"A connection between two people is wonderful, but a connection between two souls is rare."
— Forbidden Fruits
CHAPTER TWELVE
»»☆««
Chat Noir awoke with a massive headache.
He rarely ever got those much anymore, but the one he had now felt like his entire skull was on fire. A wince escaped his lips as he squeezed his already shut eyes. Green dots were dancing all along his black vision. When he tried to squint one eye open, his vision was too blurry to make out any of his surroundings. All he knew was that he was somewhere oddly dark.
With a grunt, he tried to lift his head, only to lamely fall back onto the pillow behind him when he realized trying to move only strained his neck—
And wait... a pillow?
His eyes suddenly snapped open, and another wince escaped past his gritted teeth when it brought a wave of extreme dizziness and nausea from the hasty motion. He quickly closed his eyes again and his hands flew out to blindly feel his surroundings, quickly realizing that he was laying out on some blankets, his head propped up slightly on a poorly sewn pillow he'd stolen from that night they'd stayed at the inn.
Sighing heavily through his nose, he took his time in slowly reopening his eyes and tilted his head to the side.
And then his eyes widened again when they clashed with a familiar pair of mesmerizing blue-bell irises.
"Marinette?" His eyes furrowed in slight confusion as they carefully tried to search her face. His vision was still a bit blurry, but he could make out a frown on her lips, an expression he was all too familiar with.
She didn't respond. In fact, she didn't even twitch an eye. She just stared at him, not even bothering to blink. Idly, he wondered how she could stare so long without blinking. Weren't her eyes burning?
His eyes narrowed ever further. "Why are you starin' at me like that?"
With that, he earned a reaction out of her, but it was simply a twitch of her perfect pink lips as her frown deepened. But that was it. She didn't say a word, and she certainly didn't bother to answer his question.
That frustrated him. "Where the hell am I?" With a groan, he tried to sit up once again, but his neck relented and so did his throbbing ribs. Another wince left his lips as one of his hands came to rest on this aching side. "Damn, that hurts."
Marinette's tongue poked out, which briefly wetted her bottom lip. His eyes quickly darted to the moment. She exhaled heavily and her shoulders slouched forward. "You almost died."
He arched a single brow in confusion. "That doesn't answer my question."
Her brows furrowed even further in annoyance. "You almost died."
Chat Noir allowed his eyes to flutter close for a brief moment. He was very exhausted for some reason. "Almost. A very important word. My father once told me that a life of almost is a life of never."
"I don't give a shit about what your father once told you."
His eyes once again snapped open at that, and his brows quickly furrowed in absolute anger. "Did you just insult my father right in my face—?"
"Deal with it." Marinette rested her elbows on her crossed knees, allowing her chin to rest in the palm of her hand. "What's more important is that you. almost. died."
Chat Noir exhaled slowly through his nose. His patience always ran thin when people dared to speak ill will about his deceased parents, and he would always be quick to put them in their place for it. But as much as her comment annoyed him, he couldn't find it in himself to stay angry at her. In truth, he was simply trying to avoid the topic she was trying to breach.
With another sigh, he forced himself to relax. "Alright, I hear you. Tell me, what happened?"
"You were attacked by a bear." Marinette answered emotionlessly, "It came at you by surprise and the person who had their rifle ready missed the shot. It was some old goat who's practically blind—"
"That old 'goat' is the finest navigator I've ever known. Careful how you speak 'bout him in my presence."
He watched as Marinette rolled her eyes, entirely unfazed by his threat. "The bear knocked you off of your horse. You fell onto some pointy rocks, hence your bruised ribs. You received whiplash, hence your aching neck and headache, and the bear dug it's massive claws into your calf which caused a serious amount of blood loss and some stitches."
"Ah." He lifted his head, only to realize that he couldn't see the extent of the injuries on his leg due to the blanket that had been thrown over his lower half. He remembered now. The blasted beast had charged out from the brush on his left, and no one had been ready to protect that end. Even he hadn't been.
He found himself chuckling, "I'm not naked underneath this blanket from the waist down, am I?"
"Of course not." Marinette offered him a deadpan expression.
Of course, his comment had meant to be teasing. He chuckled again, relaxing back into the comfort of the pillow underneath his head. "So... who stitched me up? Not the old goat with his terrible eyesight, I'm assumin'?"
He was honestly a bit worried about that matter. No one in his group of rouges had experience in any type of medical expertise. He only had some knowledge of it himself, but even he didn't know it all. For all he knew, someone had stitched him up entirely over a hunch and his wound could already be infected.
"No, not the old goat..." Marinette replied softly, "...I did."
His eyes shot open at that. He turned his head a bit too quickly, instantly regretting it when his temples began to throb even harder. He ignored it for a moment as he simply stared into her eyes in surprise. "You...? You know how to stitch up wounds?"
"I know how to do many things," she said smugly, "I also have four older brothers. I had to learn somehow how to fix them up whenever they did stupid things, myself included."
"Right, of course," He chuckled softly. He never saw it with his own eyes, but he could only imagine her brothers waiting in a line as Marinette fixed them up one by one. "Well... I thank you, then."
"Don't think I did it because I like you," Marinette said rather sternly. The softness in her voice was gone just like that and it had him instantly frowning. He liked when she allowed herself to relax in front of him. Unfortunately, it rarely lasted whenever it happened. "I only did it because if you were to die, I would be the one to kill you, and I can't have you dead yet anyway. I need answers first."
"Of course," He sighed, a bit dejected. Whatever moment he thought they had just shared then had been shattered. "I should've anticipated a response such as that from such a cold-hearted woman."
Her eyes narrowed in irritation. "Now hold on just a minute—!"
"I'm done talkin' to you." Chat Noir stated plainly, "You've ruined my mood."
Surprisingly, her mouth stayed shut for once. He was thankful she'd chosen to do so.
Turning his head to look up, he found that he was in a tent, which meant night had already fallen—and they were most likely still in the midst of bear country. Of course, nothing was going according to plan.
"Have someone fetch my sister. I wish to speak with her."
He didn't look to see what expression had pulled at Marinette's features. He wasn't very interested in that moment, nor did he care if his sudden coldness towards her had offended her. In truth, he was a little hurt by her words. Chat Noir wouldn't dare admit that, but it was true. Sometimes Marinette seemed to talk to him normally, as if she saw him as any other person, and he found that if she allowed it, they got along rather well. They had some sort of odd connection that most people wouldn't have until they developed years of close friendship.
But Marinette didn't know him, and although he somewhat knew her, he only knew what he could see. He couldn't see what was on the inside, not unless she allowed it.
Sometimes, she would smile at him, that smile that he knew was genuine and sweet. He liked seeing that smile because it was something he rarely saw on her. Marinette was known to be mostly serious, frowning most of the time or wearing a blank expression that was impossible to read, but when she smiled, she lit up the room. Her smile was breathtaking.
The only sound that ensued was the shuffling of her dress as Marinette slowly stood to her feet. For once, she didn't bother to argue and simply turned on her heel. When she peeled back the entrance of the tent, he briefly caught sight of the large campfire settled not too far off from his tent and the brilliant night sky above them painted with thousands of bright fiery stars.
The entrance closed a moment later behind her, and with that, he was left alone.
Chat Noir exhaled through his nose, somewhat relieved. He was so exhausted, and not just from the extensive travel. His heart was also tired—tired of hoping that the woman he loved might acknowledge him as something more than just a bandit running from the law. But what exactly was he expecting? That she would fall in love with him after he had kidnapped her and taken her from her home without an explanation? That sounded delusional.
Marinette hated him... and he needed to remember that. She only helped him because it benefited her, not because she truly wanted to spare his life. She even admitted to wanting him dead. She eventually wanted to be the one to shoot a bullet between his eyes. He wouldn't allow that, of course, but knowing the woman he loved wanted to kill him wasn't exactly a sweet sentiment.
The sound of the tent reopening broke him out of his reverie. He quickly turned his head, finding his sister stepping inside. For once, her hood was down and her hair was loose, her short, blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She cast him a small smile when their eyes met.
He tried his best to reciprocate it, but it probably looked more pained than anything.
"Hey." He said hoarsely.
"Hi." She took a seat on the ground beside him and crossed her legs. Her hand reached out for his and he met her halfway. "Ya wanted to see me?"
"Yeah," he gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "How you holdin' up?"
"Ya want to know how I am when ya are the one layin' here injured?" She laughed softly as if to tease him, but he could sense the sadness behind the mask she was trying to uphold.
His thumb moved to gently run over the top of her hand. His worn, leather gloves were still on, but he could still feel the piercing heat of his sister's hand and the sweat from her palms from all the nervousness weighing her shoulders down. The action caused her to choke on a sob, and with that, her entire façade fell before him like a brick wall crumbling to the ground.
"I'm fine." He insisted softly, even as her head hung on her hunched shoulders and tears started to silently stream down her rosy cheeks. "Look at me, Kit. I'm fine."
She looked up at him, but all he was granted was the sight of her glossy irises. "Ya could've died... and I dunno what would've happened to me if ya actually had—"
"You shouldn't think that way. What ifs are like serpents. They drain you dry if you give 'em the chance. The important thing is that I'm fine."
Kit swiped a hand across her tear-stained cheek. "Ya need to be more careful." She sniffed, "Losin' Ma and Pa was hard enough, but if I lost ya too—"
"You won't lose me." He assured her with another gentle squeeze of her hand. "That I can promise you."
But even then, his promise was just words, and his words were empty. He couldn't predict the future, but he did know he wouldn't play with it. He would do everything in his power to keep himself on this earth, for his sister's sake. Even if Marinette never needed him, his sister always would.
Kit didn't say anything more, but her soft cries were enough to prove that she didn't quite believe him. Her head fell forward as she rested her forehead atop their conjoined hands, and he allowed it, simply letting his sister drain out all of her bottled emotions from his near-death experience. He even realized, much to his dismay, that his so-called 'tough guy' façade couldn't stop a few stray tears of his own from slipping over his bottom lids. There wasn't much that could make the infamous bandit cry, but seeing his sister in pain would surely do the trick.
And so, Kit softly cried into the leather of his worn glove, and he silently cried with her as he stared up at the ceiling of the tent. Together, they wept, and their pain, along with their tears, molded together as one.
»»☆««
His ear twitched like that of a cat's when Chat Noir heard the sound of the entrance to his tent being peeled open. Since Kit had arrived, she'd wept until she'd fallen asleep on his shoulder, exhaustion clearly taking its toll on her. He'd allowed her to remain asleep, even though the blood circulation in his right arm was cut off by her weight. Nonetheless, despite crying herself to sleep, it seemed his tears couldn't provide him with that same fate. Chat Noir was wide awake and staring up at his tent's ceiling, his thoughts consuming his mind on a frenzied rampage.
He turned his head slightly when the newcomer stepped inside, and he didn't even need to look to know that it was her. Marinette hesitantly stepped forward with a single blanket draped over her conjoined arms, and the entrance to his tent was shut once more by one of the men guarding him as he recovered, leaving them in almost complete darkness.
But he could make out every twisted wrinkle on her face, and it was easy to make out that she was extremely hesitant.
With eyes narrowed into slits, Chat Noir watched her carefully. As much as her ugly words had bothered him before, he wasn't angry at her. In fact, he wasn't even dwelling over that silly little interaction anymore. His crying session with his sister had surely diverted his thoughts and emotions elsewhere.
With a sigh, he offered her a half-smile and patted the space beside him.
The makeshift bed he'd been laid on was rather big. It could fit at least four people comfortably. So with Kit on his right side, there was plenty of room on his left for Marinette if she wished to get a good night's rest that night.
He watched as her eyes widened in surprise as if she hadn't expected the invitation. He patted the space once more just to ensure that his kindness was genuine. After what seemed to be her silent consideration, she slowly made her way over to him. With careful steps, she stepped over his legs and softly plopped down into the bedding. Without a single word being spoken between them, Chat Noir reached over his head for one of the two pillows he was using to prop up his own head and placed it beside him.
Marinette watched him do so in complete disbelief.
He met her bizarre expression with an arched brow in confusion. "What is it? Do you not want the pillow?"
"It's not that." She said quietly with a shake of her head. "I'm just... I can't help but wonder... why are you treating me so nicely? After what I said, surely I thought you would be angry with me—"
"I was angry, but I am not a man who likes to hold childish, petty grudges." He patted the space beside him once more. "Now, sleep. You need it."
In truth, sleeping wasn't his main concern. He doubted he would get a single wink of sleep that night. He was simply just too emotionally exhausted to talk about what she wanted to discuss.
Surprisingly, she seemed to agree and hesitantly laid her head down on the pillow. She pulled her thin blanket up to her shoulders and tucked her knees into her stomach. The only reason he'd known she'd done that was because her legs just so happened to brush against his side. The touch of their skins beneath soft fabric was like a flutter of a butterfly's wing, yet it felt like it was burning through his clothing like a flame itself. When she seemed not to care that they'd touched and didn't bother to move, heat quickly rose to his cheeks.
While Chat Noir internally panicked, neither of them said anything. Marinette's eventual even breathing led him to assume she had fallen asleep.
But he should've known better.
All of a sudden, Marinette quickly shifted, but instead of moving farther away from him like he would've expected from her, his eyes almost popped out of their sockets when her head came to rest on his shoulder.
He blinked several times at his tent's ceiling, wondering if he'd finally fallen asleep as this was the result: a delusional dream.
But it wasn't a dream. Marinette had laid her head on his shoulder—a decision she had made willingly. And what was he supposed to do about that? Wrap his arm around her shoulders and pull her closer? Oh, he was so tempted to do so, but he wouldn't; he couldn't. It wasn't right and it wasn't fair to her. Yet here she was, warmly snuggling up against him, her head resting on his shoulder because she preferred him over her pillow for some odd reason, her breath tickling his bare skin as she peacefully breathed in and out, and since he wasn't wearing a damn shirt, it only sent shivers down his spine.
In other words, she was unintentionally torturing him.
Struggling to keep himself together, Chat Noir simply tried to focus on the ceiling, busing his mind by trying to count every single stitching that kept the tent above them intact.
But it wasn't working. He was still wide awake.
Exhaling desperately through his nose, Chat Noir turned his head slightly. The sight he found was the top of her raven head. He hated to wake her, truly he did, but there was no way he would be able to sleep with this beautiful woman on his shoulder.
Softly, he whispered her name in the darkness. "Marinette?"
A beat of silence followed before she shifted. "What?"
Ah, so she wasn't actually asleep, he sheepishly thought. That, however, was only the first thought that had crossed his suddenly rampant mind. The second was that she sounded irritated, and perhaps that was because she was trying to sleep, and he had just interrupted that. But who could blame him? Her head was on his shoulder!
"You're layin' your head on my shoulder. I just thought you might've done so by mistake."
Silence stretched between them for only a second, but to him, it felt like an eternity. Swallowing nervously, he felt her slowly shake her head against his shoulder and then proceed to scoot even closer to him. Her hands then wove around his arm and his limbs went stiff beside her, unsure of what to do with himself for once.
"Well..." she cleared her throat softly, her voice barely over a whisper. "You thought wrong."
His eyes only widened further, though he wasn't sure how that was even physically possible considering he thought they were already close to popping out of his sockets. At first, he thought he'd heard her wrong, or probably dreamt it all despite having already convinced himself that he was definitely still awake, but when a surging throb of pain suddenly coursed across his ribs and he had to hold back a wince as to not alert either woman at his side, he realized what was happening in that moment was definitely not a dream.
With that realization dawning, he couldn't help the grin that slowly pulled at his lips. He turned to look back up at the ceiling, his smile so wide that he knew his mouth would hurt when he woke up the next morning.
But that was the last worry on his mind, including his injured ribs. All he cared about at that moment was that Marinette had laid her head on his shoulder and had just admitted to doing so on purpose!
Forcing himself to remain calm, he replied softly, "Alright... well, in that case, good night then."
She didn't respond, but he was too busy grinning over the fact that she was using him as a pillow to even care.
_______________________________
Wait... wait just one second... did Chat Noir and Marinette just have... a moment??
To answer your question, yes, yes they did.
Thank you for taking the time to read, and I hope you enjoyed the chapter! See you again on 7/22/2022!
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