the broken butterfly

Chapter 6

Nathaniel's POV

He'd gone home after leaving the Anciel household. Feeling depressed. In his bed he finally let his emotions free. Alone in his room. With no one who could hear. What would his parents tell him when he told them? They would call him weak, most likely. The tears streamed out of him whilst outside it started to snow. For the first time in nigh on ten months, it snowed in Paris. That simple fact gave him hope. If it could snow, he could confess tomorrow. He could. He just had to believe.

After many hours, how many exactly he did not know, he got off his bed and went downstairs, where his parents were busy making dinner. He could feel a smile tugging at his mouth seeing them cook playfully.

'Nath, hon, can you please deck the table?'

'Sure, mum.' Answered he, moving to the table with the plates and cutlery. He decked it with an inward sigh, he didn't want to eat, yet he had to. Otherwise he'd be told he was too skinny, that he wasn't right mentally. He shrugged. His parents ate talking of all sorts of things, like the political climate in France and various people they did and did not agree with. He remained silent. He had no wish for such a conversation. After dinner he went to his room where he started drawing Marc. How long had he had a crush on him now? Probably two months, though it was hard to accurately say so. It had come on slowly, originating from a friendship that felt less and less fulfilling every day. Eventually, after his parents had sat him down and started talking about what they thought about his love-life, he had conceded that he loved Marc, or at the very least had a major crush on him.

The paper, on which Marc's beautiful face was drawn, had got a single tear on it. He cursed. Marc wouldn't want to be with someone so emotionally weak they would cry over most likely rejection. He felt his chest constrict. Why was it so hard to be positive? The answer, he thought, was simple: He had been positive about Marinette, and then she rejected him. Just like every other person he'd had a crush on.

He began another drawing of Marc, looking at the face, whose perfection he could not quite capture. He decided to draw that new hero. He hadn't tried that yet. Taking out a new tab on his computer he went to the ladyblog and chose a picture of Capricorn's. He started drawing, but swiftly realised that, just like there were a lot of similarities between Ladybug and Marinette, there were a lot of similarities between Marc and Capricorn. He didn't know what it could possibly mean. The heroes had said that they were teenagers, and Marinette never was there with Ladybug, though she claimed to know. But he'd already taken that to her and was told that he was "completely wrong" and "how could you possibly think that?" He guessed he could ask Marc whether he was Capricorn or not, but was it really necessary?

He looked at the clock, it was midnight. He should really be lying in bed right now, so he changed into his pyjamas and went to bed having brushed his teeth and all that was part of his going to bed ritual. His hand strayed through his hair, as he lay in the bed. He thought about Marc, he was a beautiful person, a beautiful boy. Always wearing something containing a rainbow. His eyelids closed.

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He awoke to his alarm at seven. Making himself get out of bed, he walked to the kitchen and got his breakfast ready. What was he going to say come afternoon? He felt like a stupid oat. Why had he not asked him in front of his father? He got back to working on his drawing of Capricorn, which he hadn't finished last night. Shortly before going to school, he had finished it. He arrived at school for first hour with a heavy heart. Chemistry, after that, physics. Why did he have to have the first two hours from Mrs. Mendeleiev? He wanted to bawl his eyes out. What was wrong with the planning maker? He sat down at the back of class, shortly after which Marc came in and sat down next to him blushing.

'Why are you blushing?' Asked Nathaniel softly.

'B-because I'm n-not that good a-at chemistry and y-your sitting in my classandnowI'mgoingtohaveto-' Nathaniel laid a finger to the taller's lips.

'Sh, no need to ramble, and no need to be afraid. I'm actually not that good at beta-subjects either.' He shrugged at the last, letting a faint blush creep onto his face. Why had he told him that he was bad at something? Marc smiled softly and Nathaniel thought he heard a very softly whispered "thank you."

Then Mrs. Mendeleiev entered the room. He still couldn't quite believe that it was the same person who had been so focused on destroying the hopes and dreams of students a few years gone. This Mendeleiev was happy, enthusiastic and ready to help anyone with an enthusiasm she hadn't previously possessed. The chemistry lesson was basically a question and answer session about explosions, in which she made some actually decent skits of explosions. During physics she got the bright idea to give them a surprise test, formative, of course, otherwise it would be "unfair" according to her, which he was pretty happy with, actually. He rather liked knowing when a test would be and when he had to learn for a test. Of course, Mrs. Mendeleiev didn't like it that he didn't really do anything for her subjects outside of class, but he did for barely any subject.

After physics they had a break, in which he sat in silence with Marc under the stairs, he couldn't tell him with this many people watching, what if he rejected him?

When break was over, they split over to go to their respective classes. He entered arts with a clear head, ready for another day's work on Artemis cursing Medusa. He was nearly finished, which was good because he had to be before he went to the Netherlands come Monday. It was already Thursday; he didn't have much time left. He resolved to work on it that night, to finish it, hopefully.

After the two hours of arts he met up with Marc again for French, where they sat next to each other. French was followed by Dutch, which they had in different classes, and following Dutch was working in the art-room after hours. It was after everyone else had gone, and they were walking alone across the streets, that Marc asked him what he had wanted to say. 

(A/N: 1191 words. Okay, so, sorry for the rather empty chapter, I just don't want this one to be much longer because of, you know, attention span. I've chosen to split it here, because I want there to be a cliff-hanger, kind of, did I succeed?

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it and stay safe, stay true and stay yourself.)