Firebird

4.9

Risk

What.

The.

Fuck.

No, really. Seriously.

Is this what I get for keeping secrets? For trying to protect people the only way I knew how? For not telling Marinette sooner, even though every instinct I had screamed that if I did, everything would fall apart faster than I could fix it?

What did I actually do that was so wrong that half our friend group won't even look me in the eye anymore?

I press my forehead harder into my palm, elbow digging into the desk, trying to ground myself in something real; something that isn't slipping through my fingers. The classroom hums with quiet conversations, chairs scraping, paper shuffling, but none of it feels like it belongs to me anymore. It's like I'm watching everything from behind glass. Close enough to see, too far away to touch.

To be fair, I don't think I could've handled things any differently.

That's what I keep telling myself, anyway.

Because what was the alternative? Tell Marinette everything? Lay it all out in one breath. Identities, secrets, lies, the things I barely understand myself? Risk exposing both of us in one go?

No. That would've been worse. That would've been catastrophic.

Heck, I don't even know my identity, apparently.

That thought sits heavy in my chest, colder than the rest. It's one thing to keep secrets from other people. It's another to realize you're keeping them from yourself.

Ever since that dream.

No, not a dream, not really.

A vision, maybe.

The thing that I had a few nights ago. It's been replaying in my head on a loop. Every time I close my eyes, I'm back there again.

That fire, the stupid flame that looked like it could burn me alive in seconds, yet so calm like a still water. Menacing yet familiar, comforting but daunting. Whispering things just barely in earshot.

And then there was that word.

"Vessel."

It echoed through everything, like it didn't belong to any one voice but all of them at once. Like it was meant for me.

I swallow hard, fingers tightening slightly against the desk.

It's starting to creep me out.

But not as much as seeing Marinette look at him.

At Fadrien.

Every time I catch them together, her eyes soft, hopeful, searching, and his expression carefully crafted into something just convincing enough.

It makes something twist violently in my stomach. Not jealousy. Not even anger, exactly. Something worse.

Because I know it's fake.

And she doesn't.

The pitying glances she throws my way only make it worse, like I'm the one in the wrong for not playing along. Like I'm the one ruining something good.

It makes me want to puke.

Maybe I should've just told her.

Maybe I should've ripped the bandage off and dealt with the fallout all at once. Told her who I am. Told her that I know who she is. Told her everything.