Is this chapter all over the place? Yes.
Are there a bunch of spoilers floating around the web? Also, yes
Is there a total of 6 episodes of Season 5? With subs, more drama and miscommunications, and a hint of development!
Warning: Non-canon backstory, and spiraling thoughts. Blanc doesn't have his own warning yet.
Chapter 9: To Our Momentum
Time erodes everything in its path. It is an apodictic certitude we have to tackle head-on someday.
("Neat, huh?" She heard a kid announce as she headed toward the outskirts of the scuola elementare. They were proudly boasting about their sweater, receiving oohs and ahhs from the rest of her class.
She probably would've joined too, if she had the chance. She's never seen something so… vibrant before!
It was stunning.
She gandered upward, but unlike her, there wasn't any covetousness in Mamma's complexion; only a sharp tug to her worn-out sleeve to hurry along.)
Memories are no different.
They are fragile, precious things to enjoy and look back on fondly. We hold on to them fiercely until the inevitable concept called change is hammered into us.
"Lilaaaaaaaa!"
I paid no heed to the vehement pulls on my coat, failing to crawl out of the bottomless chasms of notions flooding my mind.
(Although she was Mamma's offspring, it was surprising to note how much they differed from each other in every aspect.
Lila wasn't a blond with dark lime eyes with a thirst to figure out what was brewing in her surroundings, craving to buy one more coffee to render for the restless nights.
Mamma wasn't a tanned ginger with hazel globes that glittered in mischievousness for one last yummy treat, eager to snatch whatever she desired on the spot.
She loved panettone, reminding her she was raised in the company of snow and the smell of mildew in her cabin-like home. The other preferred a mean pasta and the chirping of birds in the wake of dawn, accompanied by the pink petals of an early spring.
"Delicious as always."
"Our piccola ragazza prepared it."
"Did she now?"
"I did!" She pouted at her parents' teasing skepticism but was then swayed by telling the course of her day to the people she cherished most, while the older woman appreciated the steam of freshly made stews and the twinkling of the lone window of the Rossi household.
Believe it or not, appearance, taste, and their favorite season… They were absolutely different. She's been conscious of this ever since the beginning, but her circumstances didn't bother her in the slightest.
This was her little haven. A place where they could be together forever.)
Or we can view these fragments as worthless recollections of history, chaining us from progressing. A perpetual reminder that demands us to let go and take control of our current present.
Even if that meant abiding in a discarded world.
The pitter-patter of the coruscating rain only added to these abyssal thoughts of mine.
(School enunciated these dissimilarities into a bigger scope, teaching her it wasn't normal to not possess a room or have a space to play.
Other kids usually looked like their parents and purchased new clothes instead of getting hand-me-downs. They also had separate attires for winter and summer.
And…
.
.
Houses with multiple rooms existed.
"Look, Mamma!" Everything was new to her.
The older woman hummed, pretending not to know what her daughter was doing. "Oh my, who's that?"
"This is you-" The little girl lifted the paper. There was an overly tall lady with a square on her head, likely trying to match the adult's short bob cut.
"This is Papà-" The stick person doodled in a gigantic rectangle showed it to be the t-shirt and glasses of a man.
"And this is me." She concluded by signaling the crudely drawn wavy dress and small brown ovals on what was supposed to be her hair.
They were all holding hands.
"We live in a house with lots of rooms. One for each!"
"… That's nice, dear." Her mamma thinly smiled, highlighting the etiolated circles and wrinkles marking Clara Contard's face.)
"My vulpi?"
How can we be sure that what we evoke truly happened? Are sentiments filling in the gaps, overwriting the memories in their entirety?
We shouldn't accept everything presented to us at face value, for we can't even trust ourselves from being deceived.
("I'm telling the truth!" The little girl's locks slackened as she was pushed to the ground.
"No, you're lying!"
Snowflakes covered her twittery silhouette...
"And you'll always be known by that." All the while, children mocked and jeered at her tear-stricken guise.
"Liar Lila."
She just wanted to be happy.
Was that… bad?)
"Lila!"
Each to their particular interpretations.
I don't deem them worthless… but they aren't precious to me either. The only thing I can say is that the past is the past, and that's where it should remain.
A once upon a time better left forgotten.
("I got a side gig." Lila attempted to sound elated about it. "A modeling job under THE Gabriel Agreste! I also get to associate myself with his son. Can you believe it?"
"The pay is off the charts, Mamma. So please…" She gazed away from the reheated plate to the seat before her.
"… Be at home more." If her voice faltered a smidge in the end, it didn't matter.
No one was there to mention it, after all.)
.
.
It took me a few moments to quell the reeling sensation and compute the flaring sting on my arm, causing me to rub the spot where I was pinched and pay attention.
"Uh, sorry about that, Blanc."
You know that 40-minute 'You are a douche' speech delivered by girlfriends and wives who are annoyed with their partners?
"Tch." He pulled that off by expressing it all in one sound.
The frustration was strong with this one, and I wasn't keen on why. I was merely perambulating the once glamorous accommodations, minding my own business-
My sense of balance was disrupted as my wrist got yanked back harshly, almost tearing the fabric to shreds.
-and almost plummeted down a narrow, steep-sided channel created by the unrelenting weather.
It was an icy hole that anyone with the right state of mind could plainly… see.
.
.
.
.
Ah.
"You're distracted."
That explained my protector's contemporary moodiness and why, when I attempted to free myself from his clutches, the pressure simply reinforced itself.
"I was… reminiscing," I said in the end. Not sure what else to call it.
If the glacial eyes didn't speak volumes, then the guttural growl that disgorged from my companion's throat certainly did.
"Reminiscing about what?"
"Well…"
(The presentation forum was packed with more individuals than she expected.
Music blared, yet the noise didn't envelop the squeals and laughter of children running around in joy. Crowds of young people peered at the booths with hopeful outlooks, and the adults couldn't help but tour the place.
Recognized high-end professions such as managing a city and revolutionizing fashion, up to the simplest lifestyle of selling sweet frozen desserts down at the bridge. All of Paris' dreams and ambitions gathered here to inspire others to forge their own path.
And amid this merry ambiance, one stood out as a complete outsider.
"Lila?" Or should she say abandoned kitty?
Although she had said nothing when she leaned against the olden tree, and with his face buried in his knees, he could tell it was her.
"Don't bum yourself out." She pried the empty questionnaire from his hands and crumbled it into a ball, hurling it to the nearest trash bin. "Actually, you should count yourself lucky."
"How?" He was unusually crest-fallen about it. "I don't know what I want to be!"
'That means you won't get your hopes up.' She didn't aver that out loud, choosing instead to lick the crème glacée the parlor gifted her, and witnessed the boy who had everything at his fingertips having a mid-life crisis.
"You already know what you like and don't like. I'm… no good at those kinds of things." Yellow strands drooped to a greater extent.
All because he couldn't recall what his dream was?
Her fingers blatantly tapped against the oak bark.
To be fair, it's likely that Adrien was taught to be polite and formal before he was old enough to comprehend anything, wanting to please his parents. Before he even knew what he wanted, his father had already decided everything for him.
That must be why the Paris Expo left him stunned. He must have felt as if he'd been dropped on another planet.
In a way, Lila understood.
"Then, after this…" She declared out of the blue.
She remembered when a young girl awoke every morning to a cramped house. Badly faded wallpaper and mold formed by the rainwater dripping from the ceiling, and sometimes small insects like crickets and ants would crawl across the creaky floorboards.
But when the child fell into her dreams, she dreamt of coats in many colors… A large two-story building and T.V where anybody could come over and watch the news… A fluffy blanket to cuddle with…
And seeing her parents with a cheerful and untroubled disposition, where they weren't required to work all day long.
"Let's go search for something you like to do." She touched her scarlet jacket, refusing to acknowledge the idle glances she threw every now and then.
Not everyone can achieve their dreams, and even when they do…
It's too late.
.
.
He sat there lost in thought for a long time. To the point where the unusual combination of peppermint, strawberry, and blackberry numbed her tongue.)
"About us… I suppose." I finished vaguely.
I don't know if it was because of the events of that day or something broke during my watery fall, but it appeared as if our interactions were reset back to square one. While other factors exhibited in his character were… amiss.
Should've probably been more preoccupied with that tidbit—and much more—but for some reason, my brain kept drifting to other topics.
Adrien Agreste was good-natured, albeit naïve because of his lack of knowledge of the world outside. Quick and inventive verbal humor and loyalty characterized Chat Noir, and the intense, tenacious nature of the ongoing version was becoming clearer with each passing day.
Be that as it may, the male protagonist also had his witty occasions and could be scarily observant (when he wanted to be), akin to his alter-ego.
Chat Noir was free-spirited and brave; but since the model was a walking doormat, that feature bled through whenever the hero aspired to prove himself to his lady.
And quips would blurt out from Chat Blanc's lips from time to time. Furthermore, in the same manner as his civilian form, the akuma didn't give enough attention or reason for his actions to avoid harming those nearby.
Like right now, for example.
"You and… me?" The force on my wrist slithered towards my hand, stopping me in my tracks.
Destroyed marble structures of gray and the pale decorations on the wall protected us from the drizzle, but it wasn't able to block out the frenzied, piercing irises snapping open at me.
"Did you really think about us?" Practically desperate for confirmation.
What I was trying to get at is that, despite how much these personas varied, there were also bits of each toppling onto one another. Every last one of them shared a common trait gnawing at them.
A profound, unpleasant emotion they couldn't hide or repudiate.
"Yeah," I answered absentmindedly.
Like opening or closing theater curtains, slitted pupils expanded to fully round while the cat repeated something in an indistinctly quiet tone, almost as if purposely preventing me from hearing.
He kept grinning from ear to ear, but I could perceive it was still there…
The deep loneliness lingering in the blank cracks.
Perhaps that's why similar doubts of my authenticity as 'Lila Rossi' have been turned a blind eye thus far.
The flow of time is fickle, however. Miraculous show or not, I can't anticipate what changes it will bring about.
With a skip in his steps, I let myself be callously dragged away from the dark waning patterns resembling peacock designs, scattering the confounding evocations of my predecessor with the sudden convulsion of air exploding through my nose.
Her past, my present, and his future… All of this will fade away soon.
I wonder what will happen to us then?
ฅ-*୨୧*-ฅ
Extra:
"I told you not to stray from my sight." Chat Blanc squeezed the heated water from the ripped cloth and washed off the cold sweat dripping from the shivering, sleeping frame of his classmate.
(He hated lies.
His entire life was a lie.
W̶a̶s̶ ̶s̶h̶e̶ ̶o̶n̶e̶ ̶t̶o̶o̶?̶
"Did I do something wrong?" His legs dangled aimlessly over the edge as he watched over Paris.
"If not…" He chuckled brokenly at the lack of response.
At the lack of life.
At the lack of her.
"Why am I here?")
When he was done, he tossed it aside and reclined on the cushion, tail standing to a still as he observed the real deal resting on his couch.
If he hadn't refrained that day, he would've been alone again. No mirage could fake that f̶r̶i̶g̶h̶t̶e̶n̶e̶d̶ familiar gaze, or make him feel things.
Things he wished to forget.
("Have you ever sought to stay true to yourself, even when the world tries to deny your very existence?"
The flipping of pages hesitated at the unknown presence.
"What a way to start a conversation, am I right?"
It was the transfer student in his class. He thinks she introduced herself as… "Rossi?"
"Please, call me Lila. I insist!" Did he imagine it, or did her smile briefly set itself into a straight line?
"Alright, Lila." He laughed awkwardly as the girl effortlessly pulled her chair to sit by his side.
Maybe it was due to how forward she was.
"Say…"
Plagg shifted in his shirt's pocket, and he too wanted to squirm at the Italian's curious tone as she zoned in on the tome he had brought from his father's study.
"That book of yours looks quite interesting." She rested her chin on her hands and grinned mischievously.
"Mind if I take a peek?")
"You said I shouldn't be so trusting, but here you are now… Doing the exact same thing."
Nonchalantly tearing the orange bands off, he stroked his vulpi's freed reddish-chocolate hair as she dreamt ̶c̶a̶r̶e̶l̶e̶s̶s̶l̶y̶ carefree under his care.
Was she thinking about him again?
("Chat… Noir?"
Were his ears tricking him?
She was there.
He barely refrained from scratching her face as he grabbed her zealously, taking in how soft her cheeks were, her natural scent and honey-trap voice...
Confused and lost like him, she hugged back.
It seems he couldn't classify her as just a classmate anymore.
.
.
It wasn't too late.
What dreams don't give… he can take.)
She really wasn't playing fair.
She never did.
Lila Rossi was someone who was more distant than a friend, and someone that would inevitably lead him to become greedy.
"If this goes on…" The stupor poisoned and distorted his akumatized mind as he prowled at his defenseless fox.
And whispered possessively, "I might have to consider tying you up."
(He hated lies.
But here, at this moment... He'd live with them again, as many as he needed to.
Because right in front of him, there was a bewitching lie he couldn't destroy.
O̶t̶h̶e̶r̶w̶i̶s̶e̶,̶ ̶t̶h̶i̶s̶ ̶w̶o̶r̶l̶d̶ ̶w̶o̶u̶l̶d̶n̶'̶t̶ ̶h̶a̶v̶e̶ ̶m̶e̶a̶n̶i̶n̶g̶ a̶n̶y̶m̶o̶r̶e̶.)
ฅ-*୨୧*-ฅ
A/N
The theme for this and the last chapter is based on the phrase: She's broken because she believed.
Now everybody knows I suck at writing POVs. (This is why I don't write long chapters. My brain gets fried.)
(∩˘▽˘)⊃━,｡･:*:･ﾟ'✺ Happy Halloween, little lost souls! May you all have delightful frights and bags filled with lots of goodies tonight!