It had started as a quiet project between Nathaniel and Marc—something small, something just for the two of them. A comic. Not just any comic, but one about you and Nathaniel.

Not the present version of you, exactly.

The story took place in a soft, imagined future. Lazy weekends in a cozy apartment filled with plants and sunbeams. Late-night talks under blankets, little cats napping on your legs. Panels showing you laughing at his terrible cooking, him sketching you when you weren’t looking, and both of you dancing in the kitchen with messy hair and tired eyes.

It was the life he hoped for. The one he pictured when he closed his eyes and thought if we last forever...

Marc had helped with the dialogue. Nathaniel handled the art. No one was supposed to see it.

Until Madame Bustier found it by mistake.

—“Nathaniel, this is beautiful. It’s going in the school’s art exhibition.”

—“W-What?! No! It’s personal—It’s just—!”

Too late.

The next week, it hung proudly in the center of the classroom’s gallery. Students walked past it, smiling at the tender moments, giggling at the cozy domestic scenes. Adrien raised his brows and gave Nathaniel a knowing smirk. Marinette whispered “Awwww!” at least three times.

Nathaniel turned deep red, hiding behind you as if that would help.

—“I’m never drawing again,” he muttered, mortified.

But when he peeked at your face—and saw your smile, saw how touched you looked—his hand found yours.

—“…Maybe just one more chapter.”