A.N. I hope you'll enjoy this pleasant surprise :)

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ADRIEN

The door creaks open slowly, the ray of light slowly enters my room and its glare hurts my eyes. Nothing of any kind of light source entered my room for days, weeks...I don't know... months? I have not cared in a long time...

There is nothing to care for anymore.

The revolution may have succeeded, but at what cost? For the people to gain what they lost, I had to sacrifice a big part of my life. And I do not mean my leg. No, it’s much more. 

I think months ago, I woke up in a room similar to the one in the old garrison’s infirmary. I remember hearing voices before gaining the strength to open my eyes again. They were voices of authority, shouting to get this, carry that, run there, and revive whoever was on the brink of death. I...I wanted to hear her voice amongst them. I wanted to hear her even if she was screaming my name or even crying. It sounds sadistic to me, but I was desperate because I just wanted a small reminder of her before we lost each other. 

Instead, all I received was the constant clamoring of the crowd - wailing, sobbing, shouting, entreating - it was awful. Those voices will never be erased from my mind as much as I wanted them to. I do not hear Marinette anymore, only the agonizing cries of those who suffered.

I’ve been kept in this room the whole time. Only doctors would enter because whenever a nurse would, I get agitated, and the memories of Marinette fill my mind - replaying what I lost and could never seek again. In the early period, they would have to hold me down as my suppressed emotions would come bubbling up, ready to get the best of me. It’s painful physically and emotionally.

Now I wish to never see the sun. I wish to never know what is happening outside the shut doors and the covered windows in my room. They can’t force me to go out because I would fight them, I always do. I do not wish to know who survived and who didn’t. It’s just going to inflict more pain to me, like a knife driven straight to the heart. 

Yet as the door creaks open, in the lethargic state that I am in, my blood runs cold when two men enter the room, one pushing the wheelchair of where the other is on. There is not that much sunlight flooding the room, but I could still see their faces. 

"Oh, my God,” The one standing behind the wheelchair gasps quietly, stopping his hold on the handles of the wheelchair to bring a hand up to his mouth. “A-Agreste.”

I grit my teeth, pushing myself up on the hospital bed to sit. My throat feels dry and I can't even force myself to swallow the saliva in my mouth. Despite it, I force myself to say, "What...what are you doing here?" My voice comes out as a hoarse whisper. It hurts to talk. I haven’t given this much effort to say a few words in months. Still, I can’t believe that they’re here. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me. The doctor must have given me too much medicine that my body could handle. 

“Adrien,” the man in the wheelchair utters, his voice above a whisper. He uses his own hands to wheel himself to the side of my bed and I could silently watch him back. “Do you remember us?” he asks warily. “Do our faces seem familiar to you?”

I emit soft pants, my eyes wavering between the two men in front of me. My hands go clammy and mercilessly squeeze the blanket covering my legs. Dread fills me because I do not know if this is real. Is this another nightmare wherein suddenly a bomb comes crashing down the ceiling and blows up the entire area, taking our bodies with it, or is this where they betray me and feed me to those people who wish for nothing but my death?

I’m frightened to answer them. 

“Adrien,” the other man, standing, walked up to me and I could see in his eyes how much he’s pleading for me to answer. I sink into the mattress behind me, pushing my back harder against it. The way that they are too close for my liking is making me uncomfortable and it feels like the four walls that make up my room are caving in, slowly moving closer and closer until I think I might lose my ability to breathe. 

“S-Stop,” I breathe out, shakily raising a hand at the man who is standing. “What do you want from me?”

He shakes his head and I see how tears start to well up in his eyes. He fixes his glasses, raising them a bit for him to wipe under his eyes. “Nothing,” he cries softly. “Just please say if you remember us or not. Dude, you can nod or shake your head. That’s all we want,” he finishes and I see how the man in the wheelchair fiddles with his fingers resting on his lap. Are they nervous as well? They’re not acting like how everyone in my nightmares would. 

I swallow a lump in my throat and slightly open my mouth. “I...remember you, Nino and M-Monarch.”

Monarch, the one in the wheelchair, lets out an audible sigh of relief. Nino leans forward, almost weak in the knees, and holds onto the edge of my mattress. “Dude, you’re making me cry, I swear,” he whispers but chuckles after very softly. “We’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Are you all real?” I ask them, my breath shuddering. Many questions regarding the two of them run through my mind but I can’t find it in me to ask them. Maybe next time, if this is all true.

“You’re not dreaming,” Monarch reassures me, resting a hand on the white sheets covering the bare mattress. “We’re real and we’re here to keep you safe.”

That’s what the doctors always say. We’ll keep you safe. But coming from them, it feels genuine and it’s like music to my ears. I believe their words. Even if they might hurt me, I don’t care. I choose to believe them because I’m tired of fending for myself. 

My bottom lip trembles and I bring a hand to clutch my chest just as I burst out crying. Soft sobs emit from me and I shake due to the intensity of the emotions that have been kept within me all this time. My heart feels heavy like a ton of bricks is pushing my chest, bringing it down with them, and it’s getting harder to breathe. “You’re still alive.” Ease washes over me. I continue to sniffle and pant hard, making sure to not choke on my own breath. “I thought you all died,” I cry, “I thought none of you survived.”

“Most of us did because of you,” Monarch replies. “It’s all over, Adrien. There is nothing to worry about anymore-”

“What do you mean by ‘most’?” I ask, my voice tightened, feeling my heart drop to my stomach. He did not mention all. My doubts and fears get the best of me when I think of someone important that could really be gone from my life. “Did Marinette not make it?” 

Monarch answers almost immediately, “Marinette is alive.”

My jaw drops ever so slightly and I sharply intake a heavy breath. “...what?” I breathe out, my voice breaking. The memories of that day come flashing in my mind. That bomb could have wiped out everyone in the vicinity and the fact that I’m even alive is a miracle. “B-But that explosion-”

“General Hugo defected most of it,” Nino chimes in a soft voice, “Marinette was not hurt at all.”

“...you did it, Agreste,” Monarch adds, a half-smile forming on his face. “Now we just want to bring you back home. Marinette doesn’t know that you’re alive.”

My face falls, forming a frown. Reality hits me. I’ve left her alone for months. I let myself wallow in my own sad and frustrated state when I should have been out there with her. She’s hurting too. We all are. “I don’t think I can see her like this.”

“I doubt she would mind, dude.”

“But I would,” I argue and set my lips into a tight line. “Would she want to see me like this?”

“She cares more about seeing you, Adrien-”

“I would just make her feel sorry for me. Would I ever allow myself to let her go through that again?” I spit out, panting heavily. 

Monarch suddenly answers in a stern manner, “No, you won’t. I know you wouldn’t. That’s why we’re here to make you feel a bit better so that you know that you’re ready to see her again.”

My words fall short. I have nothing to say. Instead, I could only stare at them. “I...There...there’s no guarantee that I’ll be ready in no time.”

“Adrien,” Nino starts, “we don’t care if it will take another month or, heck, even another year for you to make yourself ready to see her again. We’re not going to leave you ever again. You have our word.”

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Muffled cries and whimpers of distress turn into ear-splitting screams that sharply pierce right through the air. I jolt awake, thrashing amongst the cloth tucked around me. I free myself from the tightening bounds of cloth as I continue to shout for my life. I know I’m trapped. And I need to get out fast. I do not know who’s chasing me, but bombs were dropped and those who are still alive will be brutally finished off. “Run!” I shout from the top of my lungs, “Run!! Don’t let them get you-!”

A pair of hands grab my shoulders and all the more adrenaline rushes through my veins. Oh no, they got me, they got me. I struggle to push them off, gritting my teeth and grunting with all my might, but their hold on me is tight and firm. “L-Let go of me!” I continue shouting, “Let go!”

“Adrien, it’s me,” the voice cries out, shaking me out of my reverie, “It’s Marinette!” 

My vision slowly gets clearer as the person holding me continues, placating, “Adrien, you’re at our house, you’re on our bed, and we were sleeping. There is no one here to take you away, I’m the only one that’s holding you…” her words fall short for me since I finally land my wavering gaze on her. She peers into my eyes, widening her blue eyes as her mouth continues to move. I do not hear what she’s saying but in this dimly lit room I notice her disheveled hair, her tired eyes, and I see that we really are on a bed judging by the olive green sheet and the pillows surrounding us. I could now hear her inhale and exhale loudly as she continues, “You don’t have to run, okay? Try to breathe with me, Adrien.”

I can’t, though. When realization dawned on me, I move my arms and pull her toward me, wrapping my arms around her tightly as I bury my head in the crook of her neck. My heart swells with too much emotion and I start to sob right then and there. My cries come out raw and wretched. The memory of what I saw when my eyes were closed still haunts me, like ghastly hands continuously trying to creep up and mercilessly drag me down with them. “I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry,” I whimper into our embrace. I close my eyes and breathe in her scent, a reminder of what matters to me now. Not that ridiculous nightmare that always finds a way to get into my head. I feel her hands around me tighten and she presses countless kisses on the side of my head. The way her lips would stay on my skin for a fleeting moment causes me to shudder yet at the same time, fall into a sense of comfort. 

“There is nothing you should be sorry for,” she murmurs into my ear. She sniffles softly, and that is when I know that she’s crying as well. “It’s not your fault...it never was.”

Two years have passed since the day I saw Marinette at the garrison’s field. Seeing her again was a brief moment of pure bliss. We did get finally married two months after that day. It was not grand, but it meant more for us to finally say the vows that we’ve prepared for each other in a very long time. It was a short duration in the eye of the storm because nothing became easier for the both of us after. She knows that the nightmares will stay, no matter how many sessions I’ve had with a therapist that offered to take care of both of us. 

It took a year for me to accept the reality of who we might have lost and who is still surviving to this day. I broke down into heavy sobs when Marinette told me their names, but she would always reassure me that they fought for what we have now and for the future. Still, I can’t stop crying when I’m alone. I know that she hears me because I hear her cry alone as well. Marinette stopped working in the hospital ever since we got married. She said that there is no greater honor and love than to see my eyes light up and sparkle every time she’s around me. There are days, though, when we visit those in the hospital, especially Chloé. All of us gather once a week to visit her and I always give Nurse Nath a hug before we leave. It hurts, the uncertainty of her waking up hurts for him, and I know words are not enough to comfort him.

My crying has died down into sniffles. Marinette continues to gently rub my back up and down, whispering the mantra the therapist taught her when it came to attacks like this, “You’re home, you’re with me, and I love you. You’re home, you’re with me, and I love you.” She sways a bit, like lulling a baby to sleep.

I say the same words to her as well when she gets those attacks. Sometimes I would have to wake her up as she punches me, perhaps her nightmares are also of her being attacked. She does not get them more than me, but I know that they do still affect her in the same way. And sometimes the only way to get through one is to have someone to hold on to.

“I’m home, I’m with you, and I love you,” I murmur breathlessly, still holding her tight against me, “I’m home, I’m with you, and I love you.” Although it’s a mantra, a way for me to calm myself down, I mean every word I say. It’s a vow I do not treat lightly for it means everything to me.

Suddenly, the loud wailing of our six-month-old infant fills the room, making the both of us jump a bit from the sudden high-pitched sound. “Hugo,” Marinette groans, pulling away from our embrace. She then lets out a soft giggle, moving to the side of the bed to get on her feet and approach the wooden crib at the other end of the room. “I think he’s jealous that he’s all alone in his crib,” she whispers, throwing me a smirk as she gathers all of her hair and makes it rest on one shoulder before she bends down forward to gently carry our crying baby from the crib.

“Let me help you,” I offer immediately, but Marinette turns it down while raising an eyebrow at me. 

“No, I’m not going to make you do that. I don’t want you to get your crutches and come here when you should be sleeping.” I do not have a prosthetic leg yet to replace what I lost of my right. It’s not something that I’m bothered about. There are more things that keep me awake at night other than a lost leg. 

I do not push the topic further, so I continue to watch Marinette softly shush Hugo back to sleep. From where I am on the bed, his tiny hands slowly open and close, forming fists, and it’s like he wants to reach out for his mother. His bawling dies down until they are just soft hiccups of him trying to make different sounds. Marinette has always been gentle with him and I’m happy to witness how much he trusts his mother so much. “I’m surprised that he did not wake up when I was screaming,” I whisper. 

“He’s strong,” Marinette whispers back, seeing to it that our baby’s eyes are closing again, “just like his papa.”

The corners of my mouth twitch upward and I move my body more to my side to make more space on the bed. “Bring him here. Let him lie down with us,” I suggest quietly to her.

Marinette cranes her neck to look at me in surprise. “Are you sure?”

I simply nod. Yes, I want to have both of them with me here at this moment. I want to have my two most favorite people in the world be with me all the time.

The moment Marinette found out that she was pregnant, she waited a week to finally tell me. We were both apprehensive at first because the idea of bringing and raising children in this world was frightening, and it was too early to take on the role of parents. Even if peace is among us, there is still this lingering feeling of doubt that continues to cloud our judgement and think that we all too fickle to believe the peace was ever with us this whole time. 

But when she told me, I cried and cried and cried. I sobbed because I was excited yet scared. I can’t even take care of myself, how much more if it is this delicate being that I have helped bring into this world? We both were unsure, but we also knew that we had each other.

I was not keen on the idea of Marinette giving our child the same name as the man that brought unnecessary trials to us. But she had a good reason as to why it was a calling for us to name our son Hugo. “Because I know our son will be a better man when he grows up. People will then think of greatness when they hear that name. They won’t cower or brace themselves in fear. Instead, they will reap the kindness and strength of what our son can offer them.”

And from that moment on, I trusted her words. We both found a new responsibility, something more fulfilling, and the idea of being parents finally rekindled our spirits. 

Marinette brings Hugo to bed, making him lie down on his stomach in the middle of the mattress. I lean forward and press a kiss on his head. I find myself getting emotional again. I don’t stop myself when a tear rolls down my cheek. My eyes flutter up to see Marinette quietly watching us from her side of the bed. “Come here,” I coo softly, beckoning her to come closer. She lies down and scoots a bit closer for me to wrap an arm around her, with Hugo now sleeping peacefully in between us. She mouths the words, 'I love you' and I smile back while running the back of my hand down her cheek.

"I love you, too," I murmur.

I know that our nightmares will be constant. What we fear will never leave because it lives within us. I'll have the same fears instilled in me forever and I am aware that I might be getting more. But when I know that I have people to hold tightly and love dearly, then I'm sure that I'm not alone. Seeing Marinette and our baby in my arms, I’ll never be alone again.

We all will never be alone.

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This book is officially finished :) Thank you for reading ♡