The next morning, Nathalie woke up to the soft light filtering through the curtains. She stretched, sitting up slowly so as not to disturb Adrian, who was still curled up beneath the blanket, sound asleep. A small twinge in her neck made her wince as she tried to work out the kink. She regretted the awkward position she had slept in, but she couldn't help the quiet smile that tugged at her lips as she watched him sleep.
Careful not to make a sound, she slipped off of the couch and padded to the kitchen. The familiar scent of coffee and the soft sizzle of a pancake cooking filled the air as she got to work. By the time she was flipping the first pancake, Adrian wandered into the kitchen, his hair tousled and his eyes still half-closed.
"Morning," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.
Nathalie turned with a soft smile, holding the spatula in one hand as she finished flipping the pancake. "Good morning. I didn't want to wake you, so I thought I'd make us breakfast."
"Thank you, Nathalie. You didn't have to." Adrian settled into his usual seat, his gaze lingering on the plate she slid in front of him.
Nathalie gave him a small, reassuring smile. "I know, but I thought you might need it. Plus, I made sure to add enough butter so they're not tasteless." She winked, trying to lighten the mood.
Adrian let out a small snort, the memory of Marinette teasing his father about the same thing coming to mind. But as soon as the thought of his father surfaced, his smile faded. The lightness in the room seemed to drain out as his thoughts turned darker. *His father... gone. Just like that.* It was still so hard to wrap his mind around it. Sure, his father had never been there for him, but he was *still* family, the only one he had left. And now, he was... gone. *Vanished.*
A heavy silence settled between them, and Nathalie noticed the shift in his demeanor immediately. Her heart sank.
"Oh, Adrian, I'm sorry," she said softly, her hand hesitating over the plate. "I wasn't thinking. If you'd rather not—" She stopped herself, a deep sense of regret rising in her chest. She hadn't meant to bring up any painful memories. The pancakes had been a gesture, something simple to make him feel better, but instead, they seemed to have done the opposite.
Adrian quickly looked up at her, his expression softening. "No, it's fine. Really." He forced a small smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. He was grateful for her attempt to cheer him up, even if it wasn't working.
Nathalie sighed quietly, pushing the plate back toward him. "We don't have to eat them, Adrian. I just... wanted to do something nice."
He met her gaze for a moment, and despite the weight of his grief, he could see the care in her eyes. The last thing he wanted was to make her feel bad for trying to help. Taking a breath, he pushed through the discomfort. "I appreciate it, Nathalie. Truly." He picked up his fork, taking a bite even though his stomach felt heavy.
Nathalie watched him, her expression soft but unreadable. She knew the pain in his eyes all too well. The ache of loss, the quiet sorrow of something irreplaceable slipping away. She would let him have his space—he didn't need to pretend everything was okay. But she would be there, like always, to help him through it.
Nathalie stood at the stove, ladle in hand, poised to scoop up another dollop of pancake batter. But something in her chest tightened, and her hand faltered. Her gaze drifted downward, the familiar scent of sizzling pancakes suddenly hollow in her nostrils. She blinked rapidly as if to clear away the fog that had descended. Her chest ached, and without warning, her vision blurred.
She quickly turned away, the motion sharp and unplanned, as if the simple act of facing the pancakes one more time would somehow betray her. Her breath caught in her throat, and she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, careful not to make a sound, though the tears were already spilling.
The kitchen was silent except for the faint sizzle of batter in the pan, and in that silence, the rawness of the moment hit her all at once. She didn't want Adrian to see, didn't want to admit how heavy the weight of everything felt—how the grief, the memories, and the quiet *missing* seemed to build up in her all at once, overflowing in the way only tears could.
Her fingers trembled as she wiped her cheeks quickly, a futile attempt to compose herself. She pressed her lips together, her throat tight, willing herself to breathe evenly again. *Not now. Not in front of him.*
She closed her eyes for a moment, taking in the steady rhythm of the kitchen around her—the comforting, familiar sounds that had always felt like a refuge. The soft sizzle of pancakes. The low hum of the coffee maker. Even these small things felt like a balm, a reminder that some things *could* stay the same, even if everything else was changing.
With one last deep breath, Nathalie straightened up, forcing a calm expression onto her face, before turning back to the stove. The pancakes, now golden brown and ready to be flipped, waited for her attention. The tears were still there, but she had to push them down, at least for now.
For Adrian. For them both.
She took the spatula in her hand again, flipping the pancakes with quiet precision, and silently willed herself to be strong.
Nathalie flipped the pancake with a practiced flick of her wrist, her eyes briefly catching Adrian's reflection in the kitchen window. She could see him poking at the pancake on his plate, his fork moving in slow, hesitant motions as he seemed lost in thought. A small pang of worry tugged at her heart.
She turned back to the stove, trying to mask the tightness in her chest. Her hands were steady, but her mind wasn't. The last thing she wanted was to push Adrian into something he wasn't ready for, especially not now when he seemed so distant.
"Adrian," she said softly, glancing over her shoulder at him. "You don't have to eat them if you don't want to."
He paused, his gaze flicking up to meet hers. His eyes, tired and heavy, held a quiet apology. "I'm sorry, I'm just not hungry."
Nathalie nodded, understanding more than he could know. The pain, the heaviness of everything—they both felt it. "I get it," she replied with a small, reassuring smile. "We can save these for later."
She wrapped the pancake batter in plastic wrap, careful not to make any unnecessary noise. She was trying to maintain a sense of normalcy, but it felt fragile like the slightest misstep might make everything fall apart. She placed the bowl gently into the fridge and then turned toward Adrian, her steps quiet on the kitchen floor.
She hesitated for a brief moment, but then she went over to him, lowering herself onto the edge of the table before gently pulling him into a hug. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, offering the kind of warmth that wasn't bound by words. Just presence. Just *being there.*
"I'm here for you," Nathalie whispered, her voice steady but soft. "You know that, right?"
Adrian didn't say anything at first. He simply leaned into her, his cheek resting against the side of her head, his shoulders tense but not pulling away. His breath was slow and steady, though she could feel the quiet tremor in his body. "Yeah, I do," he said finally, his voice rough but sincere.
Nathalie tightened her arms around him just slightly, as if to say, I know it's hard, but you're not alone. She wasn't sure if he heard her unspoken words or if he just needed the quiet comfort of her touch. But at that moment, it didn't matter. They sat there for a long moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, both understanding that the silence didn't need to be filled. Not yet. Not today.
For now, just being there was enough.
Adrian pulled away from the hug, his heart racing, worried that he had overstayed his welcome. He glanced nervously at Nathalie, unsure of what to do next. But Nathalie smiled warmly, her eyes reassuring as she gently placed a hand on his arm.
"You're okay," she said softly, her tone steady and kind. "You don't have to worry about that."
Her smile was enough to ease his anxiety, and he found himself returning it, though still a little hesitant. The warmth of the moment lingered between them, and for a second, the world outside seemed to fade away.
"Thanks," Adrian mumbled, feeling a bit embarrassed but comforted by her kindness.
"You shouldn't thank me. This is all my fault. I should've stopped him. He sacrificed himself for me. He didn't have to do that."
Adrian could see the guilt in Nathalie's eyes, the way she was carrying the weight of what had happened. She was blaming herself, and it broke his heart to see her like this. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, giving it a reassuring squeeze.
"Nathalie," he said quietly, his voice steady. "You can't blame yourself for that. You didn't make him do anything. He made that choice because he cared about you. That's the kind of person he was—selfless, even when it hurt."
He paused for a moment, letting his words settle between them. "I know it hurts. But you can't carry that guilt. He would want you to live. To keep going, for him, for you."
Nathalie's eyes softened, though the pain was still there, raw and palpable. "But I didn't do enough to stop it," she whispered, almost as if trying to convince herself of her guilt.
Adrian shook his head. "You're not responsible for his choices. You did everything you could. Sometimes... sometimes people make decisions we can't control, and all we can do is honor them by living our lives the way they'd want us to."
Nathalie blinked, her breath shaky, but she didn't pull away. Adrian could feel her pain, her regret, and yet he could also feel her slowly starting to tense, just a little bit like she was starting to believe him.
"You're not alone in this," Adrian added, his voice softer. "You have me. You have others who care about you. You don't have to carry this by yourself."
For a long moment, Nathalie didn't say anything. She just looked at him, her gaze a mixture of vulnerability and gratitude. Finally, she nodded slowly, her lips trembling into a faint smile.
"Thank you, Adrian," she whispered. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
Adrian smiled back, squeezing her hand one last time. "You'll never have to find out."
He doesn't know how close I was to losing him. Ohh Adrian, I will protect you with my life.
Nathalie held onto Adrian's hand a little longer, grounding herself in the warmth of his touch. The silence between them felt different now—not heavy with grief, but lighter, more shared. She could feel the shift, the subtle change that came with understanding, even if neither of them had all the answers yet.
Adrian's eyes met hers again, this time with a hint of something softer—maybe a quiet relief that he wasn't alone in all this. His voice, when he spoke, was still tinged with sorrow, but there was something new there, too. "I don't want you to feel like you're the only one carrying everything. I know it's hard, but I—" He stopped himself, struggling to find the right words. "I just... I don't want you to feel like you have to be strong all the time. It's okay to... feel it. To not have it all figured out."
Nathalie swallowed hard, the ache in her chest tightening, but this time, it felt like something different—something less isolating. She nodded the tears that had threatened to fall earlier now just a faint shimmer at the edge of her eyes. "I'm trying," she whispered, her voice a little unsteady. "I'm trying to not carry it alone."
Adrian's thumb gently traced circles over the back of her hand, his gesture slow and careful, like he was trying to comfort her without saying anything more. It wasn't much, but it was enough for now. Enough to remind her that he understood. That, in this painful, tangled mess of grief, they weren't alone.
As the silence stretched on, Nathalie leaned back slightly, breaking the gentle hold between them just enough to give them both some space. She let out a soft breath, glancing toward the pancakes she had left untouched on the stove. The morning felt suspended in time like nothing had quite shifted back to normal, and maybe it never would. But maybe that was okay.
"Hey," Adrian said, his voice suddenly brighter, as if trying to shift the mood. He paused, looking at the still-warm pancakes with a half-smile. "If we're not going to eat them... should we just throw them out?" He said it lightly, but the glint of mischief in his eyes betrayed the effort to lighten the moment.
Nathalie chuckled softly, her lips curving into a small smile despite herself. "I don't think we should waste food. Maybe we could just... save them for later, like I said. You know, when we're both in the mood."
"Fair enough," Adrian replied, his tone matching her small smile. "Though I can't promise I won't still be suspicious about how much butter is in them."
"Hey, you can't complain!" Nathalie teased. "I'm just trying to make sure you don't end up with dry pancakes."
Adrian laughed then, a real laugh that reached his eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the weight in the room had lessened. It was small, but it was something.
After a beat, he pushed his plate aside and stood up, stretching his arms above his head, the movement slow and careful. Nathalie watched him for a second, noticing the way he still seemed a little lost, a little hesitant in his skin. He was trying—she could see that—but the absence of his father still loomed over him like a shadow he couldn't quite shake off.
Without thinking, Nathalie stood up too, her hand still lightly on his arm. "Are you okay?" she asked quietly, her voice slipping into something softer, more concerned.
Adrian paused, his eyes flickering toward hers. He didn't say anything for a long moment, his lips pressed together as if weighing the truth of her question. Then, slowly, he nodded. "I think... I think I'm going to be okay. I just—" He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly unsure of how to finish the sentence.
"You don't have to have all the answers," Nathalie said gently, taking a step closer. "Just take it one day at a time."
Adrian gave a small, uncertain nod, but something in his posture seemed to shift—less stiff, less burdened. "Yeah," he said quietly, almost to himself. "One day at a time."
And then, as if trying to anchor himself in something steady, he gave her a half-smile. "Thanks, Nathalie. Really. For being here."
Her heart fluttered slightly at the sincerity in his eyes. "Always," she whispered back. "I'm here."
Adrian seemed to relax a little more at her words, the unspoken bond between them growing stronger with every moment. He was still hurting, still grieving, but in this small, quiet exchange, Nathalie felt the subtle shift. The understanding that, even when everything else felt fragile, they had each other. And that was enough for now.
Later that day, as the sun dipped lower in the sky, they went for a walk together. Neither of them spoke much, but the act itself was a kind of comfort. The streets were quieter than usual, and the evening air was cool, a welcome change from the stifling heat of the previous days. They walked side by side, the silence between them no longer awkward, but a shared understanding that they didn't need to fill every space with words.
It wasn't easy, but they were moving forward, one step at a time.