reached over and grasped her hand. Chloé gasped, mostly due to how strong and how warm his hand was. The redhead, however, was not pleased with how icy cold her skin felt.
"Chlo, you are seriously worrying me. Just climb under the covers for crying out loud!"
She glared at him, "No way. I'm not going to be a slacker while you do most of the work," She crossed her arms, "besides, I don't wanna look like a sick hospital patient laying on my death bed."
He ran his hands through his vibrant red hair, "Chloé, you kind of are,"
Nathanaël didn't expect a pillow to come flying into his face, he looked back at the blonde, who was now pouting. This girl was going to be the death of him. Suddenly, a sinister idea popped in his head.
He crawled up to her, a guilty smile on his face. She raised her eyebrow, nervous about the redhead's antics. Suddenly, without warning, he pulled the duvet right out from under her. Chloé slid onto her back, surprised by the sudden exercise in strength.
"N-n-nath? W-what are you-?"
"I think you deserve a break."
He threw the blankets over the top of her, Chloé squealing helpless as his hands held her squirming waist down. She struggled for a bit until she decided that the position she was in was actually quite comfortable, with the blankets feeling soft and warm.
Nathanaël released his hold when he was sure she wouldn't try to throw the blankets off. He looked towards her alarm, "Warm now?"
She scowled her face into an exaggerated pout, but couldn't keep a straight face, letting loose a toothy grin.
Nathanaël went back to their poster board, while Chloé eyelids began to grow heavy.
About an hour went by before the redhead looked over at the sick blonde, only to find her fast asleep. Her breathing was quiet, but somehow comforting, especially to the artist. He paused on his work, taking just a brief moment to take in Chloé's peacefulness.
The scene looked, in a brief instant, straight out of a painting. With the pale hue of her skin clashing with the hot pink duvet and the dark grey sky, only interrupted by the subtle tinge of pink on her cheeks and lips. Her blonde hair cascading down her shoulders like an endless shimmering waterfall of gold.
Nathanaël stopped himself. He absolutely wanted this to be painted. So, cheekily, he pulled out his sketchbook, which found constant refuge in his messy backpack. He did it slowly and cautiously, as to not wake the sleeping subject.
Once he had it in his lap, he began a rough sketch. He started by shaping out her face, from her cheekbones to her chin, and a loose line to simulate the way her flowing hair framed her face. With years of experience, Nathanaël could whip up a good sketch in minutes, but with Chloé, he wanted to be a little more delicate. He had never done her before, odd considering how he had sketched and drawn literally every other person in their class.
All he needed, at the moment, was a nice template to work off of for later. He could memorize just about everything about an image in his head, color, lighting, texture, emotion, expression, but one thing he could never get down were the slight touches that made a seemingly alright portrait extraordinary. Like the way loose strands of hair came down over Chloé's relaxed eyelids, or how her one hand gripped her blanket, or even the way that the corners of her lips were slightly turned upwards, showing a cute smile of comfort in her sleep.
So, the artist did was he did best, he drew. He sketched and sketched for what seemed like an hours, doing nothing but drawing lines, adding in features, creating a hint of shadow and lighting. He fretted or little, insignificant details, that made him feel all the more embarrassed.
Here he was, drawing his classmate, in her sleep. God, if Chloé found out…
He brushed that horrifying thought away, before going back to his sketches. That is, until he heard a soft moan.
The redhead looked back up, silently observing Chloé. She began to move, her arms shifting positions. He held his breath as she tossed and turned in her sleep, before finally settling back down. She smiled, her hands clutching the blanket even tighter.
Nathanaël felt oddly comforted at the fact that whatever dream she was having, it was good. But then things took a stranger, darker turn.
She began to whisper to herself, very faintly and very quietly. Had the artist not been holding his breath, he wouldn't even have heard. Knowing that this was way out of his comfort zone, he still inched forward, trying to make out whatever she was saying.
"...-der,"
What? Her soft voice was still impossible to make out. He moved even closer, until he made out one word.
"...harder…,"
Nathanaël's face paled, his throat felt dry.
Well great. Nathanaël had officially gone from creepy sketchbook wierdo to peeping tom in a matter of seconds.
Chloé began to moan quietly, same as before, only this time Nathanaël knew the true horrifying reason behind it. Now, he had a decision to make. Either not do anything, and listen to his classmate's private dreams, or wake her up and face the wrath of a tired angry blonde.
He went for the later, albeit with a modified strategy. Grabbing one of Chloé's books from off the ground, he held it up high before letting go. The heavy object fell through the air before colliding loudly with the carpeted floor. Immediately Chloé sat upright, her eyes barely open, her shoulders tense, and her body slightly covered in sweat.
"...what...who is it?" Her eyes landed on Nathanaël, clearly unsure as to why he was there in the first place. All of a sudden, her memory came back to her, "...Nath? What...what time is it?"
He looked at her alarm clock, "Almost one o'clock," his voice was a little shaky.
Chloé yawned and stretched her body, her shirt pulling up to expose her slender midriff and lower naval. Nathanaël blushed and looked away.
She looked back at the redhead, "What have you been doin'?"
He eyed his sketchbook, "Oh, nothing."
Another few hours went by, before once again Chloé began to sway forward. Her eyes struggled to remain open as her writing became harder to read. A mostly complete poster board lay on the ground right in front of the bed, we're Nathanaël was still working without pause.
That is, until he heard an unexpectedly cute yawn. He turned, and sure enough, Chloé was rubbing her eyes, on the verge of sleep.
He then realized that she hadn't gotten any good rest with him being around. She caught him staring, and sat up, "What?"
Silently, Nath stood up off the ground and walked over to her, "I think we can finish the project tomorrow."
She rubbed her eyes, "You sure?"
He nodded, "Plus, you need your sleep."
The artist began packing up the poster, "How about same time tomorrow, my place?"
"Sure," She yawned, and closed her eyes.
Nathanaël quietly left the room and gathered his things. Now changed into freshly clean clothes, he stuck his head back into Chloé's room, only to find her fast asleep. She was clutching her pillow tightly while her duvet had slipped to down to her legs.
The artist silently approached and tenderly grabbed a hold of the duvet, before slowly pulling it over her body. He did it slowly and cautiously as to not wake his peaceful classmate. Finally, once the blanket was wrapped around her all warm and snug, Nathanaël tiptoed out of the room.
"Sweet dreams, blondie."
If only he knew...
Chloé felt reinvigorated. All it took was a day's worth of rest (thanks due in part to a helpful artist) to make her feel like a thousand bucks. Granted, she had felt a little stuffed up, but nowhere near as bad as the day before. It was a beautiful Sunday morning, with barely any clouds in the sky following a gentle cooling breeze. Chloé wore a simple outfit, Jeans and a yellow T-Shirt. Her hair was pulled up into it's classic ponytail.
"I think you should've left your hair down."
"Shut it," Chloé gritted through her teeth.
The yellow Kwami snickered from her bag, "Nathanaël did say it looked sexy…"
"No he didn't," She hissed, "...he said it looked… cute…"
They continued down the street without much excitement, and before she knew it, Chloé was right at Nathanaël's door. She looked down at her watch. Five minutes early. Oh god, what would Nathanaël think if he saw me arrive this early? He would probably think I'm a stalker.
Pollen looked up at her chosen, and rolled her eyes, "Kids these days,"
The Kwami flew up to the door and punched the doorbell. Chloé squealed in fright, unprepared for the sudden turn of events, before the door slowly creaked open.
"...hello...?"
"Huh? Oh, um, hey Nath!" She put on a bright smile, that is, until she caught the sight of him. He was wearing the same shirt from the day before with baggy sweat pants, his vibrant red bed head was messy and sticking up wildly, and he sported heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. He looked just as bad as she did the day before, "Oh no… are you-?"
"Sick, tired, weak, and feeling like shit?" His voice sounded strained, "Yes," He coughed violently, holding his chest in pain. Chloé instinctively reached out to him, holding his shoulders until it subsided. He looked back up to her, "Guess I should've known, huh?"
"Gosh, Nath, I-I'm so sorry about this."
He held up his hand, "Don't stress, it wasn't your fault,"
"But I got you sick."
He laughed, "I made you run through pouring rain, which got you sick and then got me sick. So by that logic, it's all my fault."
"But-"
"Chloé!" She felt his hands on his shoulders. His teal eyes, despite their tiredness, still looked as if they could penetrate her soul, "Why have you been so hard on yourself lately?"
"...W-what?"
"Like yesterday, you refused to get basic human rest all because of a dumb homework assignment," his mouth thinned, his face full of concern, "What's up, Chlo?"
"N-nothing. Nothing's up!"
He didn't look convinced.
She let out an exaggerated sigh, "Look, speaking of homework, we still have that project to finish, kind of why I'm here."
"Oh I finished it already."
"What? Why?"
He shrugged, "You had provided more than enough notes, so I worked through it all last night. Get it out of the way, y'know?"
"How long were you up?"
"Oh not too late, maybe three, four in the morning."
"Nath! That isn't healthy."
"Oh, that's rich, coming from you," He snickered, "I was actually going to call to let you know that you didn't have to come over, but I guess I slept in too late."
Chloé pursed her lips, "So you're telling me to leave?"
"I mean… if you have other things to do...," He awkwardly scratched the back of his neck, "...but I wouldn't mind some company…,"
Her eyes widened, a small smile forming across her face, "Mind if I come in?"
He smiled back, "Not at all."
They walked inside the foyer, Chloé recognizing the room from two days ago. This time, the place had a much nicer feel to it. The bright late morning sun casted a beautiful warm glow that made the small building feel larger than life.
The two walked into the living room, their now completed poster board standing tall and proud. It had elaborate and colorful designs, clearly an artist's work, alongside well written and professionally researched boxes of text all written by a certain history nerd. Easily worth an 'A' without a doubt.
They walked to Nathanaël's couch, which was adorned with blankets and pillows, evidence of having been slept on during the night. Chloé scowled to herself, Nathanaël was so tired that he couldn't even make it to his bedroom.
He sat himself down, moving the blankets away to make room for her. He also grabbed the various bottles of pills and medicine lying on the coffee table.
Chloé plopped herself down on one side, with Nathanaël on the other. She turned towards him, "So, what excitement do you have planned for today?"
He shrugged, "I thought I'd play some video games," he pulled out a controller, before looking back at her, "You wanna join?" She stared at him skeptically, "Come on, it'll be fun."
"I… I've never really played before…,"
"Then I'll teach you," She still didn't really trust him. "Come on, Chlo, what do you have to lose?"
"My dignity."
He laughed, which gave him a glare from the blonde. He held up his hand, "I promise I won't laugh, even if you mess up really bad."
"I don't trust you at all."
He booted up the console and pulled out a second controller, "Here you are," She stared at it briefly, before grasping it awkwardly. Her hands naturally found their way to the buttons. Nathanaël beamed, "There you go. Soon you be playing like a pro."
She didn't take kindly to his sarcasm, so she stuck her tongue out at him. But he only laughed. The TV came to life as he navigated through a menu before, finally, a game was running.
She looked at him, a hint of interest in her voice, "So how do I play?"
Nathanaël did try to make it easy for her, he really did. He picked some of the easiest games he owned where they could work together cooperatively. But alas, some people are made to play video games, and some people are not. And then some people go crazy. To add to onto it, Chloé's historical immersion was being tested.
"Why do the allies have submachine guns in Arabia in World War One? Why doesn't the sun reflect off my scope? How come the german side has access to british tanks? This game isn't really historically accurate, isn't it?"
Then they played a different game.
"Why would rebels attack an empire head on? Why do these lasers travel slower than actual bullets? Why would anybody build a four legged tank? Our tanks move faster than this one."
"I know, Chloé, I know…,"
Eventually, she gave up at trying to navigate a controller, but was content in just watching him play. So he decided to show off some of his most difficult titles, if anything, to impress Chloé. He playing one where he was shooting Demons but he was also on mars or something and everything went by super fast… the blonde wasn't too interested. She was more focused on sneaking quick peeks at the redhead, if only to giggle at how focused he looked. It was cute.
Once the level ended, he placed the controller down, and clutched his head, "Nathanaël?"
"Oh, just a headache."
She raised her eyebrow, "And you're playing video games?"
"Well what else is there to do?"
She groaned, "How much have you slept?"
"What? Umm, I don't know… five hours."
Chloé narrowed her eyes at him, for deciding on a course of action. She straightened out her legs before placing a pillow right on top of her lap, "Lay down."
Nathanaël balked. He looked at her as if she had just told him to strip, "What?"
"You heard me," He patted right in her lap, "Lay your head down."
He laughed, "What game are you playing, Chloé?"
"Just…," she sighed, holding back a remark, "Look, you probably feel like shit right now and staying awake and playing video games isn't going to solve it."
"I've tried going to sleep… but everything just…,"
"...hurts?" He nodded, "Don't you forget that I was just as sick as you. I know how you feel right now, so for once, can you please…," her voice cracked, "...trust me?"
He sighed exaggeratedly, but did as Chloé said. Nathanaël laid himself on the pillow right in Chloé's lap. He felt awkward, to say the least. But comfortable, he guessed so. His head still hurt but now he was also in a rather compromising situation in front of his long time…
Enemy?
The word felt alien to him. Hawkmoth was an enemy. Akumas, well most of them anyway, were enemies. Chloé Bourgeois, an enemy? He briefly felt disgusted with himself. Chloé, the girl who was spending her sunday hanging out with a sick dweeb, he was about to call his enemy.
His focus, however, was abruptly cut as he felt a soft hand comb through his messy red hair. Chloé slowly and tenderly rubbed his scalp. Nathanaël suddenly began to realize just how tired he was. His eyes were struggling to stay open, and thanks to Chloé's head massage, he was on the brink of passing out.
Chloé paused, a brief moment to check her phone, until Nathanaël humorously grumbled in annoyance. She couldn't stifle her giggle as she returned to massaging the redhead's scalp. He was like a needy pet.
After a short few minutes, Nathanaël began to lose consciousness and fell into a well deserved sleep.
Nathanaël's eyes opened at the sound of his front door closing. He looked around, briefly unaware of what he was doing on the living room couch. Finally, he remembered what had happened earlier in the day.
Long dark shadows had been casted in the room, so he guessed that it was late afternoon. He also felt incredibly hot. He struggled to remove the tight hold of blankets wrapped around his body, and found a thin layer of sweat on his skin. His shirt felt damp, so he peeled it off. His poor clothes had gone through more terror in the past few days than they had in the previous years. Rain, vomit, and sweat, to name a few.
Now free of his blanket cocoon, he stretched out his muscles, that is, until he heard a soft gasp. He spun around to find Chloé. She was holding two bags. One of which was checkout bag from a pharmaceutical store, the other, seemed to be a takeout bag sporting a logo from her very own hotel.
Chloé, meanwhile, caught sight of the still incredibly buff Nathanaël, only this time, shimmering in a thin layer of sweat. She blushed immensely, as the aforementioned buff artist became aware of the situation, "Oh… uh sorry Chloé,"
He pulled his shirt back on, Chloé staring at the ground, to ashamed to make eye contact with him, "...I-uh got you some stuff," she handed him the plastic bag, "I thought you could use some refills on your medicine," then she handed him the other bag. It was steaming hot and emitting a delicious scent, "I asked one of the hotel cooks what you should eat when you're sick, so he made this," it was a packaged bowl of soup.
"I… thanks Chloé," He placed them on the coffee table.
"Well, I gotta get home. My dad's gonna be home from his trip soon."
"Alright, I'll walk you out."
Together, they made their way to the door, neither one of them wishing for the day to end. He held the door open for her and she walked out onto the steps.
"Thanks for everything, Nath. I had a fun weekend."
He smiled, "Me too."
She stared out at the road, the afternoon sun tinting the city in a beautiful orange glow. She made one final glance back at him, "See ya tomorrow."
With that, Chloé made her journey home. Nath watched her steadily down the path, before heading back inside.
"Why didn't you kiss him?"
"Shut up Pollen."
"Seriously, you had a golden opportunity to not only kiss your crush but to do it while he was shirtless."
Chloé didn't respond.
"You guys could've gone to the next level, too."
"That's gross pollen," Chloé looked down, blushing, "...he was sick."
"So you're saying that's the only reason?"
Chloé groaned.
That night, she didn't fall fast asleep. Instead, she stared aimlessly at her ceiling, her mind going a mile a minute. She was thinking about a lot of things, the future, tomorrow, love, families, art, red hair, and goofy dorks. What she didn't know, was that a certain redhead was wondering about the exact same thing.
