Archive of Our Own ^beta

Back then, it was just her and Chat. It was stressful, but not like now. 

They were friends, but also nothing like now. In hindsight, it was easier to see how this was the first step towards that. She hadn’t thought about the mysteries of her partner. She could take him at face value because there wasn’t any more to him. It was refreshing, for her, to think that there was one person she didn’t need to speculate the intentions of.

Chat Noir was the reliable person she was partnered with, simple and easy to understand.

“Have you heard of the lily of the valley?” 

“No?” She answered, watching the careful handling of his bouquet. Normally by now, he’d have given her the flowers with a flirtatious smile. He had given her more than a small smile since they met on the rooftops, and he’d kept his flowers in hand. “Why? Do they mean something special?”

Flower language wasn’t something she was well versed in. Chat Noir, however, tended to pick up hobbies as he could. He didn’t talk about them much, but he answered questions about them. Flower language wasn’t one of those hobbies, but it was one of his ways of communicating.

Red roses for love, passionate and heated. Yellow roses for the love of a companion, deep and platonic. White roses symbolize pure love, appreciation of presence in life.

“It’s…they’re meant to ward off evil.” He showed her the bouquet. Her memory served her well, the whole wrap full of white flowers. “Your thoughts will reach the person you love if you give them a bouquet.”

She knew the language of flowers well enough now. Then again, also she knew what the flowers were for as well. More specifically, she’d read the same book as Chat Noir from front to back more times than she could count.

There was a fire in her, a desire to learn more about him that hadn’t quite ignited yet.

He started before she could ask anything else. This was the most secretive she’d seen him, up until this point.

It was a little concerning to see.

It was one of those winter days that seemed to be the coldest ever experienced. Dark, stormy clouds would cluster over the city for weeks at a time without a single drop of rain yet the air would feel soaked with cold water.

It was the weekend. No classes for now, and back then she’d managed to snag some free time by pushing an all-nighter for three essays. It’d scrambled her brain like the whole world was Adrien, but she’d rested a little easier.

Of course, it was the weekend for her partner as well. There hadn’t been an Akuma in sight for three days and she was honestly hoping for four. Perhaps five, if Hawkmoth was merciful. Yet her partner didn’t seem very relieved.

Her first thought, trailing after him, was school work. He’d never complained about it to her, but she did her best to return that favor. The difference seemed to come from why . School often overloaded her, but it seemed like Chat Noir could do school work with ease she was jealous of.

Either that or he didn’t do homework at all. Nobody ever said he was her age.

He was if she had to describe him, a little frigid today. Something about him seemed fragile, like thin ice at the edge of a lake. Every time the wind blew, he wrapped himself around the bouquet a little. Whether he was worried about the rain, he had an umbrella at his waist.

It was enough to beg the question of where they were going, what they were doing, who were they going to see?

Not that she wasn’t a little fond of her partner, but there were things she would have rather been doing. At the very least, they could have gone to a cafe where it was warm .

Tikki had warned her that cold wasn’t meant for Ladybugs. Every breeze reminded her of that, hurrying her along to stand at Chat’s side. He’d cast a glance and a small smile like he was distantly surprised she was still here.

She’d agreed , hadn’t she? Even if she was freezing.

They took alleyways rather than rooftops for the same reason he tucked the flowers away when anything got too close.

Today was a special day.

She was a girl entirely unaware. It was nothing unforgivable, though she did like to hold herself to higher standards for her friends.

Her immediate thought when they arrived at a graveyard was that this was where he went when had free time. He was one of those rebellious teens who laid on graves and smoked in alleys. It certainly didn’t help that they hopped over the fence.

Her second thought was that this was a private cemetery. The graves held the variety of a place that had gone through trends, mausoleums, and obelisks, and still had room to give. Each grave had its own place, even the massive beasts made of marble roared delicately in a grid.

There was grass. Green, wet, cold, it was an entire miracle of its own that it managed to stay alive.

Chat Noir made his way down the rows and columns with small, delicately placed steps. Her papa had told her once that it was incredibly bad luck to step over the bodies buried in a graveyard. It was rude to move too fast, her mother had followed up. One had to be mindful of the dead in a graveyard full of them.

She thought, perhaps a little absently, that her parents would appreciate the effort Chat Noir was putting in. Either he was keenly respectful or simply very aware of where he was.

She realized now, he was simply uncertain. It wasn’t like he’d never been in a graveyard, but he’d sparingly been to funerals. He spoke to her of grandparents long since dead. He could remember the church bells when his father had pulled him away from his grandfather’s grave. He hadn’t known the man, but everything about the day had stuck out in his mind.

A funeral at twilight on the darkest day of the year. There was a horse statue on his grandfather’s grave, a single name. He stood there through the speeches, through the condolences, he stood there until the only people who remained were his mother and father. He could remember the church bells ringing every hour through the service and after. His mother had left him first, returning to the car to warm back up.

His father had pulled him away at the end of it all. He used delicate words to describe the weight of his hand, how small he had felt in his father’s hug. The way he spoke made him a different man than the one who lived with Chat now. 

He told her he heard the church bells whenever he died. Of course, learning that made her think of church bells in the same way. Never-ending rings from a bell tower just out of sight, only falling silent when he was back in the world of the living.

It was all in her head, of course. A trick of the mind.

She hadn’t known any of this then, of course. She was just a girl, unaware of her partner.

He set his flowers down, not in the vases they kept by graves, but only because there was no grave. It was a space of green, the end of their row and column. He stepped back, mindful of her position, and crossed his arms behind his back. His tail sagged, his ears flattened down.

Perhaps, then he waited. His eyes went to the sky, then they fell to the ground.

Whatever he thought, he’d kept to himself. 

Finally, after the street’s traffic had eased and grown like a wave several times, she asked. Not for his thoughts, those were always private to him.

“Chat…who is this?” She hadn’t spoken harshly, but he had been standing there. She was chilled to the bone in a way that made her think she was about to pass out.

“Hm?” He smiled, watery and frail but a vague attempt at good-humored. He looked like he wanted to cry, but something was keeping him from it. In short, he looked miserable.“There’s no one here. Grass and flowers.”

“An empty grave?”

“It’s not empty.” He told her and himself. There were all the telltales of reassurance to the keen eye. “There’s dirt. There are flowers too, now that I put them here. Grass and worms. Might as well be a full grave.”

“Why-” He’d dragged her out into the cold, to a graveyard, and now he wouldn’t even tell her why. “Why are we here, Chat?”

“It’s a secret...but, I’ll tell you if you promise me you’ll forget.”

“Alright.” She nodded, eager to hear.

“This is my mother’s.” He said, letting out a shaky sight at the end.

A wealth of emotions erupted in her chest, guilt most prominently. “O-oh. Wait, it’s empty?”

“Don’t forget your promise, milady.” He held a finger to his mouth, good-humored and quite sad. Then it fell back to his side, clasping at something out of reach. “It’s a long story. A disappearance, you could say. There was no note, no goodbye. My father fell apart, but even now he insists that she’s alive.”

“I’m sorry, Chat.” She was. She was sorry for thinking he’d dragged her out here for no good reason just like she was sorry that life seemed to have been so unkind to him.

“It’s alright.” He shrugged not nearly believable enough for her, even then. “I loved her, but she was a lot like my father.”

“Is…that bad?"

“It’s a secret.” He held a finger over his lips, “The best secret is the one you don’t tell.”

“I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” He told her, looking down at the grave. “And...no, it’s not bad. My father’s a complicated man, but I think he does love me. That means my mother loved me too, even if…”

The wind blew, howling through the city and the trees. The grass that was tall enough to sway did so freely, rubbing against their legs, back and forth. Repeating time and again, there was comfort in that movement. She wanted to reach out and grab it, to try and feel the wind move her to its comforting lull.

“I want her to be dead.” He admitted, suddenly and a little scared. “I want her to be dead, but I don’t want her to be dead. Does that...make sense?”

She looked at him. She looked at the grave. She thought about Chat’s mother, whatever she looked like. She sounded...complicated. Was she kind? Had she loved him enough to make up for leaving? Was she controlling or mean?

“I…” She started, “I think you want to be able to move on. And, that isn’t wrong of you.”

Part of her wanted to know the answers. She wanted to tell her partner something conclusive because that was the way she liked to help people. She wanted him to look...not so sad. She just had no idea how. She had no real idea what would make him smile.

How odd it is, to realize how little you know.

“Move on…?” He seemed to find himself suddenly, stepping back with pursed lips. “I...didn’t bring you out because I wanted you to pity me.“ It wasn’t a rebuke. It was a clarification, as if he was suddenly aware of how this might look.

“There’s nothing to pity.” She snatched his hand, letting it squeeze against her own. Open, close, open, close , only now it wasn’t so empty. He gave her a questioning look, “Ah, do you…mind? My hands are freezing . It so c-cold.”

He grimaced, looking at how she was shivering. “Sorry for bringing you out here. You look like a bugslicle.” She rolled her eyes at his joke but didn’t interrupt him. “You have another life. It isn’t one of our scheduled meet-up days.” He grimaced, “I just don’t have many people I can rely on for this. My father didn’t allow mourning.”

“Don’t be sorry.” She shook her head, pulling on his hand to bring him closer. “It’s the same with me, you know?”

He let out a puff of steam, not getting what she meant. “What…does that mean?”

“You’re the only one I can rely on, Chat Noir.”

He looked doubtful, “I’m sure you’ve got loads of friends.”

“Not…really. Things are getting better, but I wouldn’t say I have loads of friends.” She frowned at the way that sounded. Insincere? Like she was downplaying to make him feel better when she really didn't have many friends. Words weren’t easy for Marinette, but she was Ladybug now. She needed to figure it out. “None of them know Ladybug though. I’d say you’re Ladybug’s only friend.” 

He looked odd now. Not... sunny , but he wasn’t as dim as he was before. He was just…content, she had to suppose. Like the twilight sky. Content to be standing with someone. “The…next time you come here, I want to come.”

“What? Why?” He looked surprised. “Who says I’m coming back?” Came out after, sounding more like an excuse for her to get out of what she said.

She didn’t, nor did she want to. It wasn’t a lie to say he was the only one Ladybug could rely on. “I’m not just going to let you stand in the cold, Chat Noir. What kind of partner would that make me?”

“A warm one, probably.”

She smiled because he didn’t seem quite so upset. “We can get hot chocolate under the Eiffel Tower or something. Then we’ll both be warm.”

“I’ve…” He paused, looking a little hopeful and a little confused. Soon enough, it would be more than familiar to her. “...Never had hot chocolate before. Is it-“ He let out an odd noise as he was pulled from the earth by a tight grip and a yo-yo/

“We can get hot chocolate this time and next time! Whenever you want!” She said, seemingly appalled by the fact that he’d never had the chocolatey drink. In her mind, the warm dark chocolatey drink was synonymous with winter, along with presents, profiteroles, and lights. His home sounded dark and cold, especially if he’d never had the drink. “Have you at least had profiteroles?”

“Profiter- What?”

“Cream puffs, Chat Noir! Little balls of bread and flavored cream!”

“Oh!” He shouted over the wind, limp like a rag doll as she made the corner. He had a baton, but it was a little fun to see him twirl in the wind like a streamer. “Uh, doesn’t sound familiar?”

“What!” Heresy to the baker’s daughter. “What’s your favorite dessert then?”

“S-sugar water?” She snapped a glance at him, the baker’s daughter in her horrified. “W-Wait! Chocolate torte?”

“Oh!” She smiled because at least her partner had that. “You like chocolate torte?”

“I’ve had it…once? It was bitter…” She looked back. Once? That seemed like practically a crime. She’d been surrounded by sweet treats and fresh, warm bread her whole life.

She held onto his hand tightly, speeding across rooftops even faster than before.

The hot chocolate she’d chosen today wasn’t anything special. She didn’t know the vendor, but he was friendly enough to give two free cups to the heroes.

Under her supervision, he got spiced hot chocolate with ginger and chili flakes. The spice had turned him red, but he said that he liked it. She sat across from him on a roof just east of the Eiffel Tower, listening to him talk about tea parties of all things.

“-So, my friend decided she loved apple and chamomile tea because she saw her mom drink it.” He took a sip between words, “The problem being that I hate chamomile and apple tea separately, but she wouldn’t stop filling up my cup! Then, if I didn’t drink it she’d get mad!” Another sip, “So I kept drinking it, but it was terrible .”

“You don’t like chamomile?” She’d always been partial to the flavor. Her favorite was Earl Grey tea, but she couldn’t handle caffeine well.

“Not at all.” He shook his head, taking another sip. Was this…something he did? “It’s too floral. Plus, I like to have tea with milk but if I put that into chamomile it just makes it worse! It’s just milky flowers!”

She nodded, “Sounds awful.”

“And ever since then, I couldn’t drink chamomile or apple tea without getting sick.” He finished, setting the drink down. Her own was still…half full? It might be a good time for a test. She’d had cherry hot chocolate, which was admittedly not very good. It wasn’t a bordering abomination per se, but still not very good. She handed it to him, ignoring the questioning look in favor of asking a question.

“Do you have a favorite tea?”

“Oh! I love ginger tea!” Did he light up, connecting his answer with another anecdote maybe? It was nice to see him so bright in comparison to earlier. “I think it was called…Hawaiian, I think? I think they put honey into the tea or something.” He took a sip, his nose wrinkling at the flavor. Going to set it down next to his cup, he was interrupted.

“Why do you like it?”

His hand stopped . Then he pulled the cup back, tapping his fingers on the cup. “It’s warm?”

“It’s tea.” She said, “Isn’t it supposed to be warm?”

“Well,” He took a sip, wrinkling his nose again. “Yeah? Ginger tea is different though, it tastes warm. Like when you eat chili flakes or something.” His ears went up, and he took another sip. No nose wrinkle, unfortunately. “Oh! Lemon ginger tea is really good too! I think that’s probably my actual favorite if we’re getting specific. Whenever I had a bad day, one of the-“ His mouth snapped shut with a clack, the cup at his mouth before he could say more. “Anyway, uh, I used to drink it a lot when I had a bad day.”

“A bad day? Like at school?”

“No, I used to work long hours for my father. Ever since I was…six?” He smiled down at his cup, “I don’t think I’ve ever had a bad day at school though.”

What? How was that possible? “Oh, I have them all the time!”

“Really? I can’t imagine that.”

He took a sip, listening to her talk. There was a point in time when people were mean at school, but it’d been getting better lately. She had a friend now, Alya, though she didn’t name her. She was a big fan of superheroes. Ladybug had never understood that if she was honest. That was a riot to Chat Noir, because what kind of superhero didn’t like superheroes?

She liked superheroes. She just didn’t get them.

Wasn’t it better to do good if people didn’t know who you were? What if there were heroes who only did well because they wanted to be famous? Did one selfish reason cancel out all the good they did?

“Oh, I don’t think so.” He said, choosing his words carefully. “It all depends on the selfish thing, doesn’t it? If you save a thousand people, but you’re doing it because you only care about one of them, does that cancel it all out?”

“No! But some of the heroes we have only want to be famous!”

He waved a hand, “Once they get famous, they’ll see it’s not so great. If they keep doing good stuff after that, I think they’ll be okay.”

“How do you know so much about fame?”

“I’m sitting next to someone famous, of course.” He took a sip, “Haven’t you seen all the merchandise?”

“Please don’t talk about it…I saw a shirt with my face on it earlier.” She flushed, “It was such a bad photo! Why would they do that?”

He laughed, loud and clear, like a church bell in the way it wrapped around the world. It was a sound she loved, without deciding. She wanted to hear it more, to hear the way his happiness sounded so clearly across rooftops. She made a mental note of it.

Time passed and the world warmed, she heard the laugh more often. She figured out ways of making it appear. Chat Noir liked it when his jokes landed. He liked hearing her laugh as well, though that was only for the very good jokes. He liked laughing with her.

She brought him tea, lemon ginger with milk. He didn’t laugh in joy, but he’d smiled oh so very brightly. She made a note of that as well. On the days when they walked through Paris, she made sure to take him by as many bakeries as she could.

He was quite inexperienced in the world of baked goods. He liked fruits and jams quite a bit, but the chocolate tended to give him headaches if it was too bitter.

The distance needed to maintain a secret identity led to her collection of Chat Noir facts having an odd shape. Who he was was never asked, because the answer to that was obviously Chat Noir. The most important things she couldn’t know were traced by facts she could.

Slowly, the mystery of her partner seemed to...unravel. Perhaps not unravel, but Chat Noir’s vacancy in her life slowly filled with things, memories, facts about him. He was a person whether he had a mask on or not. Now, it seemed silly to think she’d ever thought of him otherwise.

She wondered if it was so wrong to hope for colder days now, to wonder when he would pull her aside to go to the grave. It wasn’t such a terribly sad day anymore, even if it always started with a tinge of mourning.

Now he treated it more like a chance to catch up. He brought two blankets, one to sit on and one for her. They’d talk about the lives they could share and in the same way, he’d treat it as a way to let his mother catch up to her son’s life.

Afterward, hot chocolate. He could cry if he wanted, any time he felt like it. She’d hold his hand through it all if he clung onto it. She’d bury him under a pile of as many baked goods as her reputation would allow her to pull. Profiteroles, eclairs, slices of cake, even donuts. Absolutely anything he wanted. Most of the time, he just asked for time

She didn’t...it wasn’t spoiling him. For one thing, he deserved it. For another thing, he always ended up falling back into an upset.

As a final note, she wasn’t even sure she could spoil him when he took everything she gave so hesitantly.

She was excited for those days, their day though more his than hers. She’d even...she’d forget about Guardianship for the day. She was hopeful for them. The cloudy weather of London had reminded her of those days.

She included some tips on them, just in case, she couldn’t make it.

She’d thought of it all weekend, relatively. Then she’d returned to be told “You need to talk to Chat Noir .” In a tone that sounded distinctly like You’re in a lot of trouble . 

She landed beside him now, and she instantly knew he was upset. She wouldn’t have needed to be told by Alya if she’d been able to see him now, just by how he stood on the rooftop. Glaring down at the street, chewing his tongue in thought.

They were both different, more wearied by their duties. He was taller, thinner, paler. She worried about him in excess because of all those things. His smile never seemed to fit him anymore. 

He wasn’t the only one she could rely on anymore, but there were days where it felt like it. 

His ears turned towards her like they usually did. Normally it made her feel like the lead, confident and capable enough to command an alley cat’s full attention. Now it made her feel pressured. It made her feel very much like she’d done something wrong.

Somehow it made her realize that being Guardian meant very little in the face of an opinion you treasured dearly.

She started, “I’m…sorry. You have every right to be angry-“

“I am angry.” His glare intensified on the street, “You just left. You stuck me with a replacement who I’d never even met before!”

“It worked out!” She defends, suddenly feeling very much on the defense. “You saved Paris! Everything is fine now, isn’t it?”

“Ladybug, that doesn’t matter! ” He sounded like he was doing his utmost not to shout. She’d never seen him this upset. “I tried to Cataclysm her! What if I had?”

“W-what? Why?”

“I thought she stole those earrings from you or kidnapped you or-“ His hands clasped at the air, a habit he’d never been able to shake. “You just left! You didn’t even try to let me know.” He grits his teeth, finally turning to look at her. “Your replacement wouldn’t even answer if you were coming back! She just left!”

“She did what?”

“I had to chase her to find out anything .” He shut his mouth, “How could you- You just- You left! ”

In fairness to her, she’d tried to get out of the trip almost relentlessly. 

Nearly every other time, she’d managed. How was she supposed to know it wouldn’t work this time? How was she supposed to know her father would be so resistant to spending time with her aunt? Why was he yelling at her? She could feel a heat grow at the bottom of her stomach, ready to lash back out.

Looking at him made her feel cold.

Why did he look so scared?

“I came back.”

He looked at her, the anger leaking out of him faster than air in a balloon. Now he just looked tired. “That’s not…the point.”

“No, it’s not.” She said. 

She wanted to grab his hand, but another part of her felt it would be too soon. Holding his hand wouldn’t make him less upset. Instead, she opened her mouth and explained . “I was in a rush. I’d been trying to get out of leaving all week, and when I couldn’t I had to pack as quickly as I could. That’s not supposed to be an excuse, but now that I said it…”

“It’s better than nothing, isn’t it?” He murmured, “Just…don’t…do it again. Please .”

It was apparent that he wanted the conversation to be over. Neither of them was good with confrontation, she got angry too easily and he liked to flee. She steeled herself, because if he wanted to be upset then they would talk .

That unfortunately meant carrying on the conversation.

“I can’t promise I won’t have to leave. I have a life outside of Ladybug and there will be things I can’t get out of again.” She can see the way his shoulders carry his tension because he does know these things. He knows about life and how unreliable it can be. The best she can do is try to smooth it over as much as she can. “ If this does happen again though…”

His tail was still lashing out behind him, still upset. He was listening though, by the way, his eyes were trained on her feet instead of looking into her eyes. He’s not running away either, which means he’s not panicking over the inevitability.

“There’s a bakery. It’s the one I get you croissants from.”

“You mean the Dupain-Cheng place?”

“That’s the one.” She said, taking one step forward. He doesn’t step back. “If I’m ever gone, go there and…check on the balcony table. I’ll leave you a…croissant if I’m just gone for a day.” 

She’s obviously making it up as she goes, because if he asks the wrong question then that’s her secret identity. “If I’m going to be gone more than that, I’ll leave you an eclair. One eclair for every weekend.”

He lets out a breath of air that comes out as more of a wheeze, close to a laugh. “You want to leave messages with baked goods?” She nodded, more certain. It was a good basis, “And what happens when the pigeons find your snacks?”

“I’d leave a lid on top!” She huffed, “And I’ll send a message if I can. This isn’t replacing our communicators.”

“Just in case Scarabella happens again?”

“You say it like she caused the incident…” Then she snatched his hand-- open, close, open, close. “If you’re a good kitty, I’ll bring you your favorite macaron so you know it's me for sure.”

“Do you even know what my favorite macaron is?”

She was offended by the accusation, “Of course! Passion fruit.” He looked almost like he wanted to change his favorite just to have an ah-ha moment against her, but then he seemed to decide against it and nodded. “You shouldn’t doubt me so easily, kitty. I’ll always come back, so now you have a macaron and me to look forward to.”

He sounds so hopeful that it hurts. “Is that…right?”

“Of course it is.” All she can do is smile and nod, and hope that her luck lets her keep the promise. “What would I do without my partner?”

What would you do without me?  

He opened and closed his mouth, seemingly about to say something. Then he decided against it, pressing his lips together to tightly seal it away.

If he suddenly vanished from the world, it would be like she’d lost the sun. 

The silence felt unbearable. “If it helps at all,” She started, “it wasn’t very fun sitting on the sidelines.”

He humored her, “Oh?”

“The whole time I was worrying about if my partner was being treated well! Not to mention, my bad-pun senses hardly went off at all and that made me worry even more! ‘ What if he’s so upset he’s not making any puns?’ Or worse, ‘ What if he’s making good puns and I’m not there!?’ ”

He let out a snort, “You don’t have bad-pun senses.”

“I do! Just like you can see in the dark, I can always tell when my partner makes a bad joke. No matter how far away I am, I get a tingle on the back of my neck whenever you make paw-ful puns.”

Whether or not he believes her factual statement, it seems he’s decided to reward her efforts with a grin. It looked foreign and odd on his face, filled with sharp teeth and very little real joy. Yet the joy that was there was real.

She could tell he was still upset, with her and in general. Feelings didn’t just fade because they were talked about. She was just glad the grin wasn’t hiding his feelings. They could, and would, still talk, but for now, he’d decided to be glad she was back.

They let the other person lead to the edge of the rooftop, to sit and talk and watch the sunset.

“Tell me about your trip. Was it at least fun?” Now he was trying.

“It was alright.” A shrug, “I prefer Paris though. Everyone sounds so weird there and every once and a while I’d look at the skyline to see the Eiffel Tower, but it was never there.”

“I’d be concerned if I looked up and the Eiffel Tower was just gone .” He looked it up and down. “That’d be quite the Akuma.”

She gave him a flat look, “If the Akuma followed me to London, I think I’d have a breakdown.” That made him laugh all the way, loud and clear across the city. “You’re the one who is supposed to have the bad luck.”

“You’re supposed to be good luck.”

“Yet,” She clucked her teeth, “I’ve never won a lottery.”

That made him laugh, a lovely sound. It carried across the city like church bells, distinct in its poise and echoes.

“And you?” She asked, elbowing his side, “What did you do this weekend?”

“Homework, mostly.” She gave him a look for giving one of the most default answers her partner cycled through. “I played some piano too.”

“Anything nice?”

“Clair de Lune. Plagg helped me make it ragtime.”

She gave his suit a look, “Plagg can play the piano?”

“He told me he helped invent it.” He made a face, “Not sure if I believe him, but he certainly knows how to play.”

“What else did you do?” He opened his mouth and shook his head, “You didn’t read anything.”

“Oh, A Poison Tree by William Blake.”

“I’m not sure I want to know what that’s about.” She looked up at him, “Do I?”

“Probably not.”

“Alright.” She sighed because sometimes a conversation with her partner was worse than pulling teeth. “What about people .”

“Hm…” He thought, “Well…”

He went on to explain that he hadn’t felt like going through his father to hang out with anyone, but he had managed to snag a few moments to play games online. The friend he normally played with was busy attending to something , which was usually coded for his girlfriend. She thought his friend sounded a little odd, but she couldn't quite name how.

Otherwise, it seemed he genuinely hadn’t done anything else. No amount of questions could prod more information if there was none, so instead, they sat in silence.

A qualifiable mistake. 

Sitting with her partner wasn’t bad. The sun went down and the sky was dyed indigo.

The trouble was that without conversation, they were stripped of any excuse to smile and talk about anything but what mattered .

And so, tension built on his shoulders until he broke the silence. “You...can’t just leave.” Me? She wondered if he’d meant to add that. If he wanted to ask her to stay near him. Would she?

“It’s not something I really enjoyed doing.” She looked out at the city, “I’ll do my best not to.”

“I know, I know. I’m...sorry I yelled.” He seemed disappointed with himself, that he’d let his temper get out of hand. It wasn’t so much that he’d yelled, but the fact that it was so rare that scared her. He’d have to be truly upset. “I was just...scared, I guess.”

“What do you have to be afraid of?” 

Chat Noir was afraid of many things, but she’d never thought of him as a fearful person. He took the world on better than most, even with the weight of his fears. She’d always defined him by how stubborn he was to resist fear. Even when he’d been faced with his nightmare, he hadn’t faltered. Chat Noir wasn’t someone who gave in easily.

“If you’d left suddenly, I wouldn’t have any way of finding you again.” He said quietly, “I wouldn’t be able to say goodbye. I don’t have any clue who you are. I don’t even have a name . The last thing I said to you would probably be ‘ pound it’ or something.”

“That’s not such a bad way to say goodbye.”

“It’s not what I want.” He leaned away from her, “I’m terrified you’ll leave.”

He took a breath,  “I’m scared you’ll replace me.”

...Leave? Replace?

A thousand thoughts triggered at once, alarms and warning bells. A ship in a storm was more silent.

What did she do to make him think that? How did she ever make him think he could be replaced? Didn’t he know how important he was?

Didn’t he know how much she worried about him? It was constant, except when he was nearby. Was he doing well when he was gone? Was he eating enough? Why did he look so tired these days? Why was he getting thinner no matter what food she brought him? Why was he sighing so much these days? It wouldn’t make sense to replace him, and even without logic, it wasn’t what she wanted.

Maybe it was the Auxiliary Heroes? She saw how he panicked around them, how he moved to the other side of the rooftop when he could. She thought he was shy. She thought he wanted to avoid being hurt again.

So many things to be afraid of these days. Shadowmoth was more powerful than ever. The identities of the Auxiliary were open secrets between them and their enemy. How was this one of them? How could he fear that?

“How could I ever leave you?”

That thought was loud enough to slip through her lips, loud enough that he’d heard her question. She might’ve been embarrassed if she wasn’t so... confused. And angry. Upset would perhaps be the best word.

It, plainly, didn’t make any sense to her. It bounced back and forth between the walls of her brain. She squinted up at him, at the thought in her head. Dissecting it.

The earth, the sky, and Chat Noir. 

Constants of the world. She knew for a fact that it was easier to get rid of the moon than it was to get rid of him from her life.

He opened his mouth, words caught in his throat as she reached up. She ran her fingers through his hair, working down until her hand was on his cheek instead. The fabric of his mask was warm as always.

He was looking at her. Confused, scared, happy? He was always a big softy for contact.

“You’re my partner.” Softly, she glared at him. “The one and only Chat Noir. Don’t you dare forget that.”