So this is what hypothermia felt like. She had heard it described to her before; drowsiness, delusional, sudden cease of shaking, losing consciousness, and terrible decision making. At least it wouldn't have been a painful death-she would simply fall asleep, and then never awake.

Though pain is what she deserved.

In her hands was a dirtied and small photograph. Standing beside her in the faded square was someone she held dear; a red-head with a painting smock tossed over his arm. She remembered suddenly being ambushed with a camera, and the two of them scrambling to look presentable.

With a touch of her scraped fingertips, a sense of burning enveloped her being. She could still smell the smoke; she could still feel the ashes burn her eyes. Certainly, it could have been the tears stroking down her cheek, as well as the severe fatigue she fought momentarily while she reflected on the past.

Drowsiness.

"My dad's in debt," he said in her mind, "My talent is all we have, so if I stop painting, so does everything else." Even though it was in her mind, it was almost too real to be a figment.

Delusional.

She held the picture close to her chest with her hole-stricken gloves. Snow fluttered gently on that sidewalk. It was a cute little town-one not very known, filled with shops, boutiques and cafes. Even in a worn down slum like this, the orphan girl didn't seem to belong. The street corner she began growing numb on smelled like fresh garbage, and she knew she probably smelled no better, having to sleep next to them with no access to cleanliness.

Over by her side was a stray dog, munching on the last piece of food she had received. She had no use for it-not anymore. At least her last minutes were spent with one act of kindness.

A pathetically minuscule act, but still good.

"Nathnäel…" The scene around her became dimmer and dimmer, the feeling in her nerves leaving with her sight. Though it was so cold, she didn't feel cold; a fatal, yet unimportant fact to her.

Losing consciousness. Sudden cease of shaking.

She was going to die here. Nobody would remember her, other than that dog.

All of the people who would have left before her.

"I'm sorry…" With a clenching of her teeth, she took in the thought of him trapped in that burning house, probably suffering for eternity before his passing. "I know you won't forgive me for dying this way. If it means I can see you soon, you can burn me a thousand times."

"Just please, don't be dead." The whisper faded with her crystallized breath. Footsteps approached, but it was just another passerby. For once, she wished them to simply walk by again-leave her body for dead. Let that dog be the last one to remember her existence.

"Hey, are you alright?" But the feet stopped in front of her. She opened her heavy lids only halfway, that being the amount of strength she had left.

'Please, leave me be.' She would say yes, if only she had the strength.

"Can you hear me?"

His lowered knee came into sight, crouching over a pair of shiny shoes. It sounded like his voice, but she couldn't tell, she wasn't even aware of how incoherent she was.

All she knew was a familiar old painter's smock fluttered in front of her. A warm light wrapped around, pulling her into a feeling of sleep.

"You came… for me…"

"Take me with you." She pleaded.

It was her last wish before the world around her blackened. The last thing she heard was a number of desperate cries.

"Marinette." He smiled at me, handing me a warm cup of freshly brewed tea. It was in a dented metal cup, but something lacking so much class had class of its own, and made me feel a warmness I hadn't experienced in forever.

"It's a beautiful name."

I blushed, blinking up to meet his aqua eyes. They suddenly widened, realizing what he had just said, and instantly became flustered. "S-Sorry! I need to stop blurting things out…"

I smiled, snuggling into the brown blanket he wrapped around me. I had awoken on a springy couch in the back of a large room filled with canvases and painting supplies. Then, this red haired boy with the old smock came in to check on me.

Catching my grin towards him, he inhaled, as if collecting his confidence. "My name is Nathanäel. I don't have much to offer, but if you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

I kept my lips sealed, unsure of how to take this. Remembering all that had happened to me before waking up, I gazed my eyes into the dark tea, hanging us both in silence.

He looked over to the abandoned rag sitting beside me. Nathanäel placed a warm palm to my forehead, forcing my heart to jump.

"You're still really warm, and your cheeks are bright red." He removed his smock and threw it over the side of the couch. "I'll change your rag for you."

He wasn't the type to pry, simply to care-I knew this upon first meeting him. Though it must have been painfully obvious I was suffering over something, he still attended to my needs first.

I finished the tea in gratitude towards him, despite feeling terribly nauseated and lay down. After dumping the rag in the bucket of water beside me, I let Nathanäel gently place it upon my forehead. His fingers stroked my cheek.

"Get some rest. I'll be here when you wake up."

I never thought I'd sleep again-not after what had happened.

But I did, thanks to him. This was the beginning of the many memories we'd share together.

I wish it had never ended.

She felt a warm rag be placed to her head. It was a familiar touch, but instead of it being cold, it was hot. The warmness also encased her body, something wrapped around her.

"Nathanäel…" She mumbled, opening her eyes. It was all hazy, but she started to make something out. It was a person; a person's face. Nathanael?

No-definitely not. This person was blonde, and his eyes were green.

Wait a minute.

He?

"Are you awake?" He asked.

She stared blankly at his face, confused with the utmost intensity.

"You're not Nathanäel."

"I'm not." He responded casually.

"Are you an angel?"

"No."

"Did you die, too?"

"I'm very much alive." He smiled at her, pinching her cheek. "It's good to see you are, too."

She was dumbfounded. Had she died and been confined to some beautiful boy's room? No, that was impossible. Surely the afterlife wouldn't leave her to haunt some stranger for the rest of his years.

Because he was touching her and she felt it, meaning she wasn't…

… She wasn't dead.

The boy blinked. "What's wrong, you've been spacing o-"

She quickly sat up, banging their foreheads together with a loud smack. They both crumbled with a groan, her on the bed, him on the floor, both holding the inflicted area.

He moaned, doing his best to recollect himself. "Did you… Forget that I was right there?" Joking in these situations was his strong point, despite the urge of sarcasm arising in his chest right then. On the bright side, it seemed she was better enough to move quickly, but not enough to process or react to her surroundings.

"I'm not… Dead?"

"No, it's actually a miracle you survived. Your lips were completely blue, and when I carried you your body was like-" He stopped, the sound of crying cutting him off. "... ice."

She lay there, arms drawn over her eyes, sobbing quietly. The deeper reality sunk in, the more uncontrolled she got. This was the last thing she wanted-to live was the ultimate punishment. That's what was happening; she was being punished. Marinette wasn't allowed to be happy, even with dying.

He stared at her; frozen still.

A/N: WHAT'S THIS A NEW SERIES OH NOOOOOOO.

I'm so sorry. This was supposed to be a one-shot. Why can't I ever just write a one-shot?
Uhg.
Well, I hope you enjoy this, you guys! Hopefully this will be a LOT shorter than the other stuff I planned, haha;;.
Hopefully.