EDITED 3/8/20

Chapter 12: Crash

The icy wind whipped around Chat's face as he sprinted down the street. His feet hit the wet ground at a rhythmic pace, thumping in time with the erratic beat of his heart. The setting sun was blinding his eyes, but his muscles were pumping him towards the hospital on autopilot. Marinette was breathing shallowly in his arms, broken and tired and running out of time.

Chat still had several blocks until he reached the nearest hospital, whereas he could've already arrived by now by staff. But he didn't want to risk hurting Marinette anymore by tossing her around in the air, and he didn't have the time (or, frankly, patience) to wait for an ambulance. So he pressed his lips to her cheek, clutched her tight, and he ran.

The only thing keeping him going right now was adrenaline, and maybe the power of love, or something. He shouldn't be able to run so fast, not after a day like this.

But he had to keep going.

Chat couldn't lose her. He wouldn't lose her. Not after everything he did to get her back.

Around him, in the aftermath of Ladybug's healing magic, Paris was slowly coming back to life. Lights burst on and windows cracked open. Doors unlocked and citizens slowly started to filter onto the streets, emerging from their shelters like bears out of hibernation. He narrowly avoided ramming into a few unsuspecting pedestrians, but he didn't have the energy to apologize beyond barking out an insincere "sorry" or "my bad."

But he had to keep going.

He was halfway there. He was so close. He was so close . . .

. . . But . . .

His body began to fall out of his control. His legs were giving up on him. Each step was slower and weightier than the last. Pain seized his muscles at an intensity he was unable to ignore. His cognition grew clouded and his chest ached and every gasp of raw air was more painful than the last. Plagg struggled to keep him going, tried his hardest to transfer as much strength as he could. But there was only so much he could do, and the lights on his ring started to flicker out.

'C'mon, c'mon, please, please . . .'

But, bit by bit, the world was starting to fade around him.

He was done.

But he couldn't . . . He had to keep . . .

He had . . .

he . . .

The last thing Chat saw before he blacked out was a blast of green light.

Nino woke up gasping for breath.

He sat up quickly and put his hands on his chest, as if to keep his heart from toppling onto the floor. His skin was slick with sweat, causing his shirt to stick uncomfortably to his back, and everything felt hot and suffocated.

'What the hell is going on?'

He tried to control his breathing, but after a few seconds it only got worse. Nino's head was spinning so fast that he couldn't remember what had made him so anxious in the first place. He couldn't even see because his vision was all blurry, which only served to freak him out more—until he realized he'd only misplaced his glasses.

Nino fumbled his hands over the ground until his fingers hit the familiar texture of glasses lens. He stuck them over his eyes and exhaled slowly as he finally drank in his surroundings. Once his vision adjusted, it only took him a second to recognize the familiar wallpaper of Alya's living room.

'. . . Wait, what?'

The apartment was completely silent, and unless everyone was sleeping in the middle of the day, that probably meant no one was home. But that didn't explain why he had been laying on the floor, passed out for god knows how long. He carefully ran his hands over his head and face, but he couldn't find any injury to explain why he'd been unconscious.

And then, out of nowhere, it all came crashing back.

In excruciatingly vivid detail.

Nino willed himself to remain calm; there was no need to panic. He was here, whole, alive. He was safe. Which meant that the heroes saved the day again. They won. Everything was gonna be okay, right?

So why did he have so much trouble believing it?

After a pause, Nino shook his head, and slowly pushed himself to his feet. He'd finally stopped shaking so hard and his head wasn't spinning quite so fast, but he still felt a little uneasy. Or a lot uneasy.

Maybe if he saw all his friends in one place, alive and whole and safe as well, it wouldn't quite feel like someone was reaching into his chest and squeezing the life out of him.

By the couch, Nino saw his favorite red hat laying on the floor. He walked over and picked it up, absentmindedly turning it over in his hands. It looked as he remembered it, simple and clean and only a little faded, because he was rarely outside enough for the sun to bleach its color. He even saw the tiny black line where Chris nicked him with a Sharpie on accident. Nino placed it on his head, but instead of feeling comforted, as his cap usually made him, he only felt even more detached. Because the hat was the same, but he was not.

Everything was different now.

Normally after an akuma attack where he'd been pulverized or hypnotized or what-have-you, Nino could easily find someone he knew, or was at least in the company of people in a similar situation. At least there was somebody there to tether him to reality, to shove away the scared feelings and answer the question of 'well, what now?' But now, he was all alone.

Nino walked over to the couch and sat down numbly, not quite sure what else he could do. He drummed his fingers on his knees impatiently, before he decided to pull his phone out of his pocket and turn it on. He opened up his contacts, planning to call his mom so she could pick him up (and, let's be honest, he could really use a good hug from his mom right about now), but then his eyes fell on Adrien Agreste's contact at the top of the list.

And, well, shit. Nino and Alya never did get in contact with him, did they?

Oh god. Just because the city was back to normal didn't mean Hawk Moth didn't have his own son tied up in his secret lair, doing god-knows-what to him. That sick bastard was a monster!

Determined, and maybe a little bit hysterical, Nino charged towards the door, prepared to run to the Agreste mansion, save his best friend, and punch Gabriel "Human Trash Bag" Agreste right where the sun doesn't shine—

But before he could, Alya threw the door open from the outside.

For a second, the two of them stood face-to-face in silence. Alya blinked wide-eyed at Nino, as if she hadn't expected to ever see him again. And maybe, he thought resentfully, she did not.

He sure never thought he'd see her again, either.

Nino doesn't know which one of them reached for the other first, but after the second of initial shock, Nino and Alya were hugging each other for dear life.

"Oh my god, Nino, you're here," Alya whispered, pressing her cheek against his as she held him. He felt her chest shudder in silent, disbelieving laughs. "You're here, you're okay . . . Oh, god . . ."

Nino forced himself to pull away from Alya, just enough to look her in the eyes and blurt out, "What happened to you? Did you get away, or—" Nino cut himself off, not daring to finish his thought.

It wouldn't change the past, but he pleaded to anything that would listen—the moon, the stars, the universe—that she didn't end up like him. He prayed, begged, that she did not share his fate.

But the universe was unfair, and the universe was unkind, and the disturbed look passing over Alya's face was enough to confirm his worst nightmare.

Unashamed to let go, or perhaps too engrieved to resist it, Alya burst into tears. She buried her face into his shoulder, and he could feel his shirt dampening from her sobs, but he didn't care. God, he didn't care.

"Fuck, Nino," she cried, congested and hoarse and cracking at the edges. "Fucking shit, Nino, I watched you die. I heard it all and saw it all and—I couldn't do a fucking thing for Marinette and then you—just—fuck!"

If Nino hadn't been on the edge of tears before, Alya's distraught babbling shoved him right over it. He buried his face in her hair and cried, sobbed, inhaled her mango shampoo and flowery detergent and the blood, sweat, and tears she had shed throughout this whole damn mess. He was consumed by anger for Hawk Moth and everything he did, and anger for the universe that had let him get this far. But he was also consumed with gratitude, gratitude for life and health and safety and the girl in his arms.

Nino couldn't move, speak, or do anything other than cry and hold her and kiss her head over and over and over again. His glasses fell crooked and the rim of his hat pushed against her, gradually levering off his head until it toppled to the carpet. Alya was the first one to pull away, but she was still gripping him by the shoulders fiercely. Her eyes were still wet, and her voice was still worn, but her message didn't lose its bite. "Don't you ever do that to me again, you hear me? I will never fucking forgive you. You can't do that. You can't leave me."

"I won't," Nino promised, blinking the tears out of his eyes and righting his glasses. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You can't leave me," she repeated, desperate and lost and everything he hated. "I lost Marinette and Adrien and I can't—" A sob breaks her sentence, and he placed a tender hand on the back of her head, which only served to make her cry harder. "I can't lose you, Nino."

Nino leaned forward and pressed his forehead against Alya's. He shook his head, crying, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I love you, I'm so sorry—"

And then Alya grabbed Nino by the cheeks and crashed their lips together. And then they were kissing, and crying, and hugging, and falling in love all over again.

(And, unspokenly:

Committing themselves to each other for as long as fate would allow.)

The second Alya and Nino stepped outside, the street lamps down the block flickered to life. Warm-colored bulbs reflected across the glossy sidewalks, casting watery stars across the gray pavement. The air was sweet with petrichor, crisp in the aftermath of the storm. Incandescently, the blood orange sun was dipping behind the skyline, illuminating the beyond with miles of pink and red and gold. Any other night, it would have been perfect. Magical, even.

But not tonight.

Alya squeezed Nino's hand in a death grip, as if she expected him to vanish at any second. With her free hand, Alya held her phone to her ear as she talked with her mother. Nino could hear Alya's voice shaking, but she seemed determined to avoid another breakdown. As they walked down the sidewalk, Alya briefly recounted everything that happened—from Tikki, to Chat Noir, to the attack . . . to where they were now. Through it all, Nino just ran his thumb over her knuckles, reassuring her of his devoted presence at her side, of his permanence in her life and in this moment.

At the end of the phone call, Alya seemed a little bit lighter. Just a little. "Uh huh. Okay . . . Call me if you hear anything. I'll see you tonight . . . I love you too."

Alya pressed 'end call' and slipped her phone into her pocket. She turned her head to Nino, slipping a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and delivered him a small, but warm smile. As Nino returned it, he noted that her eyes were still red, but her tears had dried, and he considered that to be a win.

They weren't walking with any particular destination in mind. They just needed an escape from everything that happened, from that building that was now haunted with destruction and terror. A moment to breathe and process and decide how they were going to go forward with . . . everything.

Because everything was different now, right?

"You didn't tell her about Gabriel," Nino said after a while.

"Didn't know how," Alya admitted. "I didn't want to dump one more . . . surprise, I guess." She paused. "But besides, it doesn't really matter;" and her voice grew bitter, because, "everyone will know soon enough."

She was right. There was no way news this big could be kept under wraps, not when famed fashion designer Gabriel Agreste turned out to be the terroristic supervillain Hawk Moth. Not when the richest man in France was also the Most Wanted.

(He wondered if Chat Noir had reported it to the police yet.)

Nino was still lost in his thoughts as Alya turned the street corner. However, when she saw what was on the other side, she abruptly jerked to a stop, and Nino followed her example. "Woah, what the hell?"

Nino quickly rounded the corner to see what was wrong. Down the road, there was a loud crowd of people lined up behind police tape. He couldn't see what was attracting so much attention, but he saw several police cars and ambulances and even a news truck. People were pointing and murmuring and snapping pictures and talking on the phone.

The words "Ladybug" and "Chat Noir" were repeatedly drifting from the crowd.

"Do you think . . .?" Alya whispered.

Nino didn't say anything. He tugged Alya down the sidewalk, first speed walking, and when Alya's body caught up with her brain, she started dragging him instead; and then they were running, skidding to a stop and shoving themselves through the crowd because they had to see, they had to know—

And when they reached the tape, they saw Marinette's limp body being lifted onto a stretcher.

Nino's chest felt like it had caved in on itself. As much as he'd been hoping that he—they—anybody—would find her, he had never thought to prepare himself to witness the state she was in. He could barely have imagined it, really. One of his closest, kindest, strongest friends, someone he admired not only as a hero, but as a human being, beaten to stillness?

He'd known Marinette had fragile parts, but so did any normal human, and Marinette was so much bigger and better than any normal human. But here she was, shattered like glass.

He felt sick.

Alya let out a strangled sound and covered her mouth with her hands. Nino quickly wrapped an arm around her to keep her from keeling over, or passing out, or whatever came first. He was so occupied with trying to keep Alya, and himself, from falling into panic, that he almost didn't notice the second body getting picked up.

Almost.

He only caught one glance of a pale, bloody, suffering boy before the paramedics blocked his view. But in one glance, he also saw sunny blond hair and the face of a boy he had seen on every billboard in Paris. The face of a boy that had shown him so much love and kindness and taught him to let people in, because not everybody was cruel and misunderstanding. The face of his best friend. His brother. His family.

"Adrien?"

Alya's teary eyes turned to Nino, but his gaze never left the second ambulance. He caught a second glance of the boy as the paramedics lifted him into the vehicle, and sure enough, Adrien was completely unconscious on the stretcher, mouth slightly agape and blood trickling from his hairline.

Nino thought he was going to throw up.

Before, he had only been speculating that Hawk Moth had hurt Adrien. But seeing the damage with his own two eyes was traumatic, at best. Having one dear friend in peril was already too much to handle, but now he had two, and Nino had passed his emotional-stress limit a long time ago. His throat was closing up and his eyes were burning and he was so furious and anguished and scared, and he didn't think he had enough room in his head to fit all these feelings, didn't have enough strength to keep himself together—

When Alya noticed Adrien, her mouth dropped open. Her eyes darted between Nino and Adrien disbelievingly, and she opened her mouth to speak, "Nino—"

—But was cut off by a shout in the distance: "Alya! Nino!"

The two in question looked towards the direction of the voice. Nino was the first one to spot Mr. and Mrs. Dupain-Cheng by the paramedics, looking frantic and frightened and everything inbetween. Marinette's mother was waving for them to come to her, so Alya and Nino glanced at each other before ducking under the tape.

Sabine held out her arms and embraced Alya and Nino in a rush. "Oh, I'm so glad you two are okay."

"Don't worry about us," Alya sniffled. Her eyes were spilling tears once again, but she ferociously brushed them away, determined to seem collected in the face of chaos. In the face of those who may be suffering more. "How's Marinette?"

"Hanging on," Tom replied, his words short but heavy, his voice bridging the thin line between hope and defeat. His wife squeezed his arm in consolation, and the grief shared between them was like fog, thick and bold and consuming all in its path.

The last of Marinette's paramedics disappeared within the ambulance, and Sabine stepped back to follow. There was only one guest allowed in an ambulance at a time, and it seemed that the parents had already discussed who would ride along. She pressed a loving kiss to her husband's jaw. "I'll see you there, my love."

Tom gave her one last quick kiss. "Tell her I love her," he whispered.

"I will."

Sabine hurried into the ambulance, and the doors slammed shut. The sirens blasted on, and the truck sped off around the corner, out of sight. Tom let out a shaky breath, and Nino and Alya squeezed his hands in solidarity, a confirmation of their support.

In the wake of Marinette's departure, Nino had forgotten completely of Adrien. When he heard loud rattling as the second stretcher was locked into his ambulance, Nino's anxiety skyrocketed back to its previous intensity, as he remembered how his best friend was found lying half-alive (or more like almost-not-alive) on the concrete.

"Mr. Dupain," he said, and when the man looked towards him, he asked, "What happened to Adrien?"

Marinette's father furrowed his brow in confusion. "You don't know?"

The tightness in his voice caused Nino's heart to plummet into his stomach. "Know what?" he asked, impending panic apparent in his tone.

Tom curled his lips and glanced down between his daughter's friends, seeming unsure of how he should deliver the news. It seemed like he was carefully studying a mental map, trying to navigate the safest route of disclosure with the least amount of collateral damage.

Finally, he met Nino's eyes, and said, "Chat Noir passed out while carrying Marinette, and detransformed in the street."

And Nino knew what the man was saying without really saying it. He could sense it by the weight in his gut and the buzz in his ears and the hole in his heart, the hole aching for the most important boy in his life who had been dealt an even crueler fate than Nino had originally thought. A fate where Adrien was not only the son of the cruel Gabriel Agreste and the villainous Hawk Moth, but a fate where society also expected, required, demanded Adrien to defeat him.

A fate where his own father was his worst enemy.

"Adrien is Chat Noir," Nino said numbly. Tom nodded, sealing Adrien's fate in a silent confirmation. Alya was trembling, shaking her head.

The worst thing about this was his urge to laugh, because this was fucking ridiculous. How did Nino—quiet, brooding, antisocial Nino—get wrapped up in the most intertwined real-life soap opera of the century? How did he get here? He still felt like he was ten and his dad was telling him he was moving away, abandoning his wife and his sons and their home for a new family. He felt ten but he was fifteen, almost sixteen, and everything around him was falling apart. He was ten but he was ten hundred but he was supposed to be fif-fucking-teen.

"What the hell," he croaked, feeling flames of tension licking at his insides. "What the hell is going on. What the hell."

"Nino," Alya whispered, trying to put her hand on his shoulder, but he stepped away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Nino saw Tom kindly gesture for Alya to move aside. He knelt down to Nino's eye level, forcing him to look deep into the man's eyes for the first time. Nino saw the apparent tiredness and pain, but he also perceived a calm in the eye of the storm. He didn't know how that calm was capable of existing.

Tom began to speak steadily: "Nino, I know you're scared. I'm scared, too. This is a lot for any adult to go through, much less a child."

"Young adult," Alya corrected.

"Teenager," he conceded. "One frightening thing is happening after another, and it's hard to keep up. But, sometimes, all you can do is keep going. And it's hard," his voice cracked, "because the people I love are hurt, and there's nothing I can do.

"But, when I feel afraid, I think of my family." Just at the thought of them, his face brightened. "My wife and my daughter inspire me everyday, and I know I inspire them, too. By loving each other, we keep the flame alive."

Tom turned Nino by the shoulder, and pointed to the ambulance. "Adrien needs you to protect his flame."

Nino nodded, hoping the physical action would help psych him into the optimistic mindset. He glanced back at Tom, and Nino didn't feel ten anymore, but never in his life had he felt so deprived of a father. Not that his mom and little Chris weren't more than enough, but, for the love of god, his dad betrayed him, and there was nothing that could reverse that.

But at least Nino had his mother back then. Now, Adrien was alone.

Nino took a deep breath and straightened his back. He marched towards the ambulance, just as the last paramedic was about to enter. The man glanced back at the sound of Nino approaching. "Can I help you?"

"I'm Adrien's best friend. Can I stay with him?"

The paramedic's face went from questioning to skeptical. "Family only, kid."

"He is family," Tom said from behind Nino, backing him up. "Can't you spare some room?"

"I don't make the rules," the man said, looking over his shoulder impatiently. "Look, sorry, we have to—"

"Please," Nino begged. "We're all he has." He stepped forward and clasped his hands together. Against his will, he felt tears fill his eyes. "I'm all he has."

The paramedic looked at him for another second, his expression wrought with concern and hesitance. But, to Nino's relief, his eyes warmed with sympathy. Nino wasn't sure if it was out of pity for Chat Noir or himself, but it didn't matter when the paramedic nodded his head towards the truck. "All right. Hop in."

A small part of Nino had always known, had always suspected, that Adrien had secrets buried beneath his surface, had so much potential longing to be put to use. He'd known that Adrien had overcome so much difficulty in his life, and was more than capable of the endurance and compassion it took to be a hero. Nino just wasn't positive that he could have drawn this conclusion on his own.

He wasn't upset with Adrien for keeping secrets. Nino felt his belly pool with pride in the boy who had taught him to trust and love, when the boy himself had been denied so much of it. He was upset with the circumstances of the position he now realized Adrien was in and had been in throughout this catastrophe.

Because fate had been so cruel and twisted, so disgusting and vile, so wicked and ironic, that it made a monster of a father and cast an angel as his son. That it turned Gabriel into Hawk Moth and Adrien into Chat Noir.

It was like Star Wars but worse. Which, oh, great, now he couldn't watch his favorite movie franchise ever again without feeling gross. Fuck.

Nino was led into the waiting room, where Marinette's parents and Alya were, as the title entailed, waiting. Adrien had been wheeled down the hall, leaving Nino in the dust. He sat down beside Alya, who laid a warm hand on his shoulder, and he found himself leaning into the touch.

It was gonna be awhile.

Maybe it was for the best. While there was always the chance that his worries would fester and cast an incurable plague on his conscience, Nino could also use this moment to clean out his thoughts and acknowledge everything he had been shoving behind. Such as fear. And death.

Nino had been so overwhelmed with fear for the lives of those around him, that when it came time to fear for his own, it was too late. It was almost surreal, now, for him to be sitting at his girlfriend's side just hours after feeling the life get sucked from his body. After feeling his hope plummet to nothing and his fear explode into mayhem.

Nino felt that sense of detachment return, when he was sitting on Alya's couch, very much alive, shortly after he had been very much dead. Alya must have noticed the grave Nino was digging himself into (pun not intended), because she snaked her hand to his far shoulder and leaned into him, kissing his cheek and tickling his face with her curls.

As quickly as it came, the detachment left, because Alya was his anchor. "What's going on?" she asked, soft and judgement-free.

What would he ever do without her?

"Just thinking," he said, sounding far more tired than he thought he would. "And thinking. And thinking some more."

"There's a lot to think about," Alya pointed out. She turned her body in her chair to face him, and settled into her seat more comfortably. "Well, what's on your mind?"

Nino frowned. "I don't know. How we don't know if our friends will be okay. How we know that Gabriel Agreste is a terrorist. How we, like, died, and all."

"Sounds like fun," she joked. Nino stared at her. She pouted. "What? I'm not good at lifting the mood, that's your thing."

Nino laughed, and Alya smiled, and the air between them thinned. He clasped the hand Alya had slung over his shoulder. "I guess it is, huh."

"Yeah," Alya murmured. She nestled her head into the crook of his shoulder. "I can't believe both our best friends are superheroes, and in love."

"We have impeccable taste in friends."

"Bold of you to assume we don't have impeccable taste in everything."

"Touché."

Alya giggled and shook her head. "But really, like? How is this real? Our best friends run around in halloween costumes and use magic to cure butterflies. I feel like I've been on drugs for thirty-six hours straight."

"You caught me," Nino whispered jokingly. "I shot you up with heroin while you were asleep."

"Nino, I love you but shut up."

"Shutting."

She hummed into his shoulder and sighed, her breath whooshing against Nino's neck. They were silent for a moment, listening to the squeaks of wheelchairs and the swinging of doors and the unending ring of the receptionist's telephone. The white noise of the television and the murmur of voices and the tapping of shoes on the sterile tiles.

The moment was over when the front door opened, and several more people filed into the room. Nino looked up and Alya opened her eyes, just in time to see her parents and sisters walk in.

Alya dropped his hand and darted from her chair. "Maman! Papa!"

Nino looked away from the family reunion as Ms. Lahiffe burst into the room, Chris in her arms. Her coat was dropping off one shoulder and her hair was falling from her bun and her chest was heaving in panic, but she was still very much his mother.

Chris was the first one to spot him, and he pointed an excited finger in his older brother's direction. "Nino!"

His mother followed Chris' finger, and he saw the relief sink into her shoulders. Instead of Nino coming to them, his mother rushed to his chair and pulled him and Chris into an embrace. For a dubious second, he was frozen with shock, but quickly proceeded to fall apart in his mother's arms. "Maman," he whispered.

"I know, baby," she sighed, relieved and terrified all the same. She ironically kissed the same cheek Alya had kissed before, which was kinda embarrassing but mostly touching. Nino would take kisses from his mom over Alya anyday. (He was only kind of kidding.) ('Sorry, babe.')

Ms. Lahiffe pulled away and kneeled in front of him, cradling his face in her hands. Her shoulders were heavy, and her eyes were burdened. "Alya's parents caught me up to speed," she explained. She inspected his body, brushing her thumbs over the curve of his cheeks. "Are you hurt?"

"No," he said softly.

"Good, that's good . . ."

"Maman," he chided. "Don't worry. I'll be okay."

Ms. Lahiffe let out a small laugh and smiled, lifting the burden from her eyes ever so slightly. "Yeah. I know you will."

After a few more minutes of soaking in each other's presence and whispering assurances, Nino's mom kissed his cheek again before moving to keep the Dupain-Chengs company. Alya returned to her seat next to Nino, her antsy sisters following beside her, and Alya's parents joining the others.

Once again, the moment shifted as more people entered the room. But the only reason they captured Nino's attention was because of their uniforms.

Police uniforms.

And then it crashed and burned on them, spreading fire over every thought of hope and consolation and burning them away.

Because he and Alya looked to each other with wide eyes, instantly realizing that they were the only conscious people who knew of Hawk Moth's identity.

"We have to tell the police," Alya hissed, voice shrill. "Now."

Nino fidgeted his hands, heart pounding. "I'll do it," he said. "For Adrien." 'For his flame.'

Alya stared for a second, before nodding. "All right. It's all yours."

Taking a deep breath, Nino stood up on wobbling legs. The weight of what he was about to do was as liberating as it was burdening; he was about to ruin the life of the cruelest man on Earth, but would lock up the father of a boy who had already lost so much. A boy who deserved so much better. After this, nothing would be the same.

Everything was different now.

But he had to breathe and remind himself: different didn't inherently mean bad. Change was not evil, not always.

Change came with the seasons, right? He'd experienced changes before, big to small, drastic to miniscule, life-changing to uninfluential. Change was painting his room and cutting his hair, burying his dog in the park and becoming a big brother, his dad moving out and superheroes becoming real. Change was going from rapper to DJ, from friendless to friend-full, from single to . . . not.

Change was an old friend—or frenemy, more like. It was turbulent but steady, easing but volatile. It was contradictory, an antithesis of its makeup, its own worst enemy.

Change came with growing up, with moving on or falling behind. You were either ready for it, or you weren't. For Nino, he wasn't ready for Ladybug to fall off the Eiffel Tower. He wasn't ready for Marinette to run away, or for Tikki to appear in Alya's kitchen. He wasn't ready for Gabriel to be Hawk Moth, or for Adrien to be Chat Noir. He wasn't ready to die.

But Nino had learned that, even when he was ten and watching his dad pull out of the driveway for the last time, change didn't have to be scary. Because, like how his mom had been standing next to him in their front doorway, Alya was standing next to him in the waiting room. In the face of change, Nino held onto his constants, the things that would always be there.

He wasn't in denial of human mortality, and especially not of the relationships he had with them. He knew that people died and things were lost and mothers disappeared and fathers let down their families. But it was the things they left behind, the impacts they made, that were everlasting. Negative people taught him what to avoid, while positive people taught him what to become. He knew that the lessons they taught him, the lessons that mattered, would never fade. That by existing in his life, they had already watered his garden and allowed him to grow.

So, no matter what unpredictable changes awaited down that hall, Nino wouldn't be intimidated by them.

This time, he would be ready.

"Excuse me," Nino said, and the police officers turned around, and Nino stood tall.

"I need to report a criminal."

...

...

nino is the love of my life stfuuuuu

this is so long and mostly just nino but i will have NOTHING less for my turtle son (and his wife alya)