Chapter Text
Admittedly, Gabriel probably wouldn’t have noticed the thief if he weren’t so completely head-over-heels for Emilie Graham de Vanily.
That wasn’t to say he was going to let the criminal escape — especially when it was Emilie’s leather handbag they were trying to snatch from the back of her chair while she bent over to pick up her dropped utensils, all the while laughing angelically, of course. Still, the thief's skill was undeniable; they had slipped into the outdoor dining area effortlessly, pocketing scattered fries and snacks from the tables without raising suspicion. It was just pure bad luck that Gabriel Grassette, the most distractible fast-food employee the Friterie Grassette food truck could’ve hired, happened to be nearby. His mind was a bit too preoccupied with Emilie’s laughter and the way the sunlight caught the strands of her golden hair to notice much else… until the thief moved.
As pale fingers wrapped carefully around the ornate handle of the handbag, Gabriel’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t believe it — he wasn’t imagining this. Someone was actually trying to steal it right under his nose. His eyes narrowed, and without thinking, he cleared his throat. “What do you think you’re doing?”
The thief froze, eyes darting to him for a split second before the bag was snatched off the seat and whipped out of the area. It happened so fast. Gabriel barely had time to register the flash of blue eyes before the thief was already in full flight. Emilie, still bent over the table, didn’t have a clue. Her startled exclamation came only after the bag was yanked away from its rightful place. Without hesitation, Gabriel took off after the thief, his sneakers hitting the cobblestones as he sprinted with adrenaline-fueled determination.
Damn.
They could run.
Through twisting alleyways, across busy roads, and between cramped crowds - Gabriel was nearly out of breath, but he wasn’t about to give up. He should probably ask for a medal after this. He was already feeling like a hero, although he wasn’t entirely sure how much of the situation he was actually in control of - if anything, it felt that it was the thief who expertly knew their way around. Thankfully, the architecture of France worked in his favor, offering a port that blocked the thief’s path and cornered her. The space between them was tight, but the streetlights illuminated the scene just enough to make out the ragged breaths of both him and the thief, whose eyes were wide with panic. As both he and the thief stood facing each other, frantic eyes scanning the situation, greedily gulping down air, Gabriel heard the soft pitter-patter of footsteps behind him. Emile.
“Gabriel…” she called softly, slowly approaching the confrontation. When she reached his side, he glanced over. She seemed curious, oddly so, about the stranger who had just tried to rob her. Strange, considering she was the victim, but something about her expression suggested she wasn’t quite as shaken as most would have been. It wasn’t the frightened look he expected.
He turned his attention back to the thief, trying to make out more details. It was too dark now to see much, but he could make out a pale, feminine figure overshadowed by a hoodie far too large for her. Her hood hung low, masking her face, but he could make out her sharp cheekbones and the way her lips curled into a snarl that marred her features in a way that sent a chill down his spine - a stark contrast to the terrified blue eyes that had burned into his memory
His gaze drifted to her hands. Small, callused, gripping the handbag like a lifeline. His mind raced. The bag… right.
“Give the bag back,” Gabriel said, his voice low but firm. He stepped forward, extending his hand, feeling an unusual mix of irritation and a sense of urgency. The thief's eyes flickered, scanning for an escape route.
Her lips parted, but she didn’t give in. Instead, she pulled something from her pocket and turned it over in her hand. Wrapped in greasy newspaper, Gabriel grimaced slightly at the thought of it staining her clothes. Before he could react, she tossed it high into the air, a quick, almost practiced motion.
Both he and Emilie scrambled to find it, their eyes trained on the flying package, but it was already too late. By the time they looked back down, the girl had already lunged towards them, her movements swift and precise.
Without warning, she lashed the shoulder strap of the bag around their legs. Gabriel and Emilie went down in a heap, crashing to the ground, scrambling and struggling to untangle themselves. The thief slid past them, snatching up the paper package with a sneer before disappearing into the darkness.
After what felt like hours of scrambling and tangling with Gabriel in the mess they’d found themselves in, Emilie finally managed to get back on her feet. Her breath came in short bursts, and she could hear Gabriel’s labored breaths beside her. She glanced over at him — his heart still seemed to be racing, his chest rising and falling rapidly. Both of them stood there, eyes fixed on the empty street, where the thief had vanished into the night, long gone.
“Well,” Gabriel muttered, his voice flat and unimpressed. “That was... something.”
Emilie sighed, a little exasperated herself, and felt the tension in her shoulders begin to unwind. She glanced at him, a playful edge creeping into her voice as she tried to lighten the mood. “Thanks for the help - that was quite the adventure!”
But Gabriel barely reacted, his response coming in the form of a soft grunt. “It was no trouble,” he said in that quiet, almost irritated tone of his. The words sounded so odd coming from him, and Emilie could tell that he wasn’t exactly feeling the same way. There was an awkwardness between them now, a heavy silence that settled in as they started walking.
The sound of their footsteps echoed in the empty streets as they walked side by side, neither of them really knowing what to say. Emilie’s mind buzzed with the oddness of the situation, but she noticed Gabriel seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. She could feel the weight of his disappointment, even if he hadn’t said a word about it. He had tried so hard to catch the thief, and yet, she had escaped. It was more than just the stolen handbag — something deeper was gnawing at him. But what was it?
Sensing the shift in his mood, Emilie softened her tone, her voice gentle. “Frustrated she got away?” she asked, trying to offer some understanding.
Gabriel’s eyes flicked to hers, and for a moment, he looked almost startled. His hand went to his purple mohawk, ruffling it in frustration as he let out a groan. “She was right there! And then she pulled that backhanded trick, and-” His words trailed off, and Emilie could see his face suddenly go blank. He exhaled sharply, then looked at her with a hint of concern. “You’re okay, though, right?”
Emilie blinked, caught off guard by his question. It wasn’t that she hadn’t expected him to care, but the way he said it... it was surprisingly sincere. She couldn’t help but smile faintly, her surprise melting away. “Oh, me? Yeah, I’m fine.”
Gabriel nodded, but there was something softer in his expression now, like the hard edges of his frustration were starting to fade. “Good. I… just don’t like letting people get away with things, especially when they’ve got it out for you.”
Emilie couldn’t help but smile a little at how genuine he sounded. It was strange - she hadn’t expected him to be this protective. In a way, it was endearing, especially with that tough-guy front he kept putting up. She hadn’t realized how much he cared, and she found herself warming to him just a little bit more. She scolded herself for judging by looks.
Gabriel took a deep breath, letting the exasperation roll off him. “Anyway, she won’t get away next time.”
“Next time?” Emilie raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued.
Gabriel’s lips curled into a grin, a mischievous spark lighting up his eyes. “Next time,” he said, his voice laced with determination as he leaned in close. "I’m not letting her off so easily."
The two teenagers spent the next week poring over a map of Lille, their eyes tracing the crisscrossing streets, plotting out the best routes, and marking potential hiding spots. They worked in the dim light of Gabriel’s cramped room, their fingers tracing over the map again and again. Emilie was focused, always two steps ahead, the quiet intensity of her calculations unfathomable. As it turned out, Emilie was an unexpectedly skilled tactical strategist. Her seemingly cold and practical demeanor would have been unsettling to Gabriel if he weren’t already lost in the throes of love. In fact, if it were even possible, it may have made him fall even deeper for her. The way her sharp gaze flicked to him with every calculation, the subtle curve of her lips when they shared a quiet laugh - he couldn’t help but feel as if he was seeing a side of her privy only to him. And so, they lay in wait.
They didn’t have to wait long before their target struck again.
Gabriel spotted her weaving between the tables, collecting small items here and there. Quietly, he left his post and approached the girl. But when he was just a few feet away, he noticed her tense up - time to stop dancing around.
He lunged at her, earning a few confused, concerned looks he’d have to explain later, but was quickly winded by a sharp elbow to the gut. Regaining his breath, he kept up the chase. Keeping calm and sticking to the plan, he didn’t follow her directly. Instead, he used his knowledge of Lille to cut off her routes, guiding her toward a nearby alley.
He was pleased to see that the alley was blocked by a large pile of trash and old containers - until she started climbing.
Fuck.
“Why?” he muttered to himself, his voice drowned out by the increasing roar of the rain. He cursed under his breath and scrambled after her, his hands slipping against the slick refuse.
The rain had become torrential now, sheets of water cascading from the sky, turning the ground into a slick, unforgiving mess. Gabriel reached for a discarded crate to steady himself, but it slid away beneath his fingers. The girl was just ahead, her movements fast, practiced. It was clear she had done this before.
And then, in the chaos, it happened.
Gabriel’s foot sank deep into something soft. It was a trash bag. A disgusting, wet, soggy bag. His leg jerked forward with a sudden force, and in the split second that followed, he accidentally grabbed hold of the platform she was standing on. The metal creaked beneath her, the ground shifting underfoot.
Gabriel froze as he watched in horror. Her body twisted as she lost her balance, her mouth forming a silent “o” as she fell.
He would’ve preferred a scream.
The breath was knocked out of her chest in a single, sharp rush. For a moment, everything went silent - the steady pounding of rain against the pavement, the rhythmic whoosh of water sloshing around her boots, seemed to disappear entirely. Her heart was pounding in her ears, the world blurring and fading in and out of focus as she struggled to breathe. The heavy, rain-saturated air felt thick and impossible to pull in. She gasped, her body trembling, trying to force air into her lungs, but it was like trying to catch water with her hands.
Dead.
Dead.
Dead.
She was - wait, no.
She was alive.
A sharp sting in her side made her wince, but she barely noticed it - the torrential downpour around her had become all-encompassing, her focus consumed by the desperate need to take that first, steady breath. Her chest burned, her vision swam in and out, but slowly, the edges of the world began to solidify again. The downpour plastered her dark hair to her face, dripping down her neck, but she barely felt it now.
Breathe. She needed to breathe.
A few shaky breaths followed, each one easier than the last, until the tightness in her chest finally loosened, and she could draw air once again, though her body still quivered from the shock of it all.
Painfully, she contorted her body, her soaked clothes clinging to her as she twisted, dragging herself toward the nearest wall. Her hands slipped in the wetness, but she managed to lean against it, propping herself up. In the dim, waterlogged world around her, the fries - the stupid fries - had spilled out of the soggy box she’d been carrying them in.
"Shit," she muttered under her breath, swiping at the mess, trying to salvage what she could. Her fingers fumbled to gather the sodden fries, attempting to drain the filthy water from them with a futile motion.
"Are you actually planning to eat that?"
The voice startled her, and she realized she had almost forgotten about him - about them . She shot a glare at the intruder, but with her hair plastered to her face, her shaking hands, and her drenched clothes, it probably looked more pitiful than menacing. A pair of wet boots splashed as someone else appeared, emerging from the shadows of the street corner.
"Gabriel! Are you okay? I got lost, but then I heard a sound, and I came as fast as—" The blonde cut off when she saw the girl on the ground. She crouched low, her face softening as she approached. "Are you okay?"
Despite the silence, the blonde's concern was persistent. "I know we haven't got off on the right foot, but I'd like to start again. I'm Emilie, and this is Gabriel!"
Gabriel let out a small groan, clearly annoyed, which coaxed a soft chuckle from the other girl—she hadn't meant to, but the absurdity of the situation made her laugh, even if just a little. Emilie’s cheerful energy seemed to break through the tension, even making Gabriel crack a reluctant smile.
"Nathalie," the fallen girl whispered hoarsely.
"Nathalie," Emilie repeated, her face lighting up. "What a beautiful name!"
As trite as it sounded, Nathalie couldn't suppress the shy smile that tugged at her lips. Emilie’s infectious energy seemed to melt the cold, even reaching Gabriel - who, despite his earlier pursuit, found himself stepping closer.
"Do you have a place to stay?" Gabriel asked, his voice softer now, a completely different warmth in his tone from before.
Suddenly, Nathalie felt embarrassed by her disheveled state, her clothes soaked through, her hair clinging to her cheeks. Her face flushed, and she stammered, "Oh, I’m fine-"
"That’s not an answer," he cut in, a cheeky grin tugging at the corner of his lips, his tone unexpectedly playful. Her mouth gaped open, speechless. Before she could find her words, he crouched in front of her, his posture casual despite the rain drenching them both. “Get on my back. We’ll go to my place for the night.”
Still dazed by his directness, Nathalie couldn't help but nod, consequently surprised at how easily he hoisted her onto his back. The rain continued to pour in sheets around them, but the warmth of his back against her and the quiet of the night helped ease the exhaustion settling over her.
The walk to Gabriel’s was passed in a comfortable silence, broken only by the sound of the rain pouring down around them. Nathalie, with the exhaustion finally catching up to her, let her eyes flutter closed, the steady rhythm of his footsteps and the warmth of his back providing the perfect lullaby. A nap, she decided, was exactly what she needed.
Warm. Cozy. Safe.
These were the first words that came to mind when Nathalie stepped into the Grassette’s house. After Emilie had left to fetch - or rather, smuggle out - some clothes from her place, Gabriel had led Nathalie to the bathroom. And now, she stood there, inspecting the patchwork of bruises, scars, and lacerations blooming across her otherwise gaunt form. Thankfully, her face had been mostly untouched, save for a split lip and a cut along her cheekbone - nothing too difficult to explain. The rest, however… Well, she just hoped Gabriel and Emilie weren’t the curious type. Though given their track record for meddling, she didn’t hold out much hope.
She stepped into the bathtub and let her body sink into the warm water. Closing her eyes, Nathalie felt the warmth of the water seep into her aching bones, serving as a balm, soothing her overworked muscles. For a moment, everything felt still, as if the world had paused.
But then, her chest tightened. The warmth turned oppressive, suffocating. The image of cold, harsh water flooding her lungs swarmed her mind. A hand gripped her neck - strong, relentless, holding her down. She gasped, but all she could taste was soap and the sharp burn of fear, the pressure of hands forcing her under, under… and then the gurgling, the bubbles, the frantic thrashing beneath the surface.
No, no, no, she thought, trying to pull herself out of it, but the weight of the water on her chest wouldn't let her breathe. A warped distortion of her mother’s cold voice in her ear and her father's sneer as he held her under rang in her skull.
She jerked out of the water, spluttering and coughing. Her breath came in short, panicked gasps, the bathwater splashing against her skin, mimicking the desperate, suffocating feeling of drowning. Her heart thudded in her chest like it was trying to break free.
The room was too small. The air too thick.
Calm down. Breathe. Just breathe.
But it was so hard. So impossibly hard.
Nathalie clutched the edge of the tub, her fingers trembling, her pulse a chaotic drum in her ears. She knew that she wasn’t underwater anymore, that no one was there to drown her, but the terror felt so real, so immediate, like her body couldn’t tell the difference.
Quickly, she stumbled out of the bathtub and tugged on her underwear, guiltily ignoring the mess she made. Drying herself off, she burst out of the bathroom, eager to be out of that wretched place.
Her father would not approve of this situation.
At all.
Emilie had not expected Nathalie to plop herself on Gabriel’s bed in nothing but her underclothes, making her flush. What? She had nice legs! And while she did not take Gabriel for a pervert, she was baffled to see that he did not seem to see anything wrong with the situation. Instead, he was rightfully more concerned with the alarming number of injuries covering the other girl's body.
Out of habit, Emilie straightened her posture and pressed her knees together, as if fixing her ladylike manners would translate to Nathalie’s lack thereof. Getting flustered watching Gabriel casually handle Nathalie’s body and the latter’s comfort - or was it plain weariness, she wasn’t sure - in his hands, Emile chided herself for acting silly. In an effort to be actually helpful for once, she went over to help Gabriel. She hesitated to admit it to herself, but the thrill of doing something forbidden by her parent was intoxicating, as minor as the offense was. She decided to focus on the more important matter of Nathalie’s well-being.
It turned out to be a good choice for Gabriel to stay - bandaging poor Nathalie up was not a one-man task. Emilie so desperately wanted to ask about the injuries, but now just didn’t seem that appropriate of a time to bring up such a topic - her nosy ass would probably have to needle it out of Nathalie another time. In the meantime, she chose the much safer topic of clothes.
“Let’s choose some clothes for you! My sister Amelie tossed me all sorts of things, so we have plenty to choose from!” Emilie heaved the bag of garments onto the bed. ”What’s your favorite color?”
Nathalie looked owlishly at the wide range of fabrics strewn around her. She hesitantly prodded and rubbed the expensive fabrics, clearly in awe. Gabriel too looked like a kid in a candy store, inspecting the unique sewing techniques and patterns. Emilie spotted one of her favorite shirts in the pile and quickly took it out. Amelie, when I get my hands on you, you motherfu- Finally, Nathalie nervously looked back up at Emilie. She nervously licked her lips before answering the question.
“I-I don’t really know…” She admitted as she looked back down at her fidgeting fingers.
Emilie tilted her head, studying Nathalie’s reaction. There was something… unnerving about the way she hesitated, as if the very idea of picking something out for herself was a foreign concept. Emilie couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy. How could someone not even know their favorite color?
“Well,” Emilie began, her voice softening, “How about we start with something simple? Do you like darker colors, or maybe something brighter?” She smiled encouragingly, trying to make the decision feel less daunting. “Amelie’s tastes are pretty bold, so we’ve got some fun things in here.”
Nathalie seemed to perk up a little at the suggestion, though her eyes flitted nervously over the assortment of clothes again. After a long pause, she seemed to muster up a small answer, barely audible. “I think… red. I like red.”
“Red it is then!” Emilie said, her voice suddenly brighter. She carefully sifted through the pile, pulling out a soft, burgundy, collared shirt. “This one’s simple but cozy. It’ll look great on you.”
Gabriel, still hovering near the bed with his focus half on Nathalie and half on the clothes, spoke up. “Red suits her.”
Nathalie smiled shyly, nodding in agreement. “Thank you.”
Emilie quickly set the shirt aside and moved on to a pair of pants. She threw them over her arm with a decisive nod. “Perfect! Let’s get you dressed and ready for bed!”
Gabriel never thought he’d have so much fun with two girls. Wait, that sounded wrong-
Rather, he never thought he’d be in this situation in the first place - having a sleepover with his crush and the thief they tried to catch. Emilie was, as expected, the life of the night, leading their conversations with her loud laughter and infectious energy. She could talk for hours about anything, and Gabriel found himself intrigued by her dramatic tales of mingling with high society and navigating wealth. Of course, there was always a bit of embellishment, but he couldn’t deny that her charisma was magnetic. Nathalie, on the other hand, was quieter, but every small smile or soft chuckle she gave seemed to light up his world in its own way, grounding him with a calm that Emilie’s energy couldn’t.
The party, however small, had to come to a close when Emilie glanced at her watch and realized it was time for her to sneak back to her house. She made it sound so nonchalant, like it was just another late-night adventure to squeeze in. “I'll just make a quick exit,” she laughed, giving them both a wink, and was gone before Gabriel could even say anything further. It wasn't until the door clicked shut behind her that Gabriel and Nathalie were left standing in the bedroom, surrounded by an uncomfortable silence.
Finally, Gabriel spoke up.
“I suppose we should probably be going to bed… You can take the bed, I’ll take out a mattress.”
“You shouldn’t have to sleep on the floor because of me!” Nathalie whipped around, protesting, speaking louder than he had heard her before - though that was not saying much.
“You’re the one with bruises,” He drily retorted, crossing his arm and trying to make his face look as deadpan as possible.
“So?”
His jaw dropped. Was this girl serious? He scanned her face. Apparently, she was.
“What do you mean ‘So’?”
“Bruises heal whether you’re sleeping on the floor or the bed,” she shrugged nonchalantly as if she didn’t see the twistedness of what she had just said.
“Well… i-it’s more comfortable on the bed and you’re less likely to reopen your wounds,” he shot back.
“You have injuries too,” she calmly pointed out. “And I’m more used to lying on the floor.”
“Then, I guess we’ll just both have to make do with the bed,” Gabriel finally huffed. “You go under the sheet, I’ll sleep over it. We’ll have a pillow in the middle. Fair?”
Finally, the stubborn girl nodded.
With everything that had happened in the last 24 hours, there seemed to be an incongruency between his mind and body on the matter of sleep – his mind raced with the chaos of recent events, yet his body, exhausted and heavy, demanded rest as though it had no memory of the turmoil that had just unfolded. His muscles ached, a dull throb in his limbs from the tension of the day. He could still hear the thrumming of the rain and see the flashes of lights that had lit up the streets only hours ago. And yet, here he was, lying still, his body sinking deeper into the soft bed, as if none of that had even happened.
His roommate didn’t seem to have any more luck; turned away, she lay unnaturally still, perhaps trying not to disturb him. She was a strange presence, so quiet in the dark, like a shadow at the edge of his peripheral vision. The only sound between them was the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, a soft sound, almost meditative, but it didn’t soothe him the way it perhaps should have. Instead, his mind lingered on the oddity of the situation—the fact that they were here, in his room, together in the midst of this chaos. What was she thinking right now? Was she replaying the same events in her head, trying to make sense of them, or was she somehow able to shut it all out, finding comfort in the peace of the night?
He didn’t have to wonder long.
“Will your parents be back soon?” Nathalie timidly asked, her voice barely above a whisper, as if not wanting to break the fragile quiet of the moment.
“Oh yeah,” Gabriel replied, his voice sounding distant, almost detached. “Yeah, they’ll be back tomorrow. Since they’re bikers and also food truck owners, they’re often out and about. Leaving little old me with the original Friterie.” His words were sharp, laced with bitterness, the reminder of his solitary role weighing on him. He didn’t feel like talking about the food truck, but there was something about the way she had asked—it was as if she genuinely cared, and the weight of her gaze made him continue. “We can wake up early tomorrow and introduce you to them properly when they arrive.”
Nathalie hummed in approval, though the sound was faint, a soft acknowledgment of his words.
“What about yours?” He tentatively prodded.
Still not looking at him, she just sighed and lazily waved her hand. “Oh, they were the ones who kicked me out… my fault really… I was being obnoxious and got on their last nerves.” She tried to play it off humorously, but Gabriel could tell it was a sensitive topic from the weariness of her voice and the way she curled up.
She was quiet for a long while after that, lost in her thoughts, but Gabriel could still see her out of the corner of his eye. Her hands moved absentmindedly, fingers tracing the outline of the small black plush cat leaning haphazardly against the headboard. Her eyes followed its every movement, transfixed by the simple comfort it seemed to provide her. There was something so innocent, so pure, in the way she looked at the plush, and for a moment, it took him back to when he was younger, before all this. Before life became too complicated to hold onto the small comforts.
A playful smile tugged at her lips as she turned her head toward him, her blue eyes sparkling with a curious light. “Who’s this little guy?” she asked, her voice gentle as if she were discovering something precious.
“My père made that for me when I was smaller,” Gabriel admitted, a faint warmth creeping into his voice as he rubbed the back of his neck. It was strange to think of that time now. So much had changed since then, but the memory of his father’s hands carefully stitching the cat together, each thread woven with care, still lingered in his mind. Seeing Nathalie’s childlike wonder fill her gaze, he added, almost instinctively, “You can sleep with him - he’d probably like the company after so long.”
She blinked, momentarily stunned by the offer, before her expression softened. She looked at him as if he had just handed her something fragile, something sacred. She hesitated for a second before reaching for the plush cat with the gentlest of hands, cradling it as though it were a newborn. She tucked it carefully under the blankets, nestling it in with a tenderness Gabriel had never quite seen before. The sight struck him, more than he expected, the way she cared for this small, insignificant object. It was like she was trying to give it life, to treat it as more than just fabric and stuffing.
Then, as if the moment was too delicate for words, Nathalie fully turned to face him, her body angled toward him, her eyes glowing faintly under the moonlight that filtered through the blinds. For a moment, all he could see was her face, pale but soft, the shadows of the night tracing the contours of her features.
“I’ll make sure to give him back. I won’t steal him,” she said, her voice a quiet promise, but the way she smiled at him - small and secretive, almost shy - made him want to believe her.
“I mean, you can take him if you wish,” he replied, shrugging a little, though he didn’t really mean it. It was a half-hearted attempt at brushing off the growing feeling of attachment. The plush had always been his; it was a part of him, a comfort he had held onto for years - and seeing her with it, watching the care she gave it, made something inside him soften. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing, after all.
She smiled, her eyes gleaming. “But then le petit chat noir will miss you.”
Gabriel didn’t have an answer for that.