Treehouse

Alone

Somewhere amidst the aimless wandering, he must've set on going back to the treehouse. He didn't know what he expected - probably clarity from everything that's happened. One thing was clear, though, knowing that he added to the hurt she was already carrying had hurt him too. A little too much, for someone who claims it was all a game. Claimed it was all a game. He didn't even transform, and having always been the one who hated physical movement, he barely noticed the way his feet burned in his shoes at how long he'd walked. Barely noticed as his knees gave up on him, and he was sitting down at the base of the treehouse. One look up and he knew she locked herself up in there. And he probably had no right to be there, but he was, and he is. "Marinette!"
She heard the voice and grumbled to herself. No way she was giving into him, not after that. Not like this. She ignored him, covering her ears with her hands, the tears only falling faster. Only thoughts rushed through her head. Ones that she despised herself for thinking. I hope he enjoys the view. The one I can't see. The one I blocked out for him.
"Marinette, open the doors, please!" He cried, even though he can even barely climb up to his feet, what more if he were to climb up the stairs? He began to feel the pain of it all now, so numbed down, and he didn't know what hurt more, his body entirely or just the rejection. "I... Let me explain, please? I don't even- I don't understand how you got to that conclusion. Were my words not- were they not enough?"
Hearing his voice, she wanted to let him in so badly. She wanted to hold him, to kiss him, to tell him she wasn't mad. But she was. She hurt, more than she'd ever hurt before. She let out a blood curdling scream of her words next, her throat already dry. "JUST LEAVE!!!"
And boy, did his blood curdle. He would. He would if he could, but it was so annoying, so stupid, so aggravating that the more hurt she showed, the more hurt he was. He wasn't her, nowhere near her, so why was it that he felt them so badly? He wanted to leave, so badly, she wasn't worth all this trouble, he kept convincing himself. That he was still doing this to annoy Adrien. "I can't leave you here like this," he said, tried so hard for it to be loud enough so she could hear.
"You already did," she whispered in between sobs, laying on the floor and sprawling out, the tears hitting the floor beside her. "You already did," she repeated, now on her side, still in fetal position. Just go. You've done enough.
He barely managed to make out the last one, and how it broke him. He never intended for things to turn out this way. He brought his knees to his chest, hugged them to at least shield from the cold. Physically exhausted, and soon enough mentally, too, he let the tears fall. "I'm really sorry," he whispered, over and over, as if it alone will materialize his imagining her cupping his cheeks and smiling and holding him tightly, chasing everything bad away.
She knew he hadn't left, she just knew it, and she hated that she knew it. She hated that she couldn't push him away. That every instinct in her told her to go find him and help him. But how could she do that when she was like this? Did he really love her? If he didn't, why would he be here? She almost believed herself too, but then she thought again. Why would I subject myself to this pain again? It's better to shut it off now. It'll be better in the long run. You can do this, Marinette. And as much as she strived to make this affirmation exist, all she could imagine was his sleeping face. The look of his hair when it wasn't all gelled up. The smell of his cologne. His smile. It plagued her mind, and she groaned and hit her head on the wooden floor, hissing as she'd felt a splinter in her cheek. She didn't care though. It was nothing compared to the rest of her pain.
It was a long evening. Full of crying, of trying to sort out everything that just happened - rationalizing the irrationality of his still being there, of jerking up, looking up whenever there was the slightest sound or ruffle. All of it ended up in disappointment, because all of it were things he already knew, yet refused to know. He had fallen for her, somewhere along the lines, and he knew that he was far too late, that she wouldn't meet him somewhere in the middle again. And that if he really wanted this (he really did), he would have to meet her right where she stood - he had to work for it. He ended up questioning himself if he were ready for it, and if his falling asleep every five minutes on the ground under the treehouse waiting for her didn't show his readiness enough, he wasn't really sure what.
She finally gathered her composure enough to stop crying , enough to realize he was still there. Still. She sighed and went to the window, hesitating before opening it so he could hear her, but quickly returning to the floor. "Go home, Felix," she said. "Go home
and move on before you're stuck like I am. Please go."
He was snapped out of the little sleep-and-wake daze he was in, yet he was still obviously sleepy. "No," he grumbled stubbornly, making no move to do as she said. He closed his eyes. "I'm staying. I can't leave you."
She bit her lip, grimacing. "You'll catch a cold. I'm fine. Just go home," she said, and then when he refused again, she sighed and tossed both futons to him. "Take these, if you're being so stubborn."
He barely caught the futons, frowned as he received two. He stood up, as painful as that was, and threw the other one to her. "Keep one. It's cold," he said, and sat back down, huddling in the blanket.
She threw it back down to him, locking the window again. "I don't want it. I'm not using it anyways," she muttered, laying back down on the floor, farthest from the window. She didn't want to talk to him. She didn't want to look at him. Mostly because she couldn't without tears threatening to spill again.
He heard the box settle down again, and he sighed, picking it up. He kept it in its place beside him, he didn't wanna dirty it in case she were to change her mind sometime within the night. Not that he ever thought she would.
Trying to sleep only brought more pain to her, as she had nothing to distract her from the huge bleeding hole in her heart, and she tossed and turned on the floor, cursing under her breath. The futon would be nice. But I'm not using anything of his. She had even changed back into her dirtied clothes from the day before, shoving the new ones in the corner with the rest of the abandoned stuff. Including the phone charger, the bag that once held snacks, the book, and everything else. But her gaze kept being drawn to the corner, and she groaned and turned the other way. Felix was just a rebound, just like everyone had said. Just a rebound. I don't love him. I never did. The way he sleeps, it's just a momentary shock. The way he left and made sure I had what I needed, just a trick. An emotional illusion. Love. What is love? Love doesn't exist. It's a wall you put up around yourself when someone appears to be too good to be true. That was what she told herself. And yet, she believed not a word of this.
The silence was deafening, yet amidst it, it was almost like he could hear everything that went on with her, externally or internally. He couldn't fell asleep anyway, so why spend it trying to when he could be convincing her even the tiniest bit to take care of herself? He sighed, donned the futon. After contemplating whether he was  willing to receive a probable beating from her, he had transformed, and intruded up on the treehouse's balcony, her futon box in hand. "Marinette, are you awake?" He asked, nearing the only window she left open.
"I said go away." she growled from inside, from the lower floor. "I never should've given you the stupid ring," she muttered, covering her ears and eyes and entire face with her arms.
"And yet you gave it to me anyway," he replied, tried to sound as light as he could. Didn't change the fact that his was just as raspy as hers was. He looked at the futon, and he blindly tossed it inside the window. He relaxed a little when she didn't seem to have gotten hurt. "I just.. came to deliver that. And also, about earlier-"
"No. Don't. Don't start. Don't finish. Just leave it. I know what happened earlier. I don't want an explanation," she said coldly. "And for the record, I can't grab the dumb futon anyways. It's upstairs. I have a broken ankle. So you can leave now."
"I told you, I can't leave. Will not and can not are two different things," he said, climbing up the windowsill, realizing the trapdoor down had been barred shut. He sighed. "I can't.. I can't just leave you. And it's not even because my bloody feet hurts, or that I'm trying to clear my conscience, I just... I just can't." He began, uncaring of the fact she just told him not to start, not to finish. "You worry me, every second of the day since we've- since.. I don't know? And it's annoying, because I can't help it, I have this need to know if you've eaten, if you've slept, if you're at least okay enough that you can smile because fuck you you have a beautiful smile." He frowned, unbelieving of the words that were coming out of his mouth. "And I'm really sorry. I really am, that I'm the very reason you're the opposite of smiling right now, that I hurt you. I really didn't intend to go this far, but I did, and I want to see you smile again and I can't just leave."
She opened her mouth to protest when he began talking, but every time she did, he just kept talking. He wasn't giving up. Tears rolled down faster and she shook her head rapidly. She couldn't just forgive him like that. She needed space. She wanted to forgive him, though. She wanted to let him in, to tell him it was okay. But it wasn't okay. He really hurt her. Moments of silence passed after he finished and she bit back a sob. "I'm... I'm sorry, Felix. I can't..." she stammered, choking on her words as they tried to exit her throat. "I just can't. You need to go," she finally got out.
He bit his lip, buried his head in his knees momentarily. Why did he let his mouth babble off like that? Actually kicking himself in the shin, he hissed. Then he spoke, looking at the ring in his hand. "Then at least open this trapdoor so I can give you the futon."
She threw her head back, eyes shut tight. "No," she muttered, curling up in a ball again. "I don't need it."
"At least just keep it inside there," he said, and he detransformed, taking off his ring and slipped it somewhere between the folds. "Please?"
"Leave it there. I'll get it when you're gone." she muttered, staying where she was. I want to open the door. I want to see him. I want to love him. She kept trying to convince herself that those were just lust speaking, that she was only looking for someone who could fill the empty gap that had been in her heart for so long.  I can't open the door. I can't see him. I can't love him.
And of course an excuse to see her will remain just an excuse. He bit back the apparent disappointment, and he took a deep breath, putting the box down. "I'll come again tomorrow," he said, although more to himself, convincing himself that he wasn't leaving, just... going momentarily. He made his way down with the branches, around the ladder the brough hit back to the cement. He picked up his bag and as much pain as he was in, he hesitantly left the place.
She took a deep breath as she heard him leave. Except relief quickly turned to anger, to regret, and to sadness, and she realized she was alone. She blinked back tears and tried to sleep, but once again kept tossing and turning, and soon she just found herself leaning against a wall, hitting her forehead on it repeatedly until it was bleeding and sore, screaming out her pain. This all was nothing short of a nightmare come true. It was okay. She'd grow out of her pain soon enough. Maybe.
He had snuck back in the mansion, settled down on his soft soft bed. As comfortable as it felt, so warm and actually sleepable under him, he found it barely held a candle to the kind of warmth his night with Marinette on the floor brought him. The realization alone had his mind reeling again, and it wasn't long before he was tearing up again, tantruming like a child on his bed. He was stupid, comically stupid. Whatever exhaustion he felt earlier had gone, replaced by the yearning, pining for her. For the times when she would roll her eyes for his brazenness. Or when she would smile her toothy grin when she scored a point against him. Or when she furrowed her brows, scrunched up her face when he said something questionable. And oh god, he suddenly missed so much when she would copy him, and scrunch up her nose.
Marinette still couldn't believe she'd let him go. She let him waltz out of there without even getting to see him. He said he'd be back tomorrow, and tomorrow couldn't come sooner. But she, at the same time, dreaded it. She didn't want to face him, knowing she'd hurt him too. She finally went up to the next floor, after the pain had been too much, and got the futon out, but as she did, she saw something fall out. Something shiny. She looked at the ring and bit her lip, tears forming in her eyes on top of other ones. He walked home. And for some reason, she felt horrible. She knelt down, picking up the ring and taking a look at it, breathing shakily as she remembered the happy look on his face when he saw it. When he first tried it on. The little smolder he did when he was in costume. The time on that window. The one right over there. When she almost kissed him. She wished she had. She wished she'd taken the chance when she still had the chance. And she hated that she still wasn't able to get him out of her head. This wasn't supposed to happen. She hadn't felt this way with Adrien. Or Chat Noir. It wasn't the same. Not like this. She ran to the window and opened it, looking out. It wouldn't help at all, but she wished, stupidly, that she could make the world freeze too. That she wouldn't have to feel it anymore. And so she did what stupid thing she could, and with no dignity left, she did it. She howled. And after she was done, she looked up at the moon, as if begging. "Please bring him back. Bring him back to me," she whispered under her breath. She felt so stupid right now. Like one of those cliche main characters in a soap opera. But she didn't care. It brought her some sort of peace.
And maybe at some point, he imagined that she had regretted her decision of telling him to leave. That that inaudible echo of a howl amidst the still alive night of Paris was him imagining her - there weren't any forests nearby for a wolf to be actually howling, nor did a kid have that kind of a howl. It was all just stupid wishful thinking, and he hated that he was reduced down to this. Humbled down to this. And how much, he realized, did he actually need this.