#picked up my marcnath again

[jeonghoneyss]

every time i pick up a fic and start working on it again i’m like “wow this is great, i should write all the time actually” and then. the horrors (have A levels and uni applications)

[mexicancat-girl]

Quiet (with you)

Another MarcNath fic written for #MLPrideFest2020 and Pride month in general

AO3: Link, 3600 words

.

...

Even after making friends, Marc still likes to write under the stairs.

Maybe it was just an ingrained habit at this point.

Marc didn’t do well with crowds, or loud places. It was all too chaotic. Ironic, considering he loved loud music; but dealing with people in real life was different than listening to his favorite albums.

Either way, Marc started his habit of siting and writing under the stairs since the start of the school year, too anxious to deal with both the cafeteria and his crippling loneliness of not having any friends to sit with. He has friends to sit with now, but his anxiety was a fickle thing. Sometimes he just didn’t want to seem like a bother.

The stairs were a place he enjoyed, though. They were quiet. Out of the way. And no one looked under the stairs, so it provided a nice little hidey hole. He could be isolated, while not being wholly alone.

After all, if he stayed under the stairs in the courtyard, he could hear and see when lunch let out and he had to go back to class. He couldn’t do that if he wrote in, say, the Library. The Library was too quiet, too out of the way. Marc would forget altogether about needing to leave, entranced in his writing, making him accidentally skip classes like some sort of delinquent.

And he wasn’t a delinquent! He just got lost in his head when he wrote…

Marc fiddles with his pen. Someone takes that moment to step close to him on his left.

“Hey,” a familiar voice says in a yawn. Marc snaps up his attention to Nathaniel, who hovers over him for a few seconds, before unceremoniously dropping to the ground to sit next to him.

Or, well. It looks more like he collapsed to the ground.

“Are you okay?!” Marc yelps, nearly chucking his pen and notebook aside in his haste.

Nathaniel just blinks back at him blearily, posture horribly slouched. He has dark circles under his uncovered eye, as if stamped on the pale skin there. His vibrant red hair is mussed, like he’d just been sleeping.

“M’fine,” the redhead sighs out, giving another jaw-cracking yawn right after. “Just tired.”

Marc frowns over at the other boy in concern. “Nathaniel…”

“Mmm?” he hums listlessly in reply.

“Did…did you get any sleep at all, last night?” Marc hedges, staring at the exhausted-looking artist.

“…Maybe.”

“How many hours?” he presses carefully, concern welling up even stronger as he watches Nathaniel duck his head and slump down even further.

“…A few.”

“How many exactly?”

“Like…Four?” is the weak response.

“Nathaniel!” Marc gasps, scandalized and concerned.

Nathaniel just groans, burying his face in his hand. “M’fiiiine.”

“You’re sleep deprived! That’s not fine!” he retorts, setting aside his notebook and pen to turn in place and put his full attention to his friend-slash-crush.

“Well, I’m still alive. So I think—” a yawn disrupts Nathaniel’s drawl “—I’m good.”

“You have to sleep,” Marc decides, quite logically. “You’ll pass out any second if you don’t. And you’ll end up missing class.”

“Bold of you to assume I didn’t already,” the redhead laughs dryly.

“You what?!”

Nathaniel just shrugs, looking vaguely sheepish as he says, “I fell asleep in class again. No big deal.”

“Is this a common occurrence?” Marc asks, brows flying up in shock. “Does this happen all the time?”

“Well, not all the time…” Nathaniel hedges, pink dusting his cheeks and uncovered eye darting away. “Just…Every once in a while.”

Marc sighs, shaking his head. His crush doesn’t seem like he’s jumping to elaborate, and Marc knows how stubborn the boy could be.

One more thing the two have in common to add to the pile: they both had a shit time asking others for help.

“Why did you only get four hours of sleep anyways?” Marc can’t help but ask, curious.

“…I forgot to?” the redhead cringes.

“You forgot to sleep?!” Marc yelps, leaning forwards to gawk in horror. All he gets in reply is a sheepish, tired laugh. “Nathaniel! How can you just forget?”

“Marc, when you have ADHD, it’s easy to forget a lot of things,” Nathaniel deadpans, looking a bit more dead inside as he does so.

“That’s not an excuse, and you know it.” Marc chides, giving a pointed look. “You have a phone. Set an alarm to remind yourself to go to bed.”

“…I do that. It doesn’t work.”

“Set multiple alarms, then?”

“If I do that, I just get pissed that my phone keeps interrupting me. And then I keep drawing anyways.”

Marc sighs, tapping a finger against his cheek. “There has to be a solution…”

“Prob’ly,” Nathaniel shrugs, another jaw-cracking yawn spilling from his mouth. “Look, I just… really wanna take a nap right now.”

“Go ahead. I’ll wake you up when we need to go back to class,” Marc tells him automatically, freezing slightly when he realizes what he’d just offered.

Oh God, was that weird? Who the hell would want to take a nap under the stairs? Not only is it creepy, it’s all solid concrete down here, hardly a comfortable place to sleep for any amount of time—

Nathaniel, however, doesn’t seem bothered by the offer. In fact, he smiles back at Marc, bright and genuine even through his apparent exhaustion.

“Really?” the redhead asks, as Marc awkwardly sputters and nods. “Thanks, Marc, you’re the best…!”

With a concerning amount of cheeriness and enthusiasm, Nathaniel flops right onto his back and throws an arm over his eyes, apparently settling in for a nap then and there.

“Y-Y-You’re welcome…?” Marc tells him weakly.

The redhead hums, but doesn’t do anything else in reply. He just shifts to his side, facing Marc, and…completely zones out.

Marc watches in fascination as the other boy instantly falls asleep. Just like that.

For someone that apparently had trouble going to bed, Nathaniel didn’t waste time actually falling asleep, it seems.

Marc slowly and carefully picks his notebook and pen back up, making sure he’s quiet and doesn’t startle the other boy awake.

And then he writes.

-----

Every once in a while, Marc looks up to check up on Nathaniel.

The redhead keeps on sleeping, dead to the world.

It’s probably creepy to do, but after more and more time passes, Marc’s gaze is drawn to watching Nathaniel’s sleeping form. Like a magnet. And eventually, he just sort of. Watches him sleep.

After all, there’s not exactly many opportunities for him to stare unabashedly at his crush without possibly getting caught by said crush. There’s also the factor in play that sleeping is a private and intimate thing, and Nathaniel had no problems just…hunkering down and taking a nap by Marc’s side.

Either Nathaniel really trusts him and isn’t bothered by the possibility of Marc judging him, or he’s so exhausted he genuinely doesn’t give a fuck about anyone’s opinion.

Both options make Marc’s stupid gay heart flutter, just a bit, in his chest.

Nathaniel looks so… peaceful while he sleeps. His face is slack, lips parted slightly as he breathes slowly and deeply. The exhaustion and stress melts from his features. His lashes are delicate as they fan out across his cheekbones, kissing the small smattering of freckles there. His bangs are mussed and out of his face completely for once, hair feathered out, fire spilling against the concrete. 

The other boy doesn’t snore, either. But he does drool, just a bit.

The sight makes Marc smile. It’s probably achingly lovestruck and fond. He doesn’t fight it.

Marc shifts—slowly, carefully—until he’s sitting level with the sleeping redhead. He pauses, heart in his throat, when Nathaniel mumbles and shifts a bit. And then tenses when the boy butts his head against Marc’s thigh.

Marc watches with bated breath as Nathaniel snuggles against his leg like a cat, apparently drawn to Marc’s body heat. He even curls up a bit and throws his leg over Marc’s extended one, knee hiked up, the weight trapping Marc’s right leg in place.

Marc’s face feels like it’s on fire. He tries very, very hard not to squeal. And also tries to ignore the fact that if Nathaniel migrates further, he’ll end up in Marc’s lap.

Though Marc honestly can’t complain about that, even if the prospect makes him want to go into cardiac arrest from mingled embarrassment and joy.

Fumblingly, Marc brings up his unoccupied leg, balancing his notebook precariously onto his raised knee. He doesn’t even know what he writes—if its cohesive at all, or just the ramblings of a madman desperately in love—but he has to at least occupy himself. If he doesn’t, he’ll die on the spot, or his mind will overthink everything.

If he doodles a few too many hearts on the page than is considered normal, well. No one’s around to see him.

-----

“Damn it, Nath…! Where are you?!” Alix seethes under her breath, stomping across the cafeteria.

She was a woman on a mission.

Somehow, in the five seconds Alix took her eyes off Nathiel in Miss Bustier’s class, he managed to slip past her. He was a slippery one, and too quiet for his own good.

Alix was pissed. Mostly concerned for Nath’s health and continued wellbeing, but pissed all the same.

That dumb tomato-boy was probably off somewhere, passed out in a corner of the school like a homeless person. Vulnerable and ready for any old bully to waltz by him. All because he was avoiding Alix, since she tended to strongarm him to stay awake and eat a proper lunch and wallow in his mistakes of staying up til nearly four in the fucking morning. Again.

Either way, Alix was going to find his stupid ass, and drag him to eat lunch so he could have enough energy to not pass right the fuck out and end up in the nurse’s office.

She’s checked his favorite hidey-holes in the Art Club Room and the Library. With those options eliminated, she has no reason to really stay on the top floors. So she ends up stomping all the way back down to the main floor.

And then realizes that she may have forgotten one last spot.

Quietly, she moves away from the stairs. And when she’s got enough distance, carefully hiding behind a column, she crouches and looks under the stairs.

Marc is there, as she expected. His bright-red hoodie and messy hair are fairly recognizable.

Passed out next to Marc is a very familiar form that Alix instantly recognizes as her dumbass best friend, one Nathaniel Kurtzberg.

Alix would normally stomp on over and wake Nath up. But the actual sight before her makes her pause, and consider.

Marc is sitting down, one knee propped up and seemingly trying to write in his notebook, and looking to be struggling at it. Probably because Nathaniel is half-using him as a pillow, his head all but in Marc’s lap, a leg thrown over Marc’s extended one.

Marc’s sort of trapped under Nathaniel. Though he looks so enraptured and awed at the fact that he’s being used as a pillow, he probably wouldn’t move from his spot in a thousand years.

It’s…an incredibly cute sight.

And it’s also a bit surprising, too.

Not the fact that Marc’s looking down at Nathaniel with a look so gooey and lovestruck, he pretty much has hearts for eyes. Alix’s picked up near-instantly that Marc has a bit of a hopeless crush on her best friend.

No, the more surprising part is Nathaniel taking a nap on Marc.

Nathaniel never feels bothered about taking naps at school, just plonking his head on his desk and diving straight into dreamland. But sleeping around other people is a bit different.

Nath likes to cuddle when he sleeps. But he only does it to people he really, truly trusts. He won’t just sleep on any person.

So far, the phenomena only extends to family. Which includes Alix and Jalil, because Nath all but considers them his siblings. But he doesn’t sleep on any of his other friends.

The fact that he’s sleeping on Marc shows that he trusts him. A lot, at that.

It shows that he even considers Marc family.

“Interesting…” Alix mutters quietly under her breath, her mouth breaking into a shit-eating grin.

Feeling devious, she carefully fishes her phone from her pocket, and clicks it on. A few swipes later, and she’s zooming in on her camera to take a dozen photos of Marc and Nathaniel in their current position.

She’s so going to tease the shit out of Nath later over this.

Hell, she might as well start a new album for them, at the rate that this is going. She hadn’t even realized Nath was crushing back on Marc.

Hell, Nath might not even know he has a crush on Marc.

This is ironically hilarious.

And hey! They’ll all make great photos for the wedding, she’s sure. She should know; she’s going to be Nath’s best man. They pretty much made a blood pact on it when they were younger. She’d be his best man, and he’d be hers, if they ever got married.

With a smirk and a cheery hum under her breath, Alix carefully and quietly backs away, so she won’t be seen and ruin their cute little moment.

She could let it slide. She’ll let Nath sleep, this time.

-----

It feels both like an eternity, and no time at all, before the sounds of students migrating out of the lunchroom get louder and louder.

With a pang of regret and longing, Marc realizes he has to wake Nathaniel back up.

Well. It’d been good while it lasted.

At the very least, Marc can make some corrections about his daydreams of a blissful domestic life with his crush. Including the newly revealed fact that Nathaniel’s a cuddler.

“Nathaniel…Wake up,” Marc says, ducking down and gently shaking his shoulder. “We have to get back to class.”

“Five more minutes,” the redhead half-groans half-whines, raising his head slightly just to plop it straight on Marc’s thigh, burying his face there.

Marc all but jumps out of his skin. He’s so startled, he yanks his leg away, watching in horrified mortification as Nathaniel smacks his face slightly on the concrete.

“I’m up, I’m up!” the redhead yelps, jolting up, blue eyes wide and staring around himself wildly as he shifts himself into a sitting position.

“I-I-I’m so sorry,” Marc gasps, instantly hovering over his friend. “OhmyGodNath—”

“S’fine! S’fine,” Nathaniel says, shaking his head wildly, before bringing a hand up to carefully rub at his face. “My fault for smacking myself anyways.”

“A-Are y-you okay?” Marc worries, hands fluttering to and fro.

“I think so…?” the redhead blinks, cheeks dusted pink. “Ummm…Sorry, c-can you see if I have a bruise, or—”

“Y-Yes, of course.” Marc quickly leans his face in, scrutinizing the other for injuries. Other than the growing blush (no doubt of embarrassment) on Nathaniel’s face, there’s no major change in color that’s a warning sign for an injury. “N-No, you’re fine. Your nose looks a little red, but that’s it.”

“Thanks, man,” Nathaniel sighs, leaning back and rubbing at his nose, eyes averted. “I mean, I’ve had worse on my face after waking up, but still. It’s nice to have someone to check.”

“I’ve fallen asleep on my notebooks before…” Marc offers, wincing sympathetically. This earns him a small smile in return, which is worth the slight embarrassment of his admission.

“Oh, same. I’ve conked out right on my notebooks and sketchbooks before. Woken up with writing from my notes or smeared marker on my face,” the other says, laughing awkwardly, obviously self-conscious even if he jokes about it.

“I-If you need to, you probably have enough time to double-check in the bathroom…But I think your face looks great,” Marc starts, before his too-authentic words catch up to him. “Um! I-I mean, fine. Your face. Is fine. You’re fine.” Marc nearly closes his eyes and drops into a prayer for God to smite him where he sits. “S’fine.”

“Uhhh…Right,” Nathaniel coughs, smiling, blue eye glimmering with mirth. “Anyways. Sorry for making things, like…awkward? But I appreciate you letting me nap with you. Really. I felt like dying.”

“N-No problem! It’s no problem at all!” Marc is quick to wave his hands in front of himself to wave away the other’s concern. “I’m glad I could help.”

“Yeah, Alix doesn’t let me get away with sleeping during lunch anymore,” Nathaniel sighs, smile turning crooked and abashed. “She says I’m scrawny enough that I can’t afford to be skipping meals.”

“I don’t think you’re scrawny,” Marc answers automatically and loyally. Apparently, his brain-to-mouth filter has gone and died on him in the past hour. He would blame Nathaniel for being so cute, but honestly, this is more of a him problem than anything. He’s too big of a gay disaster for his own good.

Nathaniel just smiles and laughs. Not in a mocking way, but in a way like he’s thought Marc made a funny joke.

“Alix would say otherwise, but thanks,” he says warmly, tugging his bangs behind his ear. Marc is hit with both of Nathaniel’s blue eyes crinkled in fondness. It all but punches the breath straight out of him. “Did I bother you at all, by the way?”

“N-Not at all!” Marc is quick to assure, even as he averts his gaze in a way that’s no doubt guilty. “I-I still got a b-bit of writing done…”

“Good. I didn’t want to mess up your flow or anything…Y’know, since this is your spot to write and all,” the redhead says, self-deprecating, averting his gaze. “And…Thanks again for letting me chill here. It’s actually really peaceful.”

“W-well, this isn’t my spot, per se…I-It’s not like I own it?” Marc starts, a bit mystified, but backpedals a bit so he doesn’t seem rude. “B-But you’re welcome! You can come by anytime. It’s not like I’d ever turn you away.”

Wait. Why did he say that?

Marc freezes, trying not to panic. Did he just admit he’d never turn Nathaniel away? What if that blows his cover? What if Nathaniel realizes he means it genuinely, but like, in a very non-platonic and incredibly gay way?

“Ooh, permission to sit here in your secret spot…? I’m honored,” Nathaniel grins back at him toothily, before finally moving to stand. “I’ll come by more often if you come sit with me at lunch more. Deal?”

Nathaniel holds his hand out to Marc, smiling expectantly back at him. Face warm and heart aflutter, Marc reaches out. Nathaniel clasps his hand and heaves him up off the ground, nearly over-balancing in the process.

“Woah! You’re heavier than you look,” the redhead laughs, obviously teasing as he makes a show of wiping his forehead.

Marc huffs, bending down to snag his pen and notebook. “Or maybe I have a solid three inches on you, so I have more body mass.”

“Well gee, thanks for reminding me that I’m short,” Nathaniel drawls back.

The two eye each other with mock annoyance, before they burst into laughter.

Marc feels a potent mix of fondness and joy settle in his chest, nestled with the swarm of butterflies there.

It’s always…freeing…to laugh with Nathaniel. It reminds Marc that they really are friends. That Nathaniel doesn’t just tolerate him. That he maybe even enjoys Marc’s company.

“Get back to class, sleepyhead,” Marc teases, using his unoccupied hand to wave as he starts to step back.

“You get back to class!” Nathaniel retorts, grinning wide, raising a hand in goodbye.

Marc’s already a few meters away, when a thought strikes and a surge of confidence fills him. He has one more thing to say.

He turns around and walks backwards to look at Nathaniel, who’s still standing in the same place as before, yawning and rubbing at his eye. Marc makes an exaggerated and over-the-top pantomime of smoothing his hair down, as he calls, “You should probably fix your hair, while you’re at it!”

Nathaniel startles, staring back at him. Marc can’t help but smirk back, amusement growing as the other boy blushes and instantly starts to comb his fingers through his hair, flattening it back in place and re-arranging it so he doesn’t look like he’d just tripped out of bed.

Even with his efforts, his red hair looks tousled, full of flyaway strands that just won’t sit still.

And coupled with his blushing face, well. Nathaniel looks like he’s done more than just take a cat nap.

Marc turns right around and speed-walks away before Nathaniel can say anything else, or his own mind can fall deeper into the gutter.

-----

As Marc makes his way to class, he clutches his notebook to his chest and bites his lip, but the smile spreads wide and crooked in his mouth anyways.

He just…He just made Nathaniel blush.

He giggles a bit under his breath, pressing his knuckles against his lips, no doubt smearing his lip gloss. But he can’t even bring himself to care. He’s too giddy. The butterflies buzz and flutter in his chest, alongside his heart.

He can’t wait for Nathaniel to join him under the stairs again.

Marc may like the quiet and solitude, but…He thinks he likes being quiet with Nathaniel even more.

[tbehartoo]

WIP it, WIP it good!

Rules: list 10 words/phrases that have something to do with your work(s) in progress.

Tagged by @platypan !  

XD XD XD 

Why would you ask this of me? I have so many WIPs. So many!   ….  If you see something here that you’re interested in, please feel free to ask me about it. Maybe talking about a story will give me that push to finish it? Who knows. It could happen.

1. No way! There was no way that she had caught the most elusive and destructive dragon known to Berk-kind on her first try, yet there it was 

[Platypan’s birthday present. Shhh! Don’t tell her about it]

2. Adrien was both surprised and delighted to see Marinette was apparently as aware of Chat Noir’s trick moves as Nino was. 

[Nino and Marinette talking about their favorite Superhero in front of Alya and Adrien]

3. “Look it’s obvious, isn’t it?” Rena cut in. “With royalty the opposite of a Lady is a Lord. You should be Lord Bug, or even Lordy Bug if you must have those three syllables.”

Adrien struck a pose as if thinking hard about the proposed name. “You know,” he said drawing out the last word, “if Tikki had given me a kilt and a Tam-O-Shanter I could call myself,” he switched over to a Scottish brogue, “Laddie Bug.”

Queen Bee strode over and put a finger into Adrien’s Sternum. “Listen up, Mister Bug, we’ve got work to do and we have more things to worry about than what to call you.”

 [Chapter 4 of my Akumatized Marinette story- Black Plague]

4. “Okay, first question,” Marinette said as she stared at the monitor, “Aphrodite: What do you love about yourself?” she looked over to the blond haired boy laying on her chaise lounge. “Pfft! This might take awhile,” she teased. The sound of the rain on the roof was the only thing they heard while she waited for his answer. 

[Marinette and Chat Noir spending a rainy day together. Answering on-line quizzes. Nothing bad could come of that, right?]

5. “Where is the pain, sweetheart?” Sabine asked softly, trying not to startle Chat.

He slowly raised his head and turned it toward the woman near him. “Mostly it’s my purrride that’s hurt,” he admitted. “I think I just had the wind knocked out of me for a second there.”

Sabine chuckled. “If you’re punning like that then you’re probably okay. I want you to get up slowly though, just so we can make sure you aren’t hurt anywhere.” 

[The day Sabine and Tom become friends with Chat Noir. Not canon compliant, but what is these days?]

6. You can NOT continue to dismiss what Ladybug is telling you. I am going to tell you this because I don’t think you’ve ever had a woman in your family tell you what it’s like when the man that says he loves you won’t listen when you tell him no, or that you aren’t comfortable with something he is doing, or that you want him to stop (she pauses to drill into his eyes with hers and he doesn’t last for long). Because that is a situation that I never want you to be in, and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone, especially our hero Ladybug. 

[This is just a note for a WIP. Sabine is going to put Chat on the straight and narrow and protect Marinette Ladybug, too]

7. “What is it Adrien?” Luka said looking up from his spell book. “Have you found another one?”

“Meow,” the black cat replied swishing his tail through the air.

“Well we’d best bring it in before Madame Mendeleiev finds it,” he said as he stood up from the desk in the common room and stretched. “You know how she hates unclaimed cats wandering the grounds.” 

[A magical LukaNette story with Adrien as Luka’s cat familiar]

8. They took the Metro again and this time ended up in front of-

“Notre Dame?” Nathaniel scoffed. “I know I’m doing rubbish right now, but I don’t think it’s so bad that it requires prayer, Marc.”

Marc merely shook his head and followed the crowd through the rightmost door. He put two Euros in a small box and picked up a candle.

“Go make a light in the darkness,” he told Nathaniel as he placed the small votive in his friend’s hand. [A MarcNath brotp story]

9. He first goes to Lady Luck Ramen shop because he’s sick and he just wants a nice bowl of chicken soup [Ramen shop AU from Adrien’s POV]

10. Marinette owns a sign shop- “What’s Your Sign?”

Adrien is new in town. Going to open a Cat Cafe- “A Paws to Refresh” 

[Obviously a WIP still in the planning stages. Based heavily on my brother-in-law’s experience of working in a sign shop. There will be puns a plenty. One reason why it’s taking me so long to even get started.

Listen, if you have WIPs, then you are tagged! Of course you don’t have to do it, but I’d love to see what everyone else is working on.

[iwroteinapastlife]

Party

Woot woot I took day 10 of @mlrarepairmonth a lil differently with some Lukadrien and Marcnath (Marcaniel? What are we calling this ship?). Enjoy!

Day 10: Party

Ship: Luka x Adrien, Marc x Nathaniel

cw: No sexual content, but a lot of suggestive flirtation

“Alright, I am begging you.” Nino leaned over the table with his hands clasped, staring into Adrien’s eyes. “Please please make this roll. If we have to fight this goblin any longer, I’m gonna run out of song references.”

“Don’t worry,” Luka said, shooting him a smile that had him making one of his own. “I’ve seen the playlist he compiled. He’s just being impatient.”

“Dude,” he whined, looking back over his shoulder. “You peaked?”

Luka shrugged, looking as relaxed as ever as he leaned back and softly strummed his guitar. “You made it a public playlist on your Spotify; of course I looked at it.

Nino opened his mouth to argue, but Marc thankfully cut in first. “Go ahead and roll, Adrien.”

“Right,” he nodded, tossing his d20. Five pairs of eyes followed the die across the table, Marc leaning over his DM screen to watch as it approached him.

18.

Nino reached across the table to fist bump him as Marc announced, “That’s a hit! The goblin is dead.”

“Rio comes up to you, playing a victory tune on his mandolin,” Luka said, those blue eyes falling on him again. Adrien’s heart skipped as he plucked some notes on his guitar and sang along, “‘And the last of the goblins he did slay, keeping the peace another day. Oh a million hearts that rogue could sway, but in whose bed I wonder will he lay?’”

He could feel a blush rising to his cheeks as he smiled and replied in character, “‘Well that depends on whose bed is available to me.’”

“While that all is happening, Catherine will go to take the key from the goblin’s belt,” Nathaniel said beside him, but Adrien’s attention was trapped by the sexy smirk that took to Luka’s lips.

“‘With anyone a man like him could have his way. Who he wants tonight he need only say.’”

“‘And here I thought you couldn’t get more gay,’” Nino sang along in a higher (sassier) voice, acting out his character. Adrien broke—unable to keep a straight face any longer—and was happy to see Luka laughing too. “Lyra walks through these two to join Catherine.”

“Okay,” Marc said through his giggles. He turned to his boyfriend. “You going to try to unlock the door then?”

Nathaniel’s shoulders slumped. “You’re going to make me roll even for that, aren’t you?”

“Has that potion worn off?” he asked with a deceptively cute smile.

“No,” he sighed. Then he turned to Nino and spoke in character. “‘Here,’ she hands the key to you, ‘You’ll probably have better luck with this.’”

“Lyra takes it and goes to open the door. ‘I told you not to drink that thing, but does anyone ever listen to the bard? Nooooo.’”

“‘They listen to me sometimes,’” Luka butt in, giving him a shit-eating grin. “‘But I am the greatest mandolinist in the world, so how can they not listen to me?’” Adrien laughed and that seemed to catch his eye again. His stomach flipped as he watched Luka’s smile shift into something much warmer.

“Lyra flips you off over her shoulder,” Nino replied. “So what’s behind the door?”

“Okay!” Marc sat up in his seat, practically glowing in excitement. “You open the door to what appears to be a bedroom somewhat in shambles. There’s a wardrobe on the right wall. Both of its doors are open—one hanging from its hinges—and inside all you see is a torn cloak struggling to hold onto a mangled wire hanger. To the left, you see a desk with an open journal, an overturned bottle of ink, and a matted feather quill. The ink has spread across most of the desk and now steadily drips into a small puddle on the floor. The journal looks like it’s had several pages torn out of it, and you can see them crumpled up and strewn about the floor. Lying down on the ground next to the desk is a chair that’s had one of its legs broken off. Next to that is a bed whose sheets have been torn up quite a bit, and the wooden headboard looks to have several tally marks carved into it.”

“How many?” he asked excitedly.

That smile confirmed his suspicions. “27.” Adrien jumped up and down in his chair as Marc giggled and went on. “And lastly, sitting in the windowsill at the far wall, wearing an elegant but sullied dress and holding the chair’s missing leg in a fist, is a young woman.”

Nino drummed his hands on the table right as Adrien threw his arms in the air. “Gentlemen, I believe we have found our missing princess!”

“Is she pretty?” Nathaniel asked. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked at Marc with a flirtatious smile.

Marc glared at him but was failing to keep a smile from his face. “Yes, she’s very pretty.”

“Catherine immediately approaches and kneels before her.” He took Marc’s hand and kissed it reverently before continuing, that flirtatiousness seeping heavily into his tone. “‘Your grace, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance at long last. My name is Catherine and I am but a humble sorceress, come to rescue you from your prison. I swear on the soul of my father, Domingo Montoya, you will reach your kingdom alive.”

Adrien and Nino both burst out laughing, Marc used his free hand to face palm (though he couldn’t hide his smile), and Luka quoted with a grin, “Throw me the rope.”

When Marc picked his head back up he was giving Nathaniel a (blushing) you’re so dumb sort of look, which only made him grin wider. “Did you take her hand too?”

“No, that was just for you,” he replied, kissing his fingers again. Marc’s blush deepened, despite him trying to act serious.

“Nath, if you keep flirting with the DM, he’s going to throw more cursed potions at you,” Nino said, still chuckling.

“It’s worth it.”

Marc flicked Nathaniel’s nose before taking his hand back. “The woman stands, her eyes shifting between the four of you. She seems wary, but does not say anything.”

“Lyra steps forward,” Nino said. “‘I assure you, princess, you are safe with us. We may seem a rather odd rescue party, but we can hold our own against your adversaries. We are here to assure your safe return.”

“She tightens her grip on the wooden leg. She still looks awfully wary, but she lifts her chin and speaks with the kind of confidence and regality befitting of a future queen. ‘Good,’ she finally says. ‘Then let’s go.’ Aaaaaaand I think that’s where we’ll stop for today.”

“Yeeeessssssss,” Nino groaned, leaning back in his chair. “We finally found her.”

“Does anyone else want to watch The Princess Bride now?” Luka asked.

“Can’t,” Nino replied. “It’s date night with Alya.”

“And Marc and I are going to see that play with Rose and your sister, remember?”

“Oh yeah, that was tonight, huh? Well then,” those breathtaking, heart-stopping blue eyes turned to him once again, “Adrien?”

He swallowed and tried to keep the giddy smile from taking over his face as he nodded. “Yeah. I’d love to.”

[imatrisarahtops]

I’m here with part one of a three-part dialogue prompt done for my sister.  My sister is great, and has been helping me get through a lot the past couple weeks, probably without even realizing it.  I still have other prompts to work on, but this one has been calling to me, mostly because of an allusion to Puppeteer and I’ve been rewatching old episodes with my friends lately, so... yeah.

With the prompts, she asked for Marinette and Marc being bros, with MarcNath and a little bit of MariChat/Adrinette and Lukanette.  I intended this part to be about 1000 words.  JOKE’S ON ME, GUYS.  IT’S 3000.

Part One | 38. “Even though I know you’re lying, I still almost believe you.”

Marc hadn’t been invited to Marinette’s for a sleepover before.  As a matter of fact, it had been a long time since he’d been invited to a sleepover at all—probably since école primaire—definitely none since he transferred to Collège Françoise Dupont.

But, well, Marinette was one of his first friends he made after switching schools, so it made sense that she would be the first one to invite him over for the night.

“It’ll be so much fun!” she told him eagerly.

“I don’t know…” he said, a small hint of uncertainty in his voice as he looked down at his journal, slowly closing it.

“We can play video games and watch movies, and paint each other’s nails, and maybe, if you’re willing, we can share some works in progress with each other!  There’s a couple designs I’ve been working on that I really think you’d like,” she continued.  “And it’ll be all the macarons and éclairs you can eat, too.  Maman and papa will want to feed you the second you walk through the door.”

Marc chuckled a little at this, sliding his notebook into his backpack.  “All right,” he said, offering her a smile.

“Great!” she responded.  “Then you can grab your stuff after school and be over in time for dinner.  Maman was planning on making beef bourguignon since it’s been getting so cold."

“Sounds good,” Marc said with a nod, gripping the straps of his bag.

It ended up raining that night, adding to the chill in the air, but Marc and Marinette were warmly tucked away in Marinette’s bedroom, full of beef bourguignon with potatoes and toasted bread—not to mention mille-feuille made by her father.  They’d changed into their pajamas and ended up sipping hot chocolate while listening to Jagged Stone, sitting on the floor while Marc painted the girl's fingernails.  Her mother had insisted on them taking a plate of palmiers as well, just in case they got hungry, and it left her room smelling sweet from the heart-shaped bread.  They talked and laughed, passing the time by discussing things that had happened at school, especially the art room they now met in so frequently.

“What do you think?” Marc asked, releasing her hand, pulling back a little.

She smiled down at her hands, spreading her fingers out wide and examining the sleek black polish, watching as it shimmered a little silvery in the light when it caught just right.  “I think Luka will like them,” she said with a giggle.

Marc smiled in return, recapping the nail polish, screwing it shut, and setting the bottle aside.  “And Adrien?” he asked teasingly.

She blushed, glancing away.  “Adrien probably wouldn’t notice,” she admitted quietly.

Marc frowned at this.  He wanted to say something to assure the girl, but he knew that that was always Alya’s approach, and he honestly wondered if the words would just fall empty if he said them.

“I know the feeling,” he said instead, offering her a wry smile.

“You?” she responded, forcing the smile back on her lips as she looked at him again with a quirked brow.  “I’m pretty sure you’re the only one Nath notices, anymore.”

Marc felt his cheeks heat up, shoulders tensing and eyes widening.  “W-what?” he stammered.  “I—I don’t know what—Nath isn’t—I don’t—”

“Relax,” Marinette said soothingly, reaching out and placing a hand on his.  “I’m just teasing,” she assured him.  “It’s okay.”

Marc swallowed thickly, still grimacing at her.  “Is it that obvious?”

Marinette blinked at him, seemingly taken aback by the question.  Then, she bit her lip, trying to hold back her giggles.  “Now I understand what Alya means when she tells me I’m not as subtle as I think…”

Marc groaned, hiding his face in his hands.  “Oh god, everyone knows, don’t they?” he bemoaned.

“I���m trying not to take offense after the comparison,” Marinette said, poking him in the side, though her words were still amused and not angry; Marc squawked and leaned back, swatting her hand away.  “You know, I’m pretty sure Rose thinks you two are dating.”

“We’re not!” he said quickly.  “Nathaniel—he—he doesn’t—”  He swallowed, trying to gather his words.  “Nath doesn’t like me like that.”

Again, Marinette gave him a glance as though she couldn’t believe the statement.  “Has he said that?” she asked, voicing her disbelief.

“Well, no, but—”

“Believe me,” Marinette said firmly, looking at him with a smile.  “Nathaniel’s got just as big of a crush on you.  You two really are the only ones that don’t see it, huh?”

“Marinette,” he groaned, elbows on his knees and hiding his face behind his palms.

“I mean it!” she said in response.  When Marc looked dubiously at her, peeking between his fingers, she sighed, picking up a bottle of nail polish and holding out her other hand so that Marc could place his on her palm.  “All right, then let me prove it to you.”

“Please, no more schemes,” Marc said as Marinette began painting his nails.  “I love you Marinette, but…”

“I love you too, so I’m going to ignore the implications there,” she said with a half-grin.  “But no, I won’t meddle.  I’ve learned my lesson.  I’m just going to convince you I’m right.”

“I’m not sure that sounds better,” Marc told her.

“He draws for you, doesn’t he?” she asked, again ignoring him.

“Of course he does,” Marc responded.  “We work on our comic together.”

“Not what I mean,” Marinette said, leaning back a little to look at the nails she’d painted, then picking up another bottle of polish in a different color.  “I mean he draws you little doodles or cartoons, cute little things to make you smile.”

Marc couldn’t stop the blush from creeping up on his cheeks.  “Yes,” he admitted.  “But—but that’s just him.  He’s always drawing things.”

“Does he draw things like that for Alix?” she asked flatly.

Marc frowned a little—as far as he knew, no, Alix didn’t have a collection of little sketches like he did, drawn on scraps of paper or post-it notes or index cards—anything that was on hand.  As Marinette said, they were just small drawings that made him smile, brightening his day, and he kept all of them, displayed on the board above his desk at home.

“I guess not,” he allowed.

“He gets you coffee and pain au chocolat every Monday morning, doesn’t he?” she asked.  “When you two meet up to discuss what you guys came up with over the weekend?”

“He said it’s on his way,” Marc objected.

Marinette laughed at this.  “He stops by our bakery for the pain au chocolat,” she told him.  “It’s not on his way.”

“It… isn’t?” Marc questioned.

Marinette shook her head.  “Though, I guess I can’t speak for the café he goes to for the coffee.  Still, he stops at two different spots for you, because he knows you like our bakery best.”  She put the bottle of nail polish down, picking up the first one.  “Other hand.” Marc swallowed, giving her his other hand.  “Still…"

“He got you those nice pens,” Marinette pointed out, spreading the polish on the nails of his other hand.

“He said they’re his favorite pens for drawing and I might like to write with them,” Marc said, blushing.

“And that mug,” she added.  Again she switched colors of nail polish, shaking the bottle a little before uncapping it.

“That was after I accidentally drank paint water,” Marc muttered.

“And he designed it to look like your character,” Marinette pressed on.  “Not to mention he’s always going out of his way to make sure you’re included in every conversation, always asking for your opinion on things.  He knows your favorite snacks, your favorite drink, favorite color, favorite song…”

“He’s just being a good friend!” Marc objected, flustered.  Marinette raised her eyebrows at him, and he looked away, the heat on his cheeks almost unbearable.  “You know most of those things, too, Marinette.  And you like making me feel included too.  You’re the one who first brought me to the art room.”

“Both hands,” Marinette cut in with the request, and Marc obliged, still not meeting her eyes.

"Besides…”  He swallowed.  “He’s pretty straight.”

Marinette tilted her head a little.  “Why do you say that?”

“Because his last two crushes have been Ladybug and you,” Marc said flatly.

“Marc, don’t pretend to be narrow-minded,” Marinette said, not unkindly.  “He could very easily be bi, or pan, or demi… Just because he’s liked two girls doesn’t mean anything.  You’re the one who usually reminds me not to label or assume, and the same goes here.”  She pulled her hand away, screwing the top back onto the bottle of nail polish.  “There!”  Marinette grinned.  “I based it off of Mightillustrator’s design.”

Marc glanced down his hands, and sure enough, he recognized the colors.  She’d alternated his fingers with white and a deep purple, a dot each of yellow, cyan, and magenta on both of his thumbnails.  “Do you, uh… do you think he’ll like them?” he asked cautiously.

She couldn’t repress the smile.  “Do you like them?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

She shrugged, closing up the kit with nail polish and getting to her feet.  “Then that’s all that matters!” she told him.  She then walked over to set the pink case on her vanity.  “All right,” she said then, turning back to him, clapping her hands together.  “What do you say we get comfy and share some of the stuff we’ve been working on?  I really want to show you these designs.”

“All right, sure,” he agreed, moving over to his bag to grab his journal.

Marinette picked up the two now-empty mugs.  “More cocoa?” she asked.

“Sure, if you don’t mind,” Marc said.

She smiled at him in response.  “Not a problem.  Grab the palmiers and my sketchbook over on my desk,” she said, nodding to the spot where her pink polka dotted book sat.  “You can head up on my bed,” she said, then nodding over to the stairs.  “I’ll be back in just a couple minutes.”

Marc nodded.  As the girl disappeared down her trapdoor, he got to his feet.  He slipped his journal and her sketchbook under his arm, then picked up the plate of sweet bread.  He then made his way up to her loft bed, setting the notebooks and the plate to the side as he pulled his legs up beneath him, glancing around.

He smiled as he looked at the collection of photographs pinned to the board on one wall.  He wasn’t surprised at the number of pictures of Adrien, but he was pleasantly surprised when he noticed that he even appeared in a couple of photos—one, a selfie that Marinette had taken with him, the other a picture of many of them at the picnic in the park on Heroes’ Day.  He blushed when he noticed how close in proximity he and Nathaniel were in the photograph.

The shelf above her bed caught his attention next, eyes falling on the moon and star lantern that just seemed so Marinette, then traveling over the collection of books she had there.  He shifted closer to the shelf, noticing that she had all of the issues of Ladybug that he and Nathaniel had made on display amidst her other books.

On top of the shelf, he noticed a collection of dolls, which looked as though Marinette herself had made them.  Immediately he recognized Ladybug and Chat Noir.  Beside Ladybug, he did notice one that almost looked like Alya, though he didn’t recognize the outfit.  One that was on the other side, nestled between Chat Noir and a blue and black robotic-looking plush, was another one he recognized: Mightillustrator.

But no, he quickly realized as he took the doll between his hands, glancing it over, this must have been Evillustrator.  So then the other one was likely when Alya had been akumatized, as well.  There were a couple of other plushes lined up, but none of them were the akumatized victims he recognized.  Instead, he looked back down at the doll in his hands.

“I made those ages ago.”  Marinette’s sudden voice made him jump a little, and he whipped around.  “Sorry,” she said, grimacing.  “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine,” he assured her as she took a seat on her bed, setting the two mugs in her hands on the floor.

“I started out making dolls of the people who got akumatized, back when it first started to happen,” she explained.  “But after a while…”

“There were too many?” Marc offered, and again Marinette grimaced at the thought.

“Yeah,” she agreed.  “I found them while cleaning the other day, and I figured I’d put them out.  It seemed silly to have them just sitting in a box.”

Marc nodded, again glancing down at the doll he was holding.  It made something in his chest ache a little, and he bit his lip.  “What was he like?” he asked quietly.  “As Evillustrator.”

Marinette sighed, scooting closer to her friend, bumping shoulders with him.  “Very… confident.  And sweet?” she offered.  He glanced up.  “To me, anyway.  He used his tablet to create a date for us.  But… I had set it up for Chat Noir to crash it, so after that he wasn’t so kind.  And he did draw a giant shoe to stomp on Chloe, so I guess there’s that.  Though, well, she was the one who upset him in the first place.”

Again Marc nodded.  “And…”  He swallowed.  “And me?” he asked, raising his gaze so their eyes met.  “What was I like?”

Marinette blinked, frowning a little.  “I, uhm… I didn’t see too much,” she said carefully, evasively.  “I don’t think you were so bad.”

"Even though I know you’re lying, I still almost believe you,” Marc said, shaking his head as he set the doll aside.  “It’s fuzzy—I don’t remember most of it.  But I know you were there when it first happened.  And I know I was pretty terrible.”

“Marc…”

“Please, just tell me?” he asked, pleadingly.

She sighed.  “You… you tried to make everyone hate me,” she said quietly, as though that would soften the blow.  “You said I was a liar and said I was the one who caused it.”  Marc flinched a little at the words, so she leaned forward, gently covering his hand with hers.  “But Marc, that wasn’t you.  That was because of Papillon.”

“I’m sorry Marinette,” he told her.

“And you know that I’m sorry, too,” she said.  “You understand that I was trying to help, I just… went about it wrong.  And I understand the things you said when you were akumatized.  It’s okay.”

He sighed, glancing back down at the doll on the bed.  “This is still new to me,” he murmured.  “I switched schools, so I’m still new to so many of you, too.  And… it hurts, sometimes.  I feel like I’m at a disadvantage.  I hate that Nathaniel has seen me at my worst, but I never saw that from him.”

“Marc, you have seen Nath at his worst, though,” she said, smiling wryly.  “Getting angry, ripping your notebook—that was him as his worst.  Not when he was akumatized.  Just as when you were akumatized, that wasn’t really your worst.  It was Papillon.”  Marc hesitantly met her gaze again, looking at her with uncertainty.  “So really, if anything, Nath’s the one at a disadvantage, as you said.”

Marc considered her words, turning them over in his mind as she reached down for the cocoa, pressing a mug into his hands.  “You think?”

“I do,” she told him firmly before taking a sip of her own drink.

“Thanks, Marinette,” he said, smiling slightly at her.

“Of course!” She folded her legs up, sitting criss-cross as she shifted her mug to one hand, pulling her sketchbook in front of her.  “Now, I have to show you this design.  I was thinking of you when I was drawing it—I was pulling from typical masculine and feminine designs while not making it strictly either.  And then it just made sense with all the colors…”  She grinned at him as she found the page, handing him the book.  “Please tell me that if I make it, you’d model it for me.”

Marc’s eyes widened when he looked at the sketches.  “I inspired this?” he asked.  She nodded.  “This—this is gorgeous.  I can see the sense of movement, the way it just flows… and the colors are beautiful.  You’re amazing, Marinette…”

She beamed at his words, eyes shining brightly.  “I’ll have to take your measurements.  Then I’ll start looking at fabrics.”

“You’re sure you want me to wear something like this for you?”

“I couldn’t imagine anyone better,” she told him.  “Alya keeps saying I need to have a website where I share my designs, and if I share this one, it has to be you wearing it.”

“If you’re sure,” he said slowly, “then of course I will.”

“Great!” she exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly.  “I hope you know that means more sleepovers will be involved, so I can make sure everything is fitted just right.  And then Alya will probably be the best one to take the photos… We can get Juleka to do some really stunning make-up, too!”

Marc laughed, unable to stop his smile—the girl’s excitement was really contagious.  He felt a warmth spreading through him, feeling indisputably happy that he’d accepted her invitation for the sleepover in the first place.  “Of course,” he agreed, grinning at her.  “It sounds like a plan.”

Dialogue Prompts

Also, all of these are posted on my AO3, so especially for notifications on this one, as it’s gonna have three parts, please check it out there as well!

[mexicancat-girl]

Inspiration

A MarcNath fic written in part for #MLPrideFest2020 and Pride month in general

AO3: Link, 5700+ words

.

...

It’s been a long day. But instead of feeling tired, Marc feels restless, and strangely energized.

After all, the absolute favorite part of his day happens after school.

Once the final bell chimes, Marc instantly stuffs his notebook in his bag with lightning speed. He gives a little wave to some of his friends in class, before he quickly makes his way out of Ms. Mendeleiev’s class and down the hall.

He and Nathaniel were going to meet up to work on their comic. They always met up Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, and today was Friday.

Though, as of late, they were spending nearly every day of the school week together. To work on their comic, of course. But more and more often, they just…hung out. And talked.

A solid half the time, they went wildly off-topic and didn’t even touch their comic. And while normally the two of them weren’t much for talking, when together, they could chatter up a storm.

Marc’s pretty sure they’ve re-treaded The Great Sailor Moon Debate at least a dozen times already—in which Nathaniel firmly believed the 90’s anime was the greatest version of the source material, while Marc defended the Crystal reboot for it’s better writing. Nathaniel would playfully call Marc a heathen, while Marc would retort with Nath being nostalgia blind. Then the two would get locked in a stalemate, and finally admit that Madoka Magica was better anyways. Rinse and repeat.

It was just…so easy to talk to Nathaniel. Even when Marc would get flustered and stutter out a mess, because of his stupid crush flaring up, Nathaniel wouldn’t judge him. He’d wait patiently for Marc to finally get a halfway cohesive sentence out, absorb it, give it his full consideration, and then take the conversation from there.

It helped that the two of them were on the introverted and shy side, knowing when to talk and when it was just enough to sit quietly side-by-side. They both had similar interests and passion driving them. They sort of…clicked. Understood each other in a way they didn’t with others. They got each other.

It’s the biggest reason why Marc enjoyed spending time with Nathaniel. Though his crush undeniably played a part in it…

Marc startled, running into the doorway of the art class slightly. He didn’t do it very hard—just barely clipped his shoulder against the arch—but he still jumped a foot in the air and yelped.

“You okay…?” a voice asks, warm and familiar.

Marc feels himself flush. “Y-Yeah, I’m fine,” he gets out, with a bashful laugh, rubbing slightly at his shoulder. He looks down at an amused Nathaniel, who’s half-hanging out of the doorway, having managed to get to the room before Marc.

“Lost in thought?” the redhead asks, jerking his head to move his bangs out of face.

“Sort of?” Marc offers, hitching his bag further up his shoulder and following in-step with Nathaniel over to their usual table in the Art Club.

The place was empty, which was a surprise. They had Art Club on Wednesdays, sure, which was when the art room was the busiest. But their teacher always encouraged students to work on projects in the room if they wanted, so usually there would always be at least one person in here.

It was nice, though, having the room all to themselves. Marc certainly wasn’t complaining.

“Thinking up new ideas for the comic?” Nathaniel asks, sitting in his normal spot, Marc sliding in next to him on the left, as was per usual.

Marc lets out a long groan. “Not really…I’ve sort of reached a…a writing block, actually,” he admits while threading a hand through his hair, feeling just a bit ashamed.

“That’s rough, buddy,” Nathaniel says sympathetically, but there’s a playful lilt to his smile that catches Marc’s attention.

Marc pauses, and considers, his eyes narrowing as he looks over at the other boy. “…Was that a reference?”

“Dunno. Is it?” Nathaniel asks, much too innocently.

“It is, isn’t it,” Marc says, more statement than question, levelling a finger at Nathaniel. Who is looking all the more amused with the way Marc’s challenging him. “Which anime?”

“I can’t believe you instantly jump to anime. I don’t always make anime references,” the redhead huffs, voice just shy of a whine.

“Cartoon then,” Marc decides. “It doesn’t sound like something from comics, or comic-related.”

“I mean. You’re not wrong, exactly…”

He tilts his head, taps his fingers against the table. “Is it something I’ve watched…?”

“Well, I mean, I’d hope you’ve watched it,” Nathaniel starts, voice turning teasing. “Or else I might just revoke our friendship.”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” he chides, but not seriously at all, bumping their shoulders together with a roll of his eyes. “Just say it’s Avatar and go, you drama queen.”

“Ding ding ding, we have a winner,” Nathaniel mimes speaking into a microphone, holding his pencil up to his mouth like a complete dork. “Local writer gets cartoon reference, more at nine.”

“Dork,” Marc snorts, giggling.

“I’m not a dork,” Nathaniel states, shoving Marc playfully. “You’re the dork.”

Marc feels his grin widen. “Yes, because I’m the one that quotes things like a total dork on the reg…”

Nathaniel gasps, shoving at Marc’s shoulder again. “Shut up! You do that all the time!” he sputters, indignant.

“I really don’t.”

“You quote Shakespeare!”

“Nath,” Marc starts, putting a hand on his shoulder, giving him the snootiest look possible. “All writers quote Shakespeare. Keep up.”

“Go and quote your Shakespeare, then,” Nathaniel says, dramatically rolling his eyes and shrugging Marc’s hand off his shoulder. “Maybe writing a soliloquy will help with your writer’s block, or something.”

“You know, that might not be a bad idea…” he admits, before scratching at his temple and smiling sheepishly. “But I don’t think I’ve ever actually learned how to write one.”

“I mean, that’s fair,” Nathaniel laughs, nudging him playfully with the eraser of his pencil. “Writing like Shakespeare is bonkers. Poetry’s already complicated as it is.”

“How is poetry complicated? You can literally write anything as a poem.”

“Exactly,” the redhead nods sagely. “You can write anything. That’s way too many possibilities.”

“You know what? Fair.”

The two grinned at each other for a few long seconds, only broken by the door opening. Marc jolts in his seat, whipping his gaze away guiltily from staring into Nathaniel’s pretty blue eyes. He’d always had a habit of getting lost in them, if he wasn’t careful.

Mr. Carracci blinks back at them for a few seconds, before smiling softly. “Oh! Hello there, boys. Just about to head out, so I came to grab my things.”

“Do you need any help, sir?” Nathaniel offers, already half-out of his seat, the art teacher waving him away.

“No, no, I’m quite alright. You boys just sit and keep doing whatever you were doing before. Don’t mind me,” the older gentleman tells them warmly, already crossing the room to his desk at the very back. “Just remember to close the door on your way out when you’re done, alright?”

“Yes, sir,” Marc and Nathaniel chime together, relaxing in their seats once more.

The two share a look, grinning slightly, before they open their bags and start to riffle through for their materials.

Marc cracks open his notebook, staring down at the page full of scribbles. He huffs, cracks his knuckles, and picks up his pen.

------

  A solid ten minutes pass, and nothing new is on the page. At least, nothing that hasn’t been instantly scribbled out in a fit of frustration.

Marc tries to sigh quietly so he doesn’t disturb his partner. Tapping his pen against his lips restlessly, he glares down at his notebook like it’s done him a personal offense.

Nothing comes out right. It all sounds…dumb. And clunky. And unrealistic. His prose is all out of sorts, too.

Nothing is up to snuff. It’s frustrating.

By the time Mr. Carracci is telling them goodbye, Nathaniel is already drawing furiously in his sketchbook. He’s so laser-focused, he only pauses to wave slightly at the teacher because Marc poked him in the shoulder and hissed at him to be polite.

Marc is the one that wishes the man goodbye properly, actually speaking and acknowledging him. “Goodnight, Mr. Carracci! I hope you get home safely.”

“You boys as well.” The art teacher smiles at them, warmly amused, and a bit…knowing, almost.

What he knows, Marc isn’t sure. But the sheer paternal energy from the man is almost comforting, when Marc gestures at Nathaniel with an apologetic smile, and Mr. Carracci nods back, eyes glittering in understanding.

The man leaves like he’d arrived: quiet and gentle, like a sweet Spring breeze.

Deciding he’s probably had enough of a break, Marc turns back to the daunting pages of his notebook.

  ------

 He can’t do it.

Marc feels the distinct need to slam his head against the desk, but just manages to keep himself from doing it.

He doesn’t want to startle Nathaniel out of his muse. If he makes a ruckus, it might ruin his drawing.

Speaking of drawing…

Marc can’t help but be curious, leaning slightly over to look at what the redhead has been so perfectly enraptured with the past few minutes.

He blinks. And then rubs at one of his eyes, thinking maybe he wasn’t seeing things correctly.

He’s not, though. Seeing things.

Because what Nathaniel is drawing is… him?

It’s of Marc hunching over his notebook, pen against his lips, looking frustrated.

It’s a nice drawing. The proportions are all there, the expression is spot-on, and Nathaniel’s even in the process of shading it.

The only things that seem slightly off are Marc’s eyes and lips. His eyes look like they have more lashes than an old-school shoujo manga character, and his lips look way plumper than they are.

And—is that a little heart next to the pen pressed against his lips…? Or is that just some sort of accidental stray mark?

As Marc tries to puzzle that out, his heart thrumming in his chest quite suddenly, Nathaniel’s pencil stops moving. The lack of familiar scratching against the page throws the room into an eerie silence, for all of three seconds, before the sound of Nathaniel nearly choking on his spit replaces it.

The redhead all but lunges forwards, bodily covering his sketchbook, looking back at him with the exact same look of a deer caught in headlights.

Marc leans back and shuffles into his spot, face warming as he realizes he’d all but draped himself over Nathaniel to watch him draw.

Not just draw anything, either. Draw him.

“S-Sorry,” he stutters out, tripping over his own tongue. “I-I didn’t mean. I just. Um?”

He clicks his mouth shut, finding that words weren’t doing him any good. Nathaniel is staring at him with an expression of pure mortification, face steadily turning as red as his hair.

And then the other boy laughs, strangled and high-strung, and just this side of hysterical.

“I-I-It’s fine!” Nathaniel squeaks out, voice jumping an octave.

The two stare at each other for a painfully drawn-out moment.

“I, uh…P-Probably should’ve asked to watch you,” Marc admits, tugging self-consciously at a section of his messy hair. “Sorry.”

“N-no, no, it’s…Fine,” Nathaniel says with an awkward laugh, still hunched protectively over his sketchbook, eyes darting about the room instead of looking at Marc. Like a cornered animal.

Another pause.

“I-I, ah. Should’ve asked. T-To draw you,” the redhead says, slowly and haltingly, gaze now firmly on the wood-grain of the table, like it’s the most riveting thing in the world. He taps his pencil restlessly on the tabletop. “Sorry. S’probably creepy…”

“No, no, not at all!” Marc yelps, quickly waving his hands in front of himself. “It’s great! I-I mean. I’ve…never had anyone draw me, b-before, and…And you did an amazing job, so…”

Nathaniel takes a deep breath, seemingly steeling himself, before he peers up at Marc cautiously. He’s hiding behind his hair, in that way he does when he’s embarrassed or shy, but his uncovered eye gleams bright under the florescent lights.

“Y-you, um. You really think so…?” the redhead asks softly, almost disbelieving, and Marc nods his head so fast he feels like an enthusiastic bobblehead.

“Mhm! It’s amazing,” he says emphatically, with a bit too much feeling. Instead of looking weirded out, though, the other boy’s lips upturn into a lopsided smile. “I mean, I’ve always known you can draw people really well, considering our comic being based on actual real-life people? But, I guess it’s sort of…different? Seeing myself being drawn. It’s like seeing myself from your eyes, you know? It’s something wholly unique.”

He knows he’s gushing and rambling, but he can’t help it. Nathaniel’s art… It’s always been amazing, and it always manages to get Marc to wax poetic over it.

It’s just even more amazing to see himself in Nathaniel’s sketchbook, as a realized drawing, something so obviously bursting with energy and care. With both enthusiasm and careful consideration, somehow perfectly harmonious.

“Are you sure you’re not just saying all that to butter me up…?” Nathaniel finally says, smile widening, stretching out his pink cheeks.

Marc blinks back at him, taken aback and confused. “But…I always compliment your art?”

“Yeah. I know,” Nathaniel starts, chuckling breathlessly. “But, I mean…Most people compliment my art to get me to draw them, y’know.”

“I wouldn’t do that!” Marc retorts instantly, scandalized. “All artists deserve compensation for their work! I’d never do that to you, Nath. D-do you think I’d do that? Because I wouldn’t.” The redhead raises an incredulous brow at him, and Marc presses, firm. “I wouldn’t.”

Nathaniel stares at him for three seconds, brow still raised, before he bursts into laughter.

“S-sorry! Sorry! I’m not,” he wheezes through his giggles. “I’m not laughing at you, I s-swear. Okay?”

Marc feels…just a bit lost.

“O…kay?

“Look, I know. I know you wouldn’t do that. It’s just,” Nathaniel sighs, shaking his head, the movement causing his long bangs to swish in front of his face. He takes a second to tug them behind his ear, smiling that crooked smile of his, making Marc’s heart skip a beat. “I wanted to tease you a little. I know you’d never use me like that, Marc.”

The earnestness in his voice, the openness of his expressions, they’re as easy to read as a book. The catalogue of Nathaniel’s expressions is Marc’s favorite book, actually, no matter how weird and cheesy that sounds.

“I just…I guess I didn’t want you to get your hopes up or anything, of me drawing you,” Nathaniel says slowly, seemingly picking his words carefully. He taps his pencil against the table rapidly, a nervous tap-tap-tap. “I only really draw what catches my attention or inspires me. It’s a bit harder to draw on-command…”

“Right. That makes sense,” Marc notes aloud, fiddling with his choker as he realizes just how similar both their creative processes actually are. It’s no wonder they worked well together. “It’s…actually sort of the same with me and my writing.”

“Yeah?” the other asks, pencil stalling.

“Yeah,” Marc nods. He pauses, bites his lip. “I mean, when I don’t have writer’s block, of course.”

It’s a lame thing to say, a total cop-out. But it’s not like Marc can just tell him. Tell Nathaniel point-blank that he’s what inspires Marc to write, the most out of any possible subject in the world. Including Ladybug and Chat Noir, the literal subjects of their comics.

Because Marc means it in a totally non-platonic sense; that Nathaniel inspires Marc to write with all of his heart. And it would be hard to explain away as it being in a ‘friend way’.

So, he’d rather not explain it at all. Like a coward.

In spite of his total lameness, though, Nathaniel grins back at him. “Is that why you’ve been just sitting there this whole time…?”

Marc sighs, long and loud, and gently thunks his head on the table. “Yes,” he says shamefully, voice muffled slightly against the wooden surface.

Nathaniel laughs, a bright and loud sound that makes Marc’s heart squeeze in his chest.

“Ah, alright then. That makes sense,” he snickers, voice warm and teasing. “Guess I have your writer’s block to thank, then, for helping me with my own art block.”

Marc’s heart takes the time to do a bout of gymnastics, and he turns his head to the side to peer over at the other boy. “Wait. What? How?”

Nathaniel smiles back at him crookedly, tapping his pencil in a jaunty rhythm that sounds vaguely familiar. Maybe a video game song. “I couldn’t figure out what to draw, but I looked over and saw you looking so pent-up and frustrated, it sort of made for a good drawing.”

Marc stares at him, taken aback. The other rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “And I mean, you were sitting there so still…You made the perfect model, actually.”

Marc snorts, completely disbelieving. “You mean to tell me that me being stuck in a writer’s block actually solved your art block?” he demands, sitting up and turning his body towards his friend, who simply looks bemused. “How’s that even fair?!”

“Dunno,” the redhead says with a chirp and a shrug, a shit-eating grin unfurling on his face. “But I’m not complaining.”

“Well—Well I am!” Marc sputters out, levelling a finger at Nathaniel’s face. The other boy goes cross-eyed to look at his judgmental digit. Marc lets out a disbelieving laugh, “I ended up being your inspiration, and I’m still suffering over here…!”

“Alright, alright,” Nathaniel says, gently batting Marc’s finger away. His voice is placating, but his smile was still a bit too wide in his mouth for Marc to believe. “I mean, you were a big help, being my model and all. So, use me as your inspiration, if you want.”

  ------

 Marc’s mind stalls, “So, use me as your inspiration, if you want” echoing on repeat.

It’s a flippant statement, but it still makes Marc’s face burn. He sputters, stuttering.

“Th-th-that’s not h-how it works!” he manages to choke out after a longer-than-necessary pause, turning and snatching up his notebook, hugging it against his chest and curling himself around it.

A sudden sense of deja vu hits him like a bullet.

It’s almost like when he first met Nathaniel, hopelessly crushing and too much of a shy mess to show him his writing.

He’s still hopelessly crushing now, but he’s also loosened enough and gotten enough confidence that he can show the other boy his writing, his passion.

But as he uncurls himself from shielding his notebook, it’s already too late.

The smile on Nathaniel’s face has dropped, the playfulness gone. Instead, his face shutters, replaced with an awkward grimace.

“Right. You’re right,” Nathaniel says stiffly, voice incredibly hard to read, but there’s unmistakable hurt in his eyes. He ducks his head, his bangs jostled from behind his ear, falling in front of his face in a fiery curtain to shield it once more. “I mean, you can’t write if someone’s forcing you… And it’s not like I’m an interesting subject, anyways. I wouldn’t make for good inspiration at all.”

“Th-that’s not true!” Marc snaps, without thought. The other boy jerks his head up, staring at him in shock. “You’re plenty interesting, Nathaniel! I’ve written about you before!”

Oh.

Oh no.

He did not mean to say that last part.

Nathaniel’s blue eyes are wide and gleaming like the sun glinting off the sea’s waves, staring soulfully at him, blue locking with green.

The moment stretches between them. Marc holds his breath. Or, more accurately, the breath feels like it’s been sucked straight from his lungs.

“You have…?” Nathaniel asks, voice soft. Awed, almost. He leans forwards, and Marc barely keeps himself from flinching backwards, stiffening in his seat. The other boy carefully places his fingers against the cover of the notebook still clutched to his chest, fingers splaying out to press his palm against the cover.

A siren blares in Marc’s scrambled and panicked mind, sounding suspiciously like the Kill Bill siren.

Nathaniel is touching his chest. There’s his notebook in the way, of course, but. Nathaniel is touching his chest.

Marc feels like he’s going to pass out. Whether from shock, blushing too hard, or not being able to breathe, he’s not sure. Maybe all three at once.

“Have you written about me in your notebook…?” Nathaniel asks wonderingly, dropping his gaze at the notebook in question, tapping a rhythm against the cover. Marc gulps thickly when the redhead looks back up at him, blue eye searching, lips slightly parted and looking very kissable right now.

“Pull yourself together, Marc,” he hisses to himself in his mind. “Do not kiss the boy.”

“S-s-sometimes,” he manages to choke out, voice squeaky, watching as Nathaniel’s eye widens and gleams. He averts his gaze, nervous and overwhelmed, clearing his throat. It doesn’t help his stutter. “W-when I c-c-can’t think of c-comic stuff.”

It’s a half-truth at best��barely truthful at all—because Marc pretty much exclusively writes about Nathaniel when he’s not working on their comic. Hell, he writes about Nathaniel even when he’s technically not writing about Nathaniel. Every romantic bone in his body, every scrap of adoration, is fueled through the dialogue he writes between Ladybug and Chat Noir.

Everyone’s praised their comics for having such realistic dialogue and fantastic chemistry between the main characters. What no one else realizes is that Marc pretty much writes everything ripped straight from talking to Nathaniel in real life, or from his own lovesick fantasies of what he wishes Nathaniel would say to him.

His sorry excuse for a half-baked half-truth is all Marc can come up with to not blurt out a full confession then and there and ruin everything.

“Can I read some of it…?” Nathaniel asks, voice thick with excitement and something else Marc can’t exactly name.

“Fuck no,” he thinks frantically and emphatically. “That’s embarrassing!”

The other boy bursts into raucous laughter, finally leaning out of Marc’s space, and the realization dawns that he just said that out loud.

God damn it.

Nathaniel’s head is thrown back as he laughs, the pale column of his neck on display and definitely the next thing about Nathaniel that will star in Marc’s future daydreams. Good Lord. He’s such a disaster, and Nathaniel has an unfairly nice neck.

Wait. That’s weird to think, right…? What is he, a vampire?!

Marc groans loudly and buries his burning face in his hands, no doubt red up to his ears.

“Kill me now,” he whines, while Nathaniel seems to laugh even louder. “Please.”

It takes Nathaniel a full twenty seconds before he manages to get himself somewhat under control. “B-But if you do, who’ll w-w-write about me?” he snorts, falling back into his laughing fit.

“Oh, I’ll write about you alright,” Marc says darkly, feeling mortified beyond belief, peeking between his gloved fingers to glare at his partner. “I’ll write your eulogy.”

“I-I’d be down,” the redhead wheezes out, clapping a hand on Marc’s shoulder. He wipes the tears of mirth from his eyes with the other hand, smiling wide. “I’m s-sure you’d write a bitchin’ eulogy.” He perks up. “Actually, maybe we could have that in our comic at some point! One of the heroes could fake their own death or something.”

“Sure, w-we can pull a Sherlock later,” Marc sighs, rubbing his face, the embarrassment barely receding. His cheeks still burn like a furnace beneath his fingertips; the pros of wearing fingerless gloves, he supposes.

Nathaniel squeezes his shoulder and jostles it playfully. “Hey, maybe you can write that scenario up for a future issue? It might be fun to see if we can fit it in later, and it’ll get you writing again!”

“Alright, alright, I’ll try it,” he groans, passing an irate hand through his hair, tugging at the dark strands. “Please stop man-handling me…”

“Sorry, sorry, it was for motivation’s sake,” Nathaniel jokes, but quickly lets his hand drop from Marc’s shoulder, respectful to a fault.

“It was hardly motivational…”

“No, I’m pretty sure it was.”

Marc levels him a flat look. Probably not as effective with a pink face, but. An attempt was made.

Nathaniel raises his hands in a placating motion, the motion decidedly cheeky when paired with the mischievous curl of his lips. “Alright, how about this? I try and tell you one last thing to inspire you to write. After that, I’ll leave you to it, ‘kay?”

Marc can’t help but feel a bit suspicious, raising a pointed brow at the other’s suggestion. “Really…?”

“Really,” the redhead nods.

“And this’ll be an actual inspirational statement…?”

“Hm. Well.” A pause. “I’d hope so?”

“Hmmmmm,” Marc hums, tapping at his chin. “I guess that’d be fine?”

So long as it was something to help distract Nathaniel from his huge slip-up, he was down for it.

“If you’re going to quote an anime theme song at me, I might reconsider, though,” Marc says in teasing warning, lips twitching into a grin.

The other pouts spectacularly at him, and Marc fights down a giggle at how ridiculously adorable he looks. “Ye of so little faith, Marc. Maybe I won’t say it after all—”

“No, no, please! Don’t stop because of me,” he says, giggling a bit and setting his notebook aside, carefully closed. “I’m all ears. Really.”

“Alright,” Nathaniel drawls out, blue eyes glittering.

And then he’s leaning in again, one arm propped on the table for balance, before Marc can say another word.

Nathaniel has a boyish grin on his face, lopsided and toothy, eyes half-lidded and piercing. It’s confident—bordering on flirtatious—an expression that seems nearly uncharacteristic for someone like Nathaniel.

But he makes it work.

Oh, does he make it work.

Marc’s face feels like it’s on fire, and his heart is back doing some complicated gymnastics routine. There’s about a foot of space between them, and the distance is steadily diminishing as Nathaniel leans in, closer and closer.

Marc’s breath stutters out, sounding shallow to his own ears, while his pulse skyrockets.

They’re nearly nose-to-nose by the time Marc wonders if he should be closing his eyes or not—because this is a kiss, right? How can it be anything else?—and then Nathaniel completely diverts his course.

Nathaniel’s silky hair flutters and brushes just slightly against the side of Marc’s cheek. He can feel the other’s breath puffing against his ear, and fights down a full-body shiver, nerves alighting all at once.

The redhead whispers right in Marc’s ear, “Start writing, or you’re straight.”

Marc sputters and wheezes, rearing his head back, feeling like Nathaniel had decided to sock him in the stomach instead of whatever the hell that was.

He gapes, mouth working frantically and only spilling out stuttered gibberish.

Nathaniel waits him out for a full five seconds, eyes bright, before he starts to snicker.

“N-Nathaniel,” he ends up whisper-yelling through a wheeze, which only sets off the boy in question. He finally backs away from Marc, out of his personal space, and starts cackling.

“I—Why—I c-can’t believe you,” he hisses, swatting at Nathaniel, who seems to cackle even harder. The redhead only makes a minimal effort to shield himself, too caught up in his mirth.

“S-s-straight Marc,” wheezes the redhead through his laughter, tears streaming down his face, his voice no longer capable of forming words afterwards.

“H-How dare you. I’m a proud heterophobe—” Nathaniel doubles over, clutching at his stomach. “—a-and I will not stand for this forced straight narrative.”

The other boy nearly falls off the bench. Marc—because he is a good friend, who cares for his dumbass friend-slash-crush-slash-tester of his patience—reaches out and catches him before he faceplants on the Art Club’s dirty and paint-splattered floor.

Nathaniel clutches at Marc’s token red hoodie, still absolutely hysterical.

“P-p-proud heterophobe!” he parrots back, planting his face on Marc’s shoulder.

“I was born Assigned Heterophobe At Birth,” Marc says, quite seriously, only to get a loud laugh all but in his ear in answer, for his troubles.

  ------

 It ends up taking Nathaniel a good four minutes straight (hah) in order to calm down. Every time he seemed to calm down a bit, one look at Marc’s flat and judgmental look, and he’d rev up all over again.

He’s been laugh-crying so hard, even snot was leaking out his nose. Nathaniel fumblingly wipes at his eyes with the sleeve of his blazer, and with a grimace and a mutter, Marc hands him a tissue before he managed to smear snot all over his own arms.

And yet, Marc notes with a long-suffering sigh, he still thought Nathaniel looked cute— puffy eyes and snot and all. He had it bad.

He hadn’t even realized his crush had gotten to this point, but, well. It has.

He was fucked.

“I dedicate my life to the gay agenda, and this is the thanks I get?” Marc demands in the closest approximation of iconic offended resignation, only to trigger a peal of giggles from the redhead. “Listen, if you die because you laughed too hard at my stellar gay jokes, I will not be held accountable.”

“W-will you go t-to my funeral?” Nathaniel asks, much too brightly for a boy who’d nearly choked on his own spit from uncontrollable laughter.

“Didn’t we go over this earlier? I’d write your eulogy.”

“Ah, r-right,” the other snorts, grinning dumbly, all wide and toothy. It was a charming expression, Marc notes with fond exasperation. “Your bitchin’ eulogy skills.”

“Yes,” Marc sighs, smiling in spite of himself at his dumbass friend, smile no doubt grossly fond and gooey.

He couldn’t help it, either. He was useless against Nathaniel’s dorky charm.

“So…” Nathaniel starts, finally seemingly able to breath properly once more. “Did it work?”

He eyes the other warily. “Work…?”

“My inspirational statement,” Nathaniel states, quite seriously, smirking in a completely infuriating way.

“You call that an inspirational statement?!” he demands in a hiss, all the while Nathaniel snickers evilly. “I told you to tell me something to inspire me to write! Not—not whatever the hell that was.”

“I mean. I personally think it was pretty inspiring,” the redhead says innocently, blinking his big blue eyes. The overall effect was ruined by his sheer cheek.

“It might’ve been for you…!” Marc retorts. He plays up his offense by placing a hand on his chest like an aghast French noblewoman. “But I asked for inspiration, not a threat.”

“Hey, it’s still motivational, right?” Nathaniel snickers, propping his elbow on the table and leaning in close again. Marc feels his heart trip in his chest once more. If Nathaniel keeps this up, Marc might just need to go see a specialist or something; his heart doing non-stop frantic gymnastics probably wasn’t healthy. “And besides, if you just do what I said, you wouldn’t have to worry.”

“You’re the reason I’m a Professional Heterophobe,” Marc deadpans, which earns a bark of laughter from the other.

“Impossible. I’m bi,” Nathaniel says, so casually light and flippant, it felt impossibly fake. The slight tightening of his smile and the way he tapped his fingers restlessly on his arm only cemented this. “S-so. We’re actually gay solidarity.”

“Right,” Marc manages to say, mind whirring a mile a minute.

This didn’t mean anything. It didn’t. Just because Nathaniel is bi doesn’t mean he’ll like Marc back.

But.

It’s possible, however slight. And the chances are definitely higher than they were before, when Nathaniel had just been straight. Or not out of the closet yet.

The redhead’s entire posture has turned tense, fingers tapping quicker against his arm. He’s looking at Marc, cautious, gauging.

As if Nathaniel would ever have to be afraid of Marc, of all people. He was probably one of the most blatantly gay people at school, out and proud of it. He was also someone so ridiculously in love with Nathaniel Kurtzberg, he would never turn his back on him.

“Gay solidarity can only take you so far,” Marc starts, wagging a finger jokingly at Nathaniel. “You’re on thin ice for testing me, mister.”

Marc grins, trying for something casual and playful. The beaming smile he gets in return outstrips him a thousand times over.

“We’ll see,” Nathaniel replies, rather cryptically, but his smile isn’t dimmed at all by his vagueness. He shoves his bangs behind his ear, as he says, “Now, who’re we choosing to fake their death for later?”

“Mightillustrator, so Reverser can write his eulogy,” Marc suggests, half-joking, only to get a warm laugh and even warmer smile from the other boy.

“Can’t wait to draw it,” Nathaniel says softly, grabbing onto Marc’s right hand and squeezing it. Marc feels his breath catch, hand tingling from the points of contact. “And I can’t wait to read what you write about it.”

With the way Nathaniel’s looking at him—shy, blue eyes peering through his lashes—Marc lets himself smile shyly back and think, maybe… just maybe… the possibility isn’t as farfetched as he’s been thinking. Him and Nathaniel. As partners, and partners.

“I can’t wait either,” Marc replies, voice just as soft. It’s as if neither one wants to speak too loudly, to not break the moment, somehow.

Marc turns his hand over, threading his fingers with Nathaniel’s, and squeezes them together. Black-painted nails and black fingerless gloves settling perfectly together with a pale hand with bitten-off nails and wayward pen doodles on the knuckles and the palm lightly stained with paint.

Nathaniel ducks his head slightly, ears pink and smile wide enough to split his face.

Marc has to let go after a few seconds to pick up his pen and ready himself to write—he’s not ambidextrous as Nathaniel is, the talented bastard—but it doesn’t seem to matter. Nathaniel instantly scoots over on the bench, pressing their sides together, shoulders and elbows and thighs firmly connected.

Marc twirls his pen in his hand, looks over to beam at Nathaniel—who beams back—and then opens his notebook.

He feels like he won’t be able to write fast enough to capture all he’s feeling, this swell of emotions. Overwhelming joy, sweet fondness, a burst of giddiness, confused disbelief, a flutter of embarrassment, steady hope, and heart-thumping love.

He’s perfectly inspired, now.

So he puts his pen to paper, and writes.

...