"So," I started, clapping my hands. "You want to be . . . my business partner? Why?" I was smiling like an idiot, beaming at the little sister of my brother's love. Maybe she was mine.

"I guess I just wanted to have something stable," she says, smiling softly. I grinned. "Like a job. I finally got tired of volunteering, and you said that you couldn't run this place by yourself, so I'm making you a deal. I want to be your business partner. As long as you want me to, of course."

I hugged her tightly, taking her by surprise. "Why wouldn't I?" I exclaimed, spinning her in the air. I kissed her cheek. She loved animals almost as much as I did, if not more, so she was going to love working here full time. I laughed. "That's the best piece of news ever!"

"Really? Why?" she asked me. I set her down, taking my litter-scented apron off. I ruffled my blond hair. I beamed at the blueberry—err, Bridgette.

"Why not? I care a lot about you, you know. Almost too much," I admitted. "It's like . . . fate's throwing you in my face, or something."

"Fate's throwing me in your face?" she repeated, rolling her eyes. "That's pretty cheesy, for an Agreste boy."

"What can I say? I'm a walking ball of camembert," I joke. A black cat in the corner perks up its head. Camembert, you say? it seemed to be asking me. He meows and jumps into my arms. I scratch his head, hearing him purr.

"Oh!" Bridgette asked, surprised. "Who's that? He looks new." She scratches under his chin.

"Oh, him? He's my actual pet, Plagg. He just looked so depressed today, I decided to let him help out," I inform her. I smile about it. Plagg had been mine for three years now, ever since his mom, Trixx, had his litter. A voice comes from inside the back.

"Felix! Who are you talking to, I need help, here!"

"Coming, Sunny!" I call back, turning to face the younger girl again.

"Who's Sunny?" she asked, seeming skeptical. I lift an eyebrow. Why was she asking? "Is she your girlfriend?"

"Sunny? Her? No, she's fourteen, Bridgette," I explain, my tone slightly loud. "I'm not a pedophile or child molester. She's my cousin."

Bridgette relaxed. "Oh. Okay. I guess I got a little jealous." She laughs, then hugs me. "I got exams, okay? I'll see you, soon. Merry Christmas, Fe."

I may or may not have told Adrien I didn't like him calling me that because it reminded me of Bridgette. I might have let it slip my mind to tell her that my brother used that nickname. I just blushed and grinned. But a memory hit me. "Good luck on that test, Fe. I'll see you soon," she had said, just before she was shot. My eyes pricked. I got a lump in my throat.

"S-Sure, Bridgette," I told her. "I got to take Sunny home anyway. My Aunt Caline would kill me!" (Caline is Ms. Bustier's first name.) I hugged her tighter, the urge to kiss her almost hurting me. Sometimes she reminded me so much of . . . of my mom.

"Felix? Are you okay?" she whispered. A hot tear rolled down my face. It fell onto the floor with a soft plip. (I have heard tears, so no hatin'. Please don't judge the name I pick for Mama, ok?) I took a deep breath, my whole body shuddering.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm okay," I lie. I let her go. I stare at the floor. She wipes my wet cheek.

"Did I do it again?"

"Huh?" I set the cat down. Plagg mewed in protest.

"Did I remind you of that someone?" she rephrases. I nod, guilty. "I'm sorry."

"No, I should be sorry. But she was my mother. She was the most important person in my life, and then—then—" I sit down in a chair and bury my face in my hands. My lip quivered. My voice wobbled. My eyes burned evilly. "My father was ab-abusive, and my brother d-didn't have the option to g-go with me. Adrien felt the most r-relief when our d-dad died. I . . . n-never had the guts to tell him that Renee—Renee . . . was mur—murdered by Hawk M-Moth." I tried to choke back the sobs. Why are you crying? She's going to think that you're overly sensitive. Maybe too much to like girls or something.

My body shook as I tried to refrain and stifle the noise. I would have wailed. Guilt and grief and memory all came flooding back to me. Living in Gabriel's basement. . . . All those awful things he would do, and all without my consent or care for the law. Only sixteen. . . . I froze in fear of the memories.

"Oh, Felix . . . I didn't know. I'm so sorry," she says. Her voice sounded thick. Bridgette didn't have any reason to cry over my mother. I looked up at her. A tear ran down my face as she knelt in front of me. She kissed my cheekbone, right where the tear rested. Her dark blue eyes captured mine. "It was entirely careless that I never asked how important she was to you. With your father, I just assumed she was the same."

"I never said anything about her. It was fine to assume. I never said anything," I dismiss, turning the guilt back on myself. "You knew I hated my dad, and that's why I never talked about him. It's okay. Sometimes even the littlest things affect my PTSD." Her knowledge of my condition was not something I gave her freely. We got stuck in a car, surprisingly, and I started to get flashbacks of closets and dark spaces. That's why I didn't like to drive at night.

Another tear spilled onto her lovely skin. I stood up, taking her with me. "Once I freaked out because I saw a chair."

She looked at me curiously. "A chair? Is this because of how your father—"

Sunny rushed in. "I got them to settle down. You think we should close up shop, Felix?" she asked me.

"Yeah. I've been having a rough day," I say. She pauses, her black hair swaying at her waist. She studies me with her chocolate brown eyes, her light tan skin popping out with her baby-pink shirt that read: Do I Care? written on it. Her blue jeans and white converses were covered with dirt from the puppies.

"You've been crying. Lemme guesses what's wrong," she says. Then, quite sarcastically, in a nasal play voice, "PTSD?" (Don't be hating on 'guesses', either, I know. I KNOW.)

"Yeah. I'll tell you in the car, okay?" I say, feigning calmness. I gave her a look that said, I'm going to kill you in that Ferrari.

"Yay, let's talk about death and other fun things," she said, waving her hands in the air, but nowhere above her head. "I sit up front, right?"

"Yeah, sure! Go get in the car," I insisted, pushing her lightly. I turn to Bridgette. "You see why it doesn't get any better?"

She nods. "How bad does it get?"

"Me or her?"

"All. Does she know about how your father . . . ?" she trailed off, knowing better than to say it. We both knew what she was going to say. Raped me. I shake my head.

"Adrien doesn't know, either. But I'm hoping I can trust you. Okay?" She nods. I lean down out of instinct, but I had no idea how to continue. I bent down and kissed her forehead.

Or at least tried to.

Because

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she caught my lips with hers.

My eyes were open the whole time. I just kissed an angel, I thought. A blueberry angel.

May you all be reborn with words

~Lupine_Phoenix