frostedpuffsbreathe—
breathe—
Summary: Adrien had always been fond of Marinette. That was a truth he held close to his heart. When he nearly meets his fate on an otherwise peaceful autumn afternoon, his world is thrown into typhoon of muddled thoughts and vague memories. Though questions burn at his mind as he lies awake, one particular detail stays constant: a familiar face in the crowd that’s been by his side every step of the way. It’s a long road to recovery. But with his partner close, what’s there to be afraid of?
Rated: T+
Pairing(s): Adrien/Marinette
Chapter ½
Word count: 9,219
Also read on: ao3
He’d heard the screams before the pain even made itself known. Then it was quick, making no haste as it assaulted his body as if he’d fallen six stories and lost any ounce of breath that remained his chest.
A noise rang out—deafening to his ears—and then he was on the ground, collapsed on the surface of a stage where thousands of fans caught well more than a glimpse of what had transpired. Their faces twisted in horror and mouths were agape with their accompanying shrieks.
Panic. Panic. Panic.
A friend in the crowd. Burning—hot, wet pain in his chest and a deep red staining his hands—
then nothing.
He slept.
Everything was fuzzy.
A desolate blackness filled Adrien’s vision as faint murmurs danced by his ears. His head pounded as if his brain had melted to mush. Any coherent thought had long slipped out the door, and as he tried to move—to sit up or even find the strength to open his eyes—Adrien cursed the sluggish nerves that left his body feeling like a still, lifeless form wherever he lay.
But he wasn’t lifeless. He was very much alive. At least… He was pretty sure he was.
Where was he? Home?
No, no… That couldn’t be right. The bed was far too uncomfortable to be his own, and there were too many voices just out of intelligible earshot. He heard his name once or twice though it was faint—the voices barely recognizable—and he could have sworn he felt someone touching his hands…
Oh.
Someone was crying.
As he listened, he noticed that the voice belonged to a girl. And not just any girl—a friend of his. His partner. He would know her anywhere.
Why was she crying? Was that her hand enveloping his own?
Oh, how he wished he could make her smile…
It’s okay, he thought, so desperately wishing he could speak or even squeeze her hand. I’m fine, Ladybug.
It was too tiresome to stay awake after that.
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