Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Marinette sunk deep into her bed, staring up at the ceiling and willing herself to not cry.

What was the point of crying over something so inevitable? Something so predictable, so true to her life, so typical?

“Oh, Marinette…” Tikki sighed, “I’m sorry…”

“For what?” she asked, the wobbling of her voice betraying her. The other kwamis flitted up to her, and she felt what seemed like a hundred tiny hands on her, hugging her like they always did in times like these. “It’s fine. I knew it would happen.”

It wasn’t a big deal.

Tikki didn’t say anything. Instead, she landed down beside Marinette’s head, pressing her face against Marinette’s cheek, and the tiny dorm room fell into silence.

She squeezed her eyes tight, feeling the warmth of tears slipping through the cracks— and for what? What was she even crying for?

The ‘relationship’, if one could call it that, barely lasted a month. She’d had much nastier breakups in the past— breakups from relationships that lasted longer, breakups from people she cared about more, breakups that spat harsher vitriol. And it wasn’t like she could blame Adeline for calling it quits— they’d barely been on any dates, a horrible string of the worst akuma timings imaginable left Marinette to cancel or ditch essentially every date that the two had planned since the first.

But Marinette liked Adeline. She was really nice, her lips always looked so soft, and she always gave the best critiques in class— so constructive, and yet so encouraging. She’d smile at Marinette with her bright eyes, tell her her work was amazing, and Marinette believed her. She wanted to believe that more, too. She liked the way that Adeline made her feel good, and she liked the way that Adeline held her hand under the table when they got coffee together, and she had been excited to like it more and more as she got to know her better.

“Seriously, Marinette,” Adeline had nearly hissed, pinching the bridge of her nose as Marinette desperately waved the apology tickets in her face— tickets that she had purchased in a panic after being abysmally late to their date to deal with a particularly perturbed construction-worker-turned-villain, “I can’t deal with this anymore. Go by yourself, if you even have the time. I’m done with this.”

Honestly, it was a miracle that she’d held out as long as she had.

Marinette threw her legs over the side of the bed, forcing herself to sit up and take a long, deep breath. She wiped the snot from her nose and tried to scrub the wetness from her eyes, feeling all the tiny pairs of eyes on her.

She looked to her nightstand— and there they were. The stupid cinema tickets, taunting her, willing her to collapse back into her bed, willing her to cry her eyes out like she did for all her other failed relationships, willing her to retreat back into her shell.

But she refused.

“Tikki,” Marinette sighed, “Spots on.”

Ladybug took to the skies.

Sure, maybe Marinette’s relationships were all doomed— maybe Marinette was doomed to be alone for the rest of her life, maybe Marinette was doomed to never experience romance, to never have company. Maybe even Marinette’s friends were sick of her shit, maybe her relationships were all falling apart, maybe nothing was ever going to work for her, but Ladybug—

Ladybug missed her toss, and started careening towards the street.

Something caught her, and she gasped, and whatever caught her— no, whoever caught her had their arms around her, and after a mid-air flip, they landed right on their feet on the sidewalk.

She huffed and looked up at her ‘hero’.

“Ah, my lady!” Chat Noir beamed down at her, the stupidest grin on his self-satisfied face. “Falling for me again?”

“How many times have you used that line?” she scoffed, wiggling in his arms just enough for him to get the hint and put her down on her feet. He did.

“Is that supposed to be a rib, or a self-roast?” He tilted his head, a funny look on his face that was just typical.

“A self-roast, I guess,” she sighed, turning her eyes warily to the rest of the street, watching the Parisians carrying on with their days— their happy, normal, self-satisfied little days, with their friends and lovers and loved ones who they had because they had normal lives—

She felt Chat Noir’s eyes on her, his smile dropping just a smidge, and she knew what was coming, so she tried to get ahead of it by saying “Anyway, thanks for catching—”

“You okay?”

“I’m fine!” People were staring at them— which was typical. People were always staring at Ladybug and Chat Noir. Because they were oddities. They weren’t normal. Not like everyone else got to be—

She turned and leapt up onto the nearest rooftop, fleeing from the prying eyes. She heard Chat Noir’s boots behind her in a second.

“You know, my lady,” Chat Noir said, a kindness in his voice that had her running the palms of her hands harshly down her face, “If something’s bothering you, you can always tell me.”

No, she couldn’t. They weren’t supposed to discuss their civilian lives. He always seemed to forget that fact.

“I’m fine,” she sighed, turning around to face him and forcing a smile, “Just had a rough day. It happens.”

“What was rough about it?”

“Nothing that isn’t typical,” she scoffed, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry about me.”

He hummed, his kind eyes boring into her in a way that she distinctly hated. “Well… if you’re sure—”

“What are you doing out?” she interrupted, eyeing him, “We don’t usually patrol at this time.”

He shrugged. “I could ask you the same question.”

“Just blowing off some steam, I guess,” she said honestly, blowing a strand of hair out of her eye.

He twirled his baton, his eyes finally releasing her from their hold to gaze out across the skyline. “Yeah, same here. Been a purrty boring day, I guess.”

“Never say ‘purrty’ again,” she commanded, a seriousness in her tone that had him grinning at her. She couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Well, my lady, if we’re both free for the evening…” He stepped closer to her, the hands innocently placed behind his back contrasting with the mischievous glint in his eye. “Why not spend it together?”

She rolled her eyes, locking her gaze onto a particularly tall building in the distance to avoid his face. “Who said I’m free for the evening? I’m going to see a movie.”

Not that she wanted to see it alone. Not that she was sure she wanted to see it at all. But she felt obligated, because she’d already spent money on the tickets, because she wanted to at least pretend like she had her shit together, because a dear friend of hers was starring in it…

He’s not your friend anymore, a cruel voice reminded her. She bit her lip.

“Why, my lady!” he gasped, placing his hand on his chest in his dramatics, “Of course, I accept your invitation!”

He was joking. He was clearly joking. She knew that, he knew that. He didn’t actually think that she had invited him. But…

But…

“Actually. You know what?” She whipped her yoyo from her hip, checking the time. “You free in half an hour?”

He blinked. “Uh… yeah?”

“Then I guess we’re seeing a movie,” she said, unable to keep herself from smiling at his gaping face. “What? I have an extra ticket, and the person I was going to see it with, uh… canceled. So, assuming you want to…”

He whooped, doing an unnecessary little twirl and pumping his fist— he was always so unnecessary, so over the top, and she couldn’t help but feel a bit of the coldness in her heart melt. She wished she could be as carefree as him. “YES! Oh, absolutely, I’ll be there! I should stop by an ATM, get some cash—”

“What?” she snorted, “I told you, I already have the tickets—”

“For snacks!” he emphasized, throwing his arms out in excitement. “It’s only fair that I treat us, since you got the tickets!”

“Oh, of course,” she chuckled, “Sounds good.”

“What movie is it?”

“In the Rain.”

He blinked at her, his smile falling.

“Uh,” she cleared her throat, “It’s that one starring… Adrien Agreste and… some… other people?”

“Oh, I’ve heard of it,” he said with a nod, his smile returning a bit too tight, and she wondered what about it would make him uncomfortab— oh.

“It’s not like that!” she huffed, feeling her cheeks grow hot, “Yes, it’s a rom com, but that doesn’t mean it’s a date—”

He barked out a laugh. “I thought you hated rom coms!”

“I don’t hate rom coms!” she groaned, “I just hate them after—” after breakups “—Okay, maybe I do hate them, but I’m obligated to see this movie, and watching it alone would be a thousand times worse than watching it with a friend! And I promise not to freak out this time!”

“Why are you obligated to see it?”

Because she knew someone in the cast. Because she wanted to support her friend, even if he wasn’t really her friend anymore, even if they hadn’t talked in years. Because maybe seeing the movie would be an excuse to reach out to him, to tell him her thoughts on it—

She crossed her arms. “That’s confidential information.”

“Well, you know I’m always here to be your support! We can face any challenge together! You know what we always say, you and me against romantic comedies—”

“Oh, please,” she snorted, “I bet you love romantic comedies.”

“I do,” he admitted with a nod and a wistful smile. “I’m just a sucker for a happy ending.”

She rolled her eyes and gently hit his pectoral. “Then I’m sure you’ll love it! What are you waiting for? Go get your cash, I’ll meet you there. Might as well get there early if we’re getting snacks!”

She relayed to him the theater, and he left with a bow. She rushed back to her dorm room and snatched the tickets off the nightstand. Leaving the kwamis with a timid wave, she made her way to the theater and idled at the entrance until metal boots hit the concrete beside her.

“We’re going to get sooo many snacks,” he said with a grin, and she couldn’t help but smile as she led him into the theater, ignoring all the prying eyes.

Yes, she was having a terrible day, and she was about to watch a movie that was absolutely guaranteed to make her feel even worse, but maybe, just maybe, Chat Noir’s positive energy would find a way to mitigate the inevitable and insurmountable damage to her psyche. His energy was always good at doing that, at guiding her through the worst disasters.

She told Chat Noir what she wanted, and while he picked up the snacks at the lobby, she found herself distracted by a poster.

In the Rain

Starring Adrien Agreste, …

She didn’t care about the other names.

She chewed her finger as she stared at it. There he was— Adrien Agreste, her first love (could she call him that if she never even told him that he was?) and once a dear friend, looking older than the last time she’d seen him in person, but just as old as the last time she’d seen him in a magazine, staring lovingly down at his co-star as the two stood under a black umbrella.

She couldn’t help but huff.

She could do this. She could make it through the movie. What was the problem? It wasn’t like she was still in love with the guy— she hadn’t seen him in years, not since his father pulled him out of public school halfway through lycée. They’d fallen out of touch, Adrien went back to his gilded life as a celebrity— as a star— and he was happy, and he deserved all the fame and opportunities that he got, and she was happy for him, and there were no problems, and it was totally normal to watch a movie with him in it, and it totally wouldn’t be weird or awkward or out of touch to watch the movie and then send him a text telling him she loved it even if she didn’t and he definitely still remembered who she was and totally wouldn’t scoff and roll his eyes at her name in his notificatio—

“My lady!”

“AH!” She shrieked, jumping back from the green cat eyes that appeared before her.

“I got everything!” Chat Noir said with a grin, his arms full of popcorn and candy, two soda cups in either hand. He held up the cup in his right hand. “This one’s yours!”

“Great,” she cleared her throat, grabbing the cup and some of the snacks to lighten his load, and then turned and headed into the theater.

She led the two of them to the back row of seats and settled down. She hoped that staying in the back could keep some of the eyes off of her, as she was feeling at least a tad self-conscious of her spots. She shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth.

Chat Noir leaned back in his seat, picking at some of the candy he’d got with his claws and opening it easily.

“You know,” she began, mouth full before washing down her popcorn with some soda, “It’s been a while since I actually had theater food. I usually sneak in my own snacks—”

He gasped, feigning offense. “That’s illegal!”

She laughed. “No it’s not! The only thing that should be illegal is how overpriced all that stuff is.”

“Ah, but what an authentic experience!” He grabbed some of the popcorn and tossed it into his mouth. “Nothing beats movie-theater popcorn!”

“Oh yeah? Well, nothing beats…” she snatched her yoyo from her hip, opening up the compartment and reaching her hand inside. With her tongue stuck out, she patted around in the hammerspace until she found something, pulled it out and presented it to him, “... Old breath mints!”

“Illegal contraband, just for me?” He grabbed one of the mints from her palm and tossed it into his mouth just like he did the popcorn. “Ah, my lady, you shouldn’t have! This isn’t a thinly veiled insult, I hope?”

“Nothing thinly veiled about it.” She smiled and shoved the mints back into her yoyo. “Your breath totally smells like cat food.”

“Me-owch! I’d much rather it smell like butter.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn. She did, too.

Eventually, the advertisements and trailers finished their runs, and the lights dimmed. She zipped her trap shut and sunk into her chair, narrowing her eyes at the screen and willing herself to focus on the movie, focus focus focus, watch the damn movie.

It was torture.

She tapped her fingers rapidly against the armrest as the plot played on. It was fine, at first, before he made an appearance on the screen— and then she realized, belatedly, how long it had been since she really heard his voice. Magazines had always spared her from that.

Of course the character he was playing was a sweetheart. Of course he was! It was the perfect type of character for him to play, so sweet, so generous, so kind with gentle smiles.

She missed him.

No, she wasn’t still in love with him. She was sure of that— it had been years, after all, and she was pretty sure she never even knew him as well as she thought she did.

But he was her friend. And she missed him. And they’d already blown through their snacks, so there was nothing left to distract her as Adrien handed an umbrella to the female lead.

“You good?” Chat Noir whispered in her ear, and she bristled.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she hissed under her breath, “What makes you think I’m not?”

“You’re growling,” he snorted. And, okay, maybe she had let out some air from her throat in a low rumble— but she didn’t think he could hear it. “And very clearly tense.”

“You’re tense,” she scoffed, and it wasn’t a lie. “Quit shifting around, you’re distracting me.”

“So true, I can be very distracting,” he said, and then readjusted his sitting position for the millionth time in the past half hour, “And I’m just— having trouble getting comfortable.”

“That’s not my problem,” she said with a roll of her eyes. Adrien’s smile filled the screen, and Chat Noir shifted more, and she sunk deep into her chair.

“Seriously,” he whispered, “We don’t have to stay if you hate it—”

“I don’t hate it,” she lied through her snarl, “And I told you, I have to watch it. You’re free to leave if you want.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Fine, then.”

Somebody shushed them, and she huffed, crossing her arms tight over her chest and sinking even deeper into her seat. She felt an arm around her shoulders, and couldn’t help but roll her eyes.

“Ah, much more comfortable,” Chat Noir cooed, and she could hear his shitty smile. She sighed and shook her head, not bothering to push him off as her eyes stayed locked on the screen.

As annoying as he could be, she was definitely glad he was there. She couldn’t imagine how cripplingly lonely and awful she would feel if she really had come alone. She was fairly certain she would’ve started crying by this point if he wasn’t there— actually, it was a miracle that she hadn’t yet. She felt constantly on the brink.

Why did she ever think she’d be able to handle watching this stupid movie? She hated watching romantic comedies when her life felt anything but— just a desolate, lonely, superhero action movie— and the fact it starred Adrien only made it a thousand times worse. It was something about the hole that he’d left in her heart, about all the things she’d wanted to say to him but couldn’t and never did, about how pathetic she’d been, about how typical it was, for good things in her life to slip through the cracks. Romance was something that was unattainable for her, as Adrien so perfectly served as a reminder for.

And then the emotional climax came, and she did cry. She allowed herself to, because Adrien and his co-star and at least one other person in the theater were crying, and she was so lonely, destined to be alone, unlike Adrien, who was now sharing a lovely kiss in the rain with the pretty woman who she would never be, because she would never kiss someone in the rain, because nobody would ever love her because she was destined to hurt all the people closest to her and be alone forever because she had so many responsibilities and she couldn’t live a normal life—

She felt a clawed hand rubbing her shoulder, and a familiar warmth leaning in against her, and she cried harder.

At some point, the movie ended, and the moment the credits began to roll, she shot to her feet and exited the theater.

“Hey,” she heard Chat Noir’s voice come from behind her, but she ignored it, surging through the crowds, hoping not too many of the staring people noticed the tears staining her mask— because she was Ladybug right now, dammit— and leapt to the nearest rooftop to be away from prying eyes. She sniffled, wiping away the last remaining remnants of her tears, patting her cheeks hard to get ahold of herself, and his voice came again, “You okay?”

She turned around to face him, and he was standing right behind her on the rooftop, his eyes soft and genuine with concern as he stepped closer to her.

“Yeah,” she huffed, wiping under her nose, “I’m fine. I-I just hate rom coms.”

He smiled, but something about the nervous look in his eyes told her that he knew there was more to it than that. He took another step closer to her, and she allowed it. “You know… I cry at rom coms all the time.”

She couldn’t help but let out a small wet laugh at that. “Oh yeah?”

“Mhm.” He smiled brighter, and she felt a little less cripplingly lonesome. “Though, usually not because I hate the movie…”

“I didn’t actually hate it,” she sighed, “I… I liked it. I’m happy for them. They— They looked… really good together.”

He hummed in noncommittal agreement and gave a small nod.

“They’d have such pretty babies. I’m sure they’re super happy. And super in love. Good for them! I’m sure Adrien is very… happy with her,” she huffed, turning her gaze to the sky, “Good. He deserves that.”

“You… mean Théodore?”

She gave him a look. “Who?”

He blinked. “Um… the… character played by Adrien Agreste?”

“His name was Théodore?”

“Yes,” Chat Noir chuckled, “Didn’t you watch the movie?”

“I was a bit distracted,” she shook her head, looking off again. “Also, there’s no way I’m ever going to call Adrien Agreste ‘Théodore’. What the hell?”

“It’s called acting, my lady!” He shot her an amused look. “But of course, I understand why you were distracted. After all, I was right there—”

“Uh huh,” she snorted.

“—and purrsonally, I was a bit distracted, myself. By my lovely date, of course—”

“Not a date.”

“—and, more seriously…” he hummed, resting his chin against his fist, “I found the product placement a tad overbearing.”

“Product placement? What product placement?”

“You didn’t notice?” He looked out over the skyline. “The wardrobe was all ‘G’s. Nearly every character was wearing one, every scene. I bet practically the whole movie was funded by Gabriel.”

“Oh.” She hadn’t noticed that. For once, she hadn’t been looking at the clothes at all.

“No wonder Adrien Agreste got a part,” he said with a tight smile.

“Oh, please,” she scoffed, “He totally could’ve gotten the part either way. He’s a really good actor!”

“You think?” he said, casting his eyes to the side.

“Are you kidding me? He was great!” Maybe she’d even get the courage to tell Adrien that herself. Maybe. Probably not. “Besides, have you seen him? He was practically made to be the love interest in a rom com.”

“Oh yeah?” Chat Noir laughed, an inexplicable pinkness to his cheeks as he looked at her, “What, you’re saying he’s boyfriend material?”

“It’s hardly a hot take,” she scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest, “What, you don’t think he’s attractive?”

“Hmmm…” he hummed in mock thought, though the act was a bit weak with the big dopey smile on his face, “Not my type.”

“I don’t trust people who say Adrien Agreste is not their type.” She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, it doesn’t matter anyway, because he’s off living his normal life—”

“‘Normal life’?”

“—Okay, fine, his fun rich celebrity life,” she scoffed, “Being good at everything he does and being pretty and loveable and having no superhero problems and falling in love and kissing his lovely little girlfriend in the rain—”

“You do know what acting is, right?” he asked, eyeing her.

“Did you see their chemistry? The way they looked at each other?”

“Asking again— do you know what acting is?”

“Co-stars hook up all the time!” she defended.

“Stella Mounier is married.”

“Who?”

“The actress who played Elise.”

“Elise?”

“Asking again— did you watch the movie?” he laughed.

“Whatever,” she scoffed, “It doesn’t matter. If he’s not with her, he’s probably with someone else. Adrien Agreste is like a pretty little princess in a fairytale, locked away in some unreachable tower, out of sight and out of mind, rich and famous and high above everyone else and surrounded by love and happiness—”

“Another question comes to me,” he said, “Have you ever read a fairytale?”

“Anyway,” she huffed, “My point is, it doesn’t matter what I think of him, because there’s no way he’d ever care what I think, and it’s not even about him, really, it’s about what he represents, and— and why are we still talking about him?”

“I’ve been wondering that myself,” he said with a strange look on his face.

“Yeah,” she sighed, turning towards the city and plopping down onto her behind. She hugged her knees to her chest and stared out over the skyline. “Who knows.”

Chat Noir sat down beside her, his movements careful as he scooted up close to her, his hip bumping against hers. “My lady… you know, I’ve been getting an inkling that this is about more than just a movie.”

“Like I said before,” she sighed, letting her eyes droop to the crowds below, “I just… had a rough day. In the most typical of ways.”

He leaned close to her, his shoulder brushing against hers, and she couldn’t help but curl in tighter on herself.

“Ladybug, I… I know we can’t talk about our personal lives…” he said, and the genuine softness already in his tone was nearly enough to make her want to get up and run, “But anything that you can tell me, I’m here to listen. Always.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she muttered, her eyes still watching the normal people below. She couldn’t bear to look at him. “It wouldn’t change anything.”

“Maybe not,” he agreed softly, “But like I said, I’ll listen.”

The two were silent as the city below continued about its business— the quiet chatter of civilians walking and talking the only sounds filling the air.

She hated this. She hated feeling this way, she hated keeping it to herself— but who else was she supposed to talk to? She’d already talked Alya’s ear off about her problems, time and time again— she’d already heard the whole “Don’t give up hope!” spiel from her from her last three breakups, and she didn’t want to bother her again with her predictable problems while she was busy in Martinique visiting family. And it wasn’t like she had any friends from her university that would have anything to say to her other than a “What did you expect? Of course she dumped you. You’re so flaky, all the time, and frankly, we’re sick of you, too—”

“Do you ever wish…” she began, barely a whisper, “... that you never got your miraculous?”

Chat Noir was silent for a moment, and she sucked in a breath and closed her eyes.

If anyone understood what she was going through, if anyone in the world was like her at all, it would be him—

“No,” he said, and she wondered why it hurt so much, “I don’t.”

“So… you never feel like…” she took another deep breath, and she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, not even as she felt his arm being placed across her shoulders, “Like being a superhero is keeping you alone? Like… that if this whole mess never happened, you’d be so much happier?”

She couldn’t believe that he didn’t know what she was talking about, that he’d never experienced it. She couldn’t believe that at all— of course, Chat Noir had the easier job of the two of them, less obligation to come to every single akuma and a whole lot less kwamis to babysit, but he still came to every akuma attack, and he still had the responsibility of keeping Paris safe on his shoulders. Maybe he couldn’t understand it to the same extent, but surely he was at least partially in the same boat as her—

“No,” he said again, and she couldn’t help but bristle, “I’ve never—”

She pushed his arm off of her and pulled herself to her feet. “Well. Nevermind then.”

Of course he wouldn’t understand. How could he? Chat Noir was always happy, always smiling, always cool in even the worst situations. He was happy. He was fine. He didn’t have the responsibility worth a thousand suns. It was just her, only her, it was always only her—

“No, wait,” he said, standing up next to her, “My lady, I’m sorry you feel that way—”

She snatched her yoyo off her hip and tossed it, catching it onto a far-off chimney.

“It’s fine,” she said, unable to hide the bitterness in her tone, “I’m glad you’re happy, Chat Noir.”

She was gone before he could respond.

*****

Hey, Adrien! Is this still your number? I know we haven’t talked to each other in a long time, and I’m not sure if you even remember who I am or if you still have me in your contacts at all, but this is Marinette Dupain-Cheng and I’m just writing to you to tell you that I saw the movie that you starred in and I thought that your acting skills were very proficient and

Too wordy and formal.

Delete.

hey adrien! this is marinette! :) i liked your movie!

Too short and casual.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien! this is Marinette! do you remember me? Dupain-Cheng? anyway, I just wanted to text you to tell you that I really liked your movie. anyway, bye! maybe message you again in another few years! haha

Pointless.

Delete.

Hi! You’re a really good actor!

Cryptic and weird.

Delete.

Adrien! I’m so proud of you! You really made it big! -Marinette

Stupid.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien! Pretty funny that you gave that girl an umbrella in that movie, since you gave me an umbrella too once, haha! Talk about deja vu, am I right? actually you probably don’t remember that. in fact you probably dont care so i dont know why im typing this or what im doing with my life

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Marinette sighed and sunk further into her mattress, her phone abandoned on her stomach as she stared up at the ceiling. Maybe watching the movie wasn’t worth it. Maybe she never should have gone at all if she couldn’t even think of a single thing to say to Adrien about it, if all it did was make her sad and bitter.

She grabbed her phone again.

—

Marinette: does nino still talk to adrien ever?

Alya: I’m not sure

Alya: why?

Marinette: can you tell nino to tell adrien that i saw his movie and liked it?

Alya: 👍

—

She dropped her phone on her nightstand and pulled the covers over herself.

Chapter Text

“Miraculous Ladybug!” Ladybug called out, chucking the polka dotted carpet tile into the air. The magical ladybugs washed over Paris, cleansing the streets of thick black sludge.

Chat Noir turned to her with a familiar grin, and she smiled, too.

“Pound it!” they said in unison, their knuckles bumping as the latest victim’s family escorted them away.

“Hey,” Ladybug said, her eyes locked on her partner’s, “Can I talk to you for a sec?”

“I’m not in trouble, am I?” he asked, his smile intact.

“I don’t know. Should you be?”

He gasped, his hand on his chest in mock offense. “My lady, of course not! I’ll have you know, I’ve been a very good cat!”

“I don’t know,” she hummed in mock thought, sizing him up with her eyes— and this was just typical of him, getting her in a silly mood when she was trying to be serious, “You did scratch some furniture back there…”

“Oh, but my lady!” He gestured to the lamp post behind them, relieved from its status as a pile of ash by her ladybugs. “That was one of my scratching posts!”

“Hmm…” She tapped her chin, eyeing the post for a good moment before turning to him with a smile. “You’re right. You have been a very good cat.”

He gasped in delight, clapping his hands and leaning in close. “Good enough for a scratch behind the ear?”

She rolled her eyes. “More than good enough.” She reached forward, giving his scalp a good-natured scritch just behind the leather cat ear, reveling in the stupid blissful look on his face as she did. She pulled her hand back. “In fact, that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about.”

He blinked up at her. “You wanted to talk about how good I am?” He grinned. “You want to shower me in praise? Well, it’s about time!”

“Not quite.” She rolled her eyes. “Actually, I just…” Her mirth popped, and she deflated. She continued, her tone more serious, “I wanted to thank you. For the other day.”

“Huh?” He blinked. “For what?”

“For going to that movie with me,” she sighed, “I know it was awkward, but you went with me anyway, so…”

“Awkward?” he asked, a genuine confusion on his face as he tilted his head, “Why would it be awkward?”

“Wasn’t it?” She remembered the strange look on his face when she’d told him the movie, the way he shifted around in his seat the whole time. Maybe Monsieur Popular had a significant other or something and was worried that she was seriously coming onto him. … Then again, he’d resumed his typical joke-flirting soon after, so who knew what was going on in that head of his? “Well, either way, I certainly made it weird.”

“Not at all!”

She couldn’t help but let out a scoff. “You’re kidding, right? I bawled my eyes out in the middle of the theater, ranted a bunch of nonsense, and then left in a huff?” She felt her cheeks warm in her shame, and she crossed her arms over her chest, casting her eyes to the ground. “I think that qualifies as making things ‘weird’.”

“Oh, please! You were having an off day!” He said, the steel toes of his boots stepping closer to her, and she spared a nervous glance back up to his face. He smiled at her in that wonderful kind way of his, and something unidentified bloomed in her chest. “Seriously, my lady. It was no problem.”

“Well,” she huffed, cheeks warm as she eyed a particularly interesting car over his shoulder, “I’m sorry anyway. And I… I really am happy that you’re happy, Chat Noir.”

At least, she wanted to be. She didn’t want to feel bitter about the fact that her partner and dear friend was happy— how pathetic and cruel was that? What had she even been expecting, that Chat Noir of all people would be as pathetically lonely as she was? He was charismatic and loveable, the kind of person that everyone wanted to invite to parties and get-togethers, the kind of person that was impossible to stay mad at. He was probably swimming in friends and romantic prospects, and he could probably sweet talk himself out of anything.

Chat Noir was a wonderful person who deserved all the friends he could get, and she was happy for him, she really was, but she just wished that she could have that, too. Instead, she was alone, the only stable friends she had being Alya and Nino, and she only had them because Alya knew her identity and was willing to cover her lies to Nino for her. But Alya didn’t go to the same university, she didn’t exist in the same social circles that Marinette was trying to wedge herself into, she couldn’t sweet talk anyone on her behalf, and Marinette didn’t see her often enough to make up for it all.

But at least Chat Noir was happy and carefree and swimming in friends—

Don’t be bitter.

Chat Noir looked at her for a moment, and it was one of those rare times that his eyes were unreadable to her. He seemed to consider his next words before saying “You know, you can always talk to me about anything—“

“No, I can’t,” she reminded him, brow furrowed, “You know that.”

He hesitated. “Maybe so, but if you can be vague—“

“No.” She’d already tried that. She’d tried to be vague, and it didn’t help, because Chat Noir couldn’t relate, and she didn’t want to hear another ‘don’t give up hope!’ speech. “It’s fine. Really. Let’s just stop talking about it, okay? I’m over it.”

He stared at her for a long moment with a pitying look in his eyes, and she wanted nothing more than to never talk about this again. “… Well, we can stop talking about it if you really want— but, you know, you never let me finish.”

“Finish?”

“What I was going to say,” he said, watching her, “You know... before you left.”

She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear it. As embarrassed as she was that she’d left so suddenly, she wasn’t exactly keen on hearing about how happy and carefree he was. Still, she stared at him, waiting for him to elaborate.

“My miraculous doesn’t make me lonely…” he said oh so predictably, taking a step closer to her and looking to her with a softness in his eyes, “... Because without it, I never would’ve met you.”

A traitorous snort escaped her. Of course he would say that. It wasn’t particularly helpful and was missing her point entirely— a silly little quip, just another one of his joke-flirts, and she was pretty sure she’d heard the same line from him before. And yet, she couldn’t help but smile.

“Well,” she said, “I guess I have to thank mine for that, too.”

He smiled.

*****

Was this allowed? Absolutely not. Was it technically trespassing? Absolutely. Could she get expelled for this? Distinctly possible.

But sometimes, Marinette didn’t have the luxury of following rules, and this dress was due tomorrow, and her professor probably wouldn’t allow another extension. She had just been so busy with classes and patrol and making up missed hang-outs with her friends that she had left it all to last-minute, and even though she’d set aside a reasonable amount of time to work on it while the studio was still open, that time had been interrupted by one of the longest akuma attacks in a while.

Because she was a symbol of luck, of course.

Marinette yawned, finishing the final seam of the dress and pulling it from the machine. This would have to do— it looked good enough, she figured, and it was probably starting to get unreasonably late. The studio and building halls didn’t have any security cameras (she’d made sure of that), but every minute that she spent here only increased her chances of somehow getting caught.

A glance to the night sky told her that it was time to turn it in. She flicked the fluorescent lights off and checked her phone. It was nearly three in the morning. Good thing she didn’t have any early morning classes tomorrow.

She couldn’t help but shiver as she pushed open the window, ready to leave the same way that she’d entered.

“Tikki,” she whispered, “Spots on.”

The magic washed over her, and she sighed, feeling the bubbling warmth overcome her and distract her from how cold and sleepy and desolate she felt. Her hand reached for her yoyo, stopping just short as she heard it omit a familiar sound.

Beep beep. Someone had tried to contact her— Scratch that, only one person could contact her on her yoyo— Chat Noir had tried to contact her.

With a frown, she pulled the device from her hip and tapped it open. She had three unread texts from him from half an hour ago, but she couldn’t get yoyo notifications when she wasn’t transformed, and her phone hadn’t buzzed from any akuma alert. She hoped it hadn’t been anything urgent.

—

Chat Noir: I mijs yo

Chat Noir: Miss

Chat Noir: sory

—

… Huh.

Brow furrowed, she narrowed her eyes at the messages on her phone, hoping that a stern look would be enough to scare the letters into making sense. Unfortunately, that didn’t work, so she pulled up his contact.

He was still online, his pawprint indicator clearly showing his location on the map. If Chat Noir was out there, transformed this late at night and sending her strange texts, it definitely wasn’t something she could ignore. There could be an akuma, maybe one that she’d missed an alert for, and he could’ve gotten affected by some strange and specific magic that was affecting his behavior.

Looked like she wasn’t getting any sleep tonight.

She groaned and launched herself out of the window, swinging through the streets until she reached the rooftop that she’d seen his indicator on. And then she saw him.

Chat Noir was standing atop the rooftop, gazing out over the skyline and leaning against a chimney. Quietly as she could, she touched down on the opposite end of the roof and watched.

He didn’t move, didn’t even seem to acknowledge or notice her presence at all.

“... Chat Noir?” she tried, deciding to bite the bullet. If he really had been afflicted with something, she might as well get a sense of what the affliction was.

His ear twitched, certainly having heard her, but he remained still and silent. She took a guarded step towards him.

“I got your messages,” she said, taking another step when he didn’t make a move. Eyeing him up and down didn’t seem to give her any new insight. He looked the same. Maybe a bit droopier, with the amount of weight he was putting on that chimney and the way his tail lay limp against the concrete, but nothing that was obviously magical or nefarious. “Is there an akuma?”

“No,” he uttered, his eyes still locked on a point in the distance. “... ‘t’s fine.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, tearing her eyes off of him for a moment to whip out her yoyo and double check the news. There hadn’t been any akuma reports. Maybe there really weren’t any magical disasters to take care of, but that didn’t explain…

“Something wrong?” she asked, tucking her yoyo back on her hip.

A heavy sigh escaped his lips, and he turned, pressing his back to the chimney and sliding down its length until he was limply seated on the roof. He hung his head, and a beat of silence fell between the two as Ladybug’s mind raced for what could possibly make sense of what she was witnessing.

“Do you ever just…” he spoke, voice so quiet she could barely hear it. She took a tentative step closer. “... realize you’re going to die alone?”

She gaped.

Huh?

This wasn’t what she’d been expecting. She wasn’t prepared for this. Actually, she wasn’t even sure that it was truly happening at all, and a small part of her wondered if maybe this was a dream, and she’d fallen asleep at her work station and needed to wake up before she was caught in the morning.

But the way his words hung between them was too real, too heavy— far nastier than a pinch, and she knew that she wasn’t dreaming, and she realized that he was probably waiting for her to say something.

“What?” she breathed out, and no matter how much she stared at him, she couldn’t make sense of his miserable appearance, slumped down against the roof in a way she’d never seen her cheery partner before. “Chaton, you’re… you’re not. You won’t. What are you talking about?”

“I am,” he croaked, only hanging his head further, and she felt something in her shatter. Closing the distance as much as she could, she crouched down beside him, reaching her hand out to him and hesitating for only a moment before allowing herself to make contact. Chat Noir always liked it when she touched his scalp, and she had never been quite sure to what extent it was all just a cat joke to him, but she figured it couldn’t hurt as she pushed her fingers through his hair. He sighed, his head leaning into her touch. “... I’m going to die alone.”

“No,” she whispered, “Minou, why would you think that?”

She didn’t understand. He’d told her himself that he wasn’t lonely. Chat Noir was the life of the party, he was a social butterfly, he was always so happy and was probably surrounded by friends. He wasn’t going to ‘die alone’, and she couldn’t even bring herself to entertain the thought.

He didn’t say anything, so she settled down on her knees and took careful hold of his chin, lifting his head and gaze up to hers and leaning in close. “Chaton? Did something happen?”

His eyelids fluttered closed, and he sighed— his warm breath tickling her face, and she realized, then, that he really had been afflicted by something.

“Have you been drinki—”

“I’m a pathetic sad sack who’s gonna die ‘lone,” he slurred, slinking down out of her grasp and further onto the roof, only his head now propped against the chimney.

“Ah, that explains it,” she sighed, pulling herself up to her feet and frowning down at him. “So Chat Noir gets sad and existential when he’s drunk. Who knew? You know, we’re not supposed to drink. If a supervillain had popped up tonight—”

“I know,” he muttered, his gaze up to the clear dark sky, “I’m terr’ble.”

She frowned deeper and turned her gaze out to the skylines, looking around for any possible dark butterflies fluttering their way.

“C’mon, minou,” she sighed once she was sure the coast was clear, kicking him gently in the side to stir him, “Get up. You need to go home and sleep it off. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

“I don’t wanna go home,” he whimpered, “I… I hate it there.”

“What? Why?”

“... ‘t’s so empty…” He draped an arm over his eyes. “... I’m sick of… bein’ alone… all the time…”

“You’re not alone all the time,” she reminded him, giving his ribs another gentle nudge with her toes, “You told me yourself. Remember?”

He didn’t make a move, stubbornly keeping to lying on the rooftop, and she took another glance around for any fluttering wings. She couldn’t leave him like this, couldn’t abandon her partner when he was sad— even if it was just caused by alcohol— and she certainly couldn’t abandon her partner when Hawkmoth may be looking to take advantage of it.

“Okay, fine, you don’t have to go home, but you have to go somewhere,” she sighed, “You need to sleep it off, and not on some rooftop. How about a friend’s place?”

“I can’t…” he muttered.

“Why not?”

“I don’t…” His breath hitched, and he continued, voice wobbling, “You’re my only friend.”

What?

“That’s not true,” she said before she could even consider his words, his words that were so terrible and sad and contradictory to everything she knew, “You have other friends. You— You told me you did.”

“I di’n’t… I didn’t say that…”

“You… You said you weren’t alone,” she said, staring holes into the arm draped over his eyes. She couldn’t believe what he was saying. She didn’t want to believe it. “You told me you were fine.”

“Only ‘cause I have you,” he choked out, and something about the vulnerability of it made her almost believe it. Almost.

“You have friends other than me,” she said softly, crouching down beside him, “I’m sure you do, minou. Who wouldn’t want to be friends with you? With my charming chaton?”

“I lose ev’ryone…” he sniffled, “Always…”

“Chaton—”

“I’m gonna die alone,” he choked.

She grasped his hand between both of hers, pulling it and his arm away from his face so she could lean in and look at him. He looked to her, his eyes so miserable that she almost wanted to cry for him, and she wondered why she ever wished that he would understand her loneliness. Whatever had happened to him, whatever made him feel like he didn’t have anyone, he didn’t deserve. She wanted her happy chaton back. “It’s okay, chaton. You know, I… I get it. Being a superhero is really hard, and my friends get angry at me, too, sometimes, for being so flaky. I know what that’s like. But you’re so sweet, and so loveable, and it’s so hard to stay mad at you, you know that? I’m sure it’ll all work out—”

“Nob’dy’s mad at me,” he said, “I don’t… even have anyone to get mad at me…”

“What?”

“I don’t… know anyone,” he sniffled, “I… I only have you…”

She sucked in a breath.

Why did he keep saying that? How many times would he have to say it for her to believe it?

Chat Noir was supposed to be happier than her. His social life was supposed to be thriving far beyond hers. But…

Even Marinette had some friends.

“Okay,” she said, choosing to ignore the tightness in her chest. Maybe he’d have better clarity in the morning. Maybe after he slept off the alcohol he’d be able to remember his friends. She had to hope. “What… What about your family, minou?”

“Oh god,” he croaked out, horror flashing across his eyes, “If my father saw me like this…”

She cringed. “Um… What about… your mom?”

“Oh god!” he cried out, yanking his hand from hers so he could cover his face with both, “If my mother saw me like this…!”

“Okay, okay, I get it…” She chewed her lip, looking around as if the parisian skyline would give her answers. At least she still didn’t see any insects. “Do you… have any siblings?”

He shook his head, and she sucked in a breath.

Chat Noir needed sleep. He needed to go to bed, a real bed and not a rooftop, and he wasn’t in any state to be alone right now, and according to him, she was the only person he could come to. Which was a terrible thing, really, because he wasn’t supposed to come to her. They weren’t supposed to know anything about each other’s civilian lives, and she was realizing that even the brief conversation they’d shared had stepped too far. She wasn’t supposed to ask him about his family. She wasn’t even supposed to know that Chat Noir was an only child.

She needed to put a stop to this, to step away from the situation before it got out of her control. But how could she leave him like this when he was so ripe for akumatization? How could she leave him, her friend, like this when he so clearly needed her?

But she couldn’t take him back to her dorm. She couldn’t, because all she had was a twin bed anyway, and because it could irreparably endanger her identity. But…

“Okay,” she sighed, pulling herself back up to her feet, “Get up. We’re going to a hotel.”

He peeked up at her through his fingers.

“Come on,” she insisted, tapping him with her toes again, “Get up!”

“Hotel…?” he murmured.

“Mhm,” she hummed, reaching her hands out for him. He grasped them hesitantly, and she began to tug him up to his feet. “We need to get you in a bed.”

Once he was standing, she whipped out her yoyo and began searching for cheap, nearby, vacant hotels. She found one pretty quick.

“Okay,” she said, making her way to the edge of the roof and preparing to chuck her yoyo, “Follow me.”

She spared a glance back at him. He was unsteady on his feet, blinking dazedly and slowly removing his baton from his back.

“... How drunk are you?” she couldn’t help but ask, narrowing her eyes.

“The transf’rmation sobered me a bit…” he murmured.

“This is you sobered?” she scoffed, “You need to lay off the parties.”

“I wasn’t at a party…”

She chewed her lip.

Screw it.

“C’mere,” she sighed, stepping up to him and scooping him into her arms. He gasped and blinked up at her, surprised. “Hold on.” He wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “And please don’t puke on me.”

She didn’t wait for his response. She chucked her yoyo off into the distance and swung across the city, making her way to the hotel. Chat Noir clutched onto her the whole time, his face pressed against her shoulder, but thankfully he kept his dinner to himself.

Touching down on the sidewalk in front of the hotel entrance, she set him down carefully on his feet and let him regain his bearings. He was still so uncharacteristically unsteady on his feet, so she took his hand into hers and led the two of them into the lobby.

“Hello,” she greeted the woman at the desk, who seemed to startle at the sight of them, “We need a room, just for the night.”

“Oh,” the woman blinked, looking between the two of them, and then she smiled. “Yes… of course. Let me just…” She turned to her computer, and Ladybug waited impatiently as the clicks and clacks of the keyboard echoed off the walls. She felt Chat Noir lean against her, and she couldn’t help but squeeze his hand tighter. “How many beds do you need?”

“One is fine.”

The woman’s polite smile strained, like she was trying to hide her amusement, and— augh! She went back to her keyboard, and Ladybug’s cheeks burned as she turned her gaze pointedly away from her, opting instead to glare at a particularly interesting stain on the wall. She wasn’t planning on sleeping there! She just needed a bed for Chat Noir! And she was a broke university student and wanted the cheapest option possible and— augh.

“That’ll be €90,” she said.

Ladybug hesitated, “Can I pay in cash, at check-out?”

“Sure. I trust you two,” she said with a smile and handed her the room key. “You have room 304. Have a… nice night.”

“Thanks,” Ladybug said through her teeth, yanking Chat Noir away from the counter and to the elevator. He stumbled in after her, and she jammed her finger against the third floor button a bit harsher than strictly necessary.

The ride up was quiet, with Chat Noir leaning against her once again for support, and she realized how strange it was for him to be so quiet for so long. He always loved the sound of his own voice.

The elevator dinged once they reached their floor, and she pulled him along until they reached their door. She struggled with the key for a few agonizing moments, but once the door was open, she tugged him in.

“Okay,” she huffed, maneuvering around him and pushing him towards the bed, “On the bed.”

He didn’t fight it. He sat down on the mattress and clumsily scooted himself back until he was sitting against the headboard. His fingers idly picked at the end of his tail, his eyes cast down to his lap, and she chewed her lip.

“I’ll get you some water,” she decided, turning on her heel and marching to the bathroom. She grabbed a small complimentary plastic cup and filled it with tap water before returning to the bed and pushing it into his hand. “Drink.”

He did, and she frowned.

Now what?

“You know we’re not supposed to get drunk,” she said, as if she hadn’t already, because she wasn’t sure what else to say.

“S’rry…” he murmured, quiet, his eyes still downcast.

“Don’t…” she sighed, “Don’t apologize. Or— wait until you’re sober to.” A sober Chat Noir sounded much easier to chastise than the version in front of her now— sullen and small and slurring. “Just— Why did you do it?”

His shoulders twitched in a pathetic shrug, and he sunk further into the mattress, dropping the emptied plastic cup onto the sheets beside him. She grabbed it and placed it on the nightstand, taking the spot beside him for herself— sitting on her knees and watching him, her tired and muddled brain racing for what she should do.

He turned his head, his nose brushing against her thigh, and he let out a shaky breath that shattered any remaining resolve that she had.

She sighed and readjusted herself, crossing her legs and leaning back against the headboard. She patted her lap. “C’mere, minou.”

It took him a moment, but he eventually got the hint, shifting himself until his head was in her lap. She brushed her fingers through his hair, petting him not unlike she would a real cat like she had many times before, and she hoped he’d appreciated the gesture.

Thankfully, he seemed to, if his gentle sigh and the way he went limp in her touch were a fair indicator.

“I love you…” he murmured against her leg in a way that she could just barely make out.

“I love you too,” she responded honestly, because she did. She loved Chat Noir, one of her dearest friends, and she didn’t have to be ashamed of that fact. He sucked in a sharp breath. “You and me against the world. But you’re still going to be in a lot of trouble when you sober up.”

He rolled over, turning his face upward and staring her in the eyes— his cat pupils blown out, his eyes shining as if wet, and something in her heart shattered.

“Please don’t leave me,” he whispered, and she frowned.

“I have to leave eventually,” she said, and his face crumpled, “There’s only one bed. But I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Okay?”

He didn’t say anything to that. Instead, he shifted as if trying to get closer to her— as if they weren’t already as close as they could be.

She leaned further down towards him, scratching at his scalp, and she wondered what about Chat Noir made her give in so easily. She could be angry at him— she should be angry at him— but instead, all she found herself wanting to do was hold him.

“You’re not alone, chaton,” she whispered, and he sucked in another breath. She hoped her words were true— she hoped it was the alcohol talking before, that he was exaggerating, that she’d somehow misunderstood his slurred speech. Hopefully tomorrow a sober Chat Noir would be able to explain this sudden meltdown in a way that made sense, in a way that was compatible with everything she’d thought she’d known about him, in a way that she believed.

His lips trembled, and he squeezed his eyes shut, a tear streaming down his cheek. She brushed it away with her thumb and wished she could’ve done more.

*****

When she woke up in the morning, bathed in the sunlight spilling from beyond the hotel curtains, she was alone.

She went to pay for the room, but it had already been paid for.

Chapter Text

A discordant symphony blared out through the streets, the cursed citizens marching with instruments, and Ladybug resisted the urge to pull her hair out.

At least classes had been canceled this time. She wasn’t sure her professor would accept another tardy before he started to dock her grade.

Today’s villain-slash-victim— a music major from her university— was at least easy to locate. They waved their arms around like a conductor, controlling the flow of the music. The stick in their hand, which they waved around and used not unlike a wand to zap more civilians into their orchestra, was a pretty clear suspect.

She squinted from her rooftop perch, surveying the area before making her move.

“Oh, god,” a familiar voice came from behind her, startling her. She hadn’t heard anyone approach, the sound likely drowned out by the cacophony of instruments. “Anything but this.”

She turned, and there Chat Noir stood, face crumpled in agony and forcibly pulling his cat ears down.

“What?” she scoffed, caught somewhere between amusement, concern, and serves you right. “Got a headache?”

He tried to force a smile, releasing his ears and shooting her the most painfully twisted grin she’d ever seen. “What? Nah. I’m… feeling sharper than ever.”

“Uh huh,” she said, turning her attention back to the villain below.

“You know… sharp because… … music… augh,” he hissed, a particularly loud, off-tune flute cutting through the air and shutting him up.

She sighed. “You can sit this one out.” She stood tall to her feet and snatched her yo-yo off her hip. “Take a sick day.”

“What? No, I— I can manage,” he said, moving to stand by her side, and she weighed the possibility of him being more detrimental than helpful. “I’m… completely composed.”

“And hung over,” she scoffed.

“I can do it,” he said, a genuineness in his voice that muffled any frustration she felt, “I promise.”

She sighed, and called for her lucky charm.

*****

The magic ladybugs washed over Paris and its citizens, freeing them of their cursed instruments and filling the air with a silence that Ladybug had dearly missed.

And judging by Chat Noir’s sigh of relief, he felt much the same.

They did their routine fist-bump and helped the latest victim back to their feet, watching from a rooftop as they were gently pulled away by their friends.

Thankfully, their timers weren’t a problem now like they were in their childhoods. Ladybug turned to Chat Noir and opened her mouth, knowing that she should say something, anything, the events of last night ping-ponging in her mind without a single coherent thought, but she felt at a loss. What was she supposed to say?

Hey, Chat Noir, you still feel like you’re going to die alone?

Hey, partner. Do you, like, have friends?

Chaton, are you okay?

“Hey, Ladybug, I…” Chat Noir interrupted the silence, turning to her and somehow managing a smile despite the fact he most certainly still had a headache— in fact, she still had a headache, and she wasn’t hung over. She didn’t have super-hearing, either. “I’m sorry about last night.”

“Huh?” She blinked, somehow feeling caught off guard by the mention despite being about to mention it herself. “Oh. Yeah. It’s fine.”

Was it?

“I, uh…” he chuckled, cheeks a little pink as he raised a hand to rub at the back of his neck, “I don’t… really… remember it? But I woke up in bed with you, and…”

He didn’t even remember it. She shouldn’t have been surprised, but it certainly didn’t sit right with her. She narrowed her eyes.

“I hope I didn’t do anything weird,” he finished, a nervousness in his eyes despite his smile.

“I don’t know,” she said, crossing her arms and appraising him— and she hated how nearly normal he seemed. He was hung over, of course, and she could see the headache through his tight smile, but he wasn’t being obviously un-Chat-Noir-like. He was acting like Chat Noir, if Chat Noir were a tad embarrassed and a lot hung over— unlike last night, which was a man she didn’t recognize at all. “Depends on your definition of ‘weird’.”

“Sharing a bed with you honestly counts in and of itself,” he said, leaning back and clasping his hands behind his back, his smile loosening in a way that almost looked casual and natural, and she wondered how he was so good at smiling even when he felt so terrible. “How’d I manage that? I’d like to take notes.”

“It’s not worth repeating,” she said with a smile, “Next time, I’ll have to charge a babysitting fee.”

“Ah,” he hummed, eyes turning to the sky, “And I presume that… nothing, er… inappropriate happened, yeah?”

“I’m a perfectly professional babysitter.” She raised a brow at him. “So if you’re asking, no, I didn’t take advantage of your addled state.”

“I didn’t think that,” he chuckled, “But it’s good to know. Maybe next time I’ll even leave a tip.”

She stared at him for a long moment, any remnants of her smile falling as something unsettled in her stomach. Here she was, revving herself up to ask him if he was okay, to press her dear partner about his apparent breakdown, and he’d somehow gotten her to joke about it instead.

“Well, my lady, you know I’d love to stay and chat— but I really should get going,” he said, with a smile and a flourished bow, and she sucked in a breath as he reached for his baton. “Sorry again about last night. Luckily for you, I don’t plan on needing a babysitter again any time soon—”

“Are you okay?” she blurted, and he stilled.

“Hm? Yeah,” he said easily, “Nothing some painkillers and a nap won’t fix—”

“No. I mean— are you okay? Like… generally?”

He stared at her for a moment, brow twisted like he was confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You—” she breathed out, pausing for a moment to shake her head. “You really don’t remember last night at all?”

“No…” he said carefully, clearly unsettled as he put away his baton, “Did I… say anything weird?”

She clicked her tongue and averted her gaze from his, weighing the options of how to proceed in her head. “You sent me some weird texts at two in the morning.”

“Oh god, I did?” he hissed, horrified as he pulled his baton right back out and presumably opened it to the texting function. He stared at the screen for a few short moments before cringing. “Well. That’s kind of embarrassing.”

“So I found you and you…” she hesitated, “Chat Noir, do you…” Her eyes met his. “Do you have friends?”

Mortification flashed across his eyes, but disappeared just as quickly as it came.

“Of course I do,” he said easily, and she almost felt the tension in her shoulders loosen. He smiled and leaned forward, his eyes glistening with their usual affection, “I have you, don’t I?”

The tension returned.

“You—” she began, struggling to find the words, “No, you see— Chat Noir, I always thought that was a joke.”

“What was a joke?”

“That you—” she started, “All that ‘I’m the only friend you’ll need’ stuff. You’ve said it before. I thought it was a joke.”

His brows furrowed.

“I meant besides me,” she said, her eyes locked onto his, “And the last time we talked about your friends, too. I meant your real friends. Do you have real friends?”

“You’re a real friend,” he said seriously.

“But—” she began, almost wanting to argue it, almost asking the dreaded ‘Are we ‘real’ friends when we don’t even know each other’s names?’, but she stopped herself, the thought too sharp for even her to take. “You know what I mean. Civilian friends. Do you have civilian friends?”

“Ah ah ah,” he tutted, twirling the baton in his hand, any seriousness he had washed away by his usual casual deflecting, “I know a trick question when I hear one. We’re not supposed to discuss our civilian lives—”

‘I’m going to die alone.’

“I’m making an exception,” she said, staring at him, “Answer the question.”

“Ah, the double trick!” he cooed, “Still not falling for it.”

‘I don’t know anyone.’

“You know what?” she huffed, “It doesn’t matter. Because I think I already know the answer.”

His smile twitched and threatened to fall as he stared at her. “And that is?”

‘I only have you.’

“You told me last night,” she said, and his smile completely fell. “You said you were alone. You said you had no friends. You said I was the only person in your life you could even conceivably turn to—”

“I was drunk,” he argued.

“Are you saying you were lying?” she asked, staring as intently at him as she could, hoping her eyes bore into him like she hoped they did, “Are you telling me it’s not true?”

He stared at her for a long moment, and then she saw it.

His resolve shattered.

His shoulders dropped, his eyes fell, and his face crumpled— and suddenly he looked so small, so exhausted, so miserable, so un-Chat-Noir-like.

He looked like the man from last night.

“Why does it matter?” he muttered, and she bristled.

“Why does it— Why does it matter?” she hissed, “Chat Noir, you had a breakdown and I had to hold you until you fell asleep out of fear of you getting akumatized—”

“Breakdown?” he gasped, his gaze snapping back to hers, “That’s hyperbolic—”

“You were crying, saying you were going to die alone,” she snapped, “Also you— you were shit-faced! And you told me you weren’t at a party, so, what? You were sad and alone and decided to drink your troubles away? You think that’s healthy?”

“I—I had a bad night,” he hissed, “An— an especially bad night, and it won’t happen again—”

“But that’s what I’m saying!” she clapped her hands together in emphasis, and he cringed at the sharp sound, “An especially bad night that led to some kind of breakdown—”

“It won’t happen again,” he repeated.

“I don’t care!” she shouted, but lowered her volume to a hiss at the sight of him cringing again, “It doesn’t matter if it doesn’t happen again, Chat Noir, because it never should have happened to begin with!”

“Well, I’m sorry!” he hissed back, “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I— I know it was stupid, and I shouldn’t have done it and— you can take my miraculous if you need to!”

“You— what?” she gasped, “I don’t want your miraculous! Why would I?”

“Because I— I messed up!” He threw his arms out. “And I— God, I always—”

“Oh my god,” she said, “Chat Noir. Calm down.”

“I’m calm! I’m… I’m calm,” he fell into a murmur, his posture deflating and eyes cast down.

“I’m not trying to… augh.” She took a moment to compose herself, running her hands down her face before strengthening her posture and stepping closer to him. She continued, voice gentle, “You’re not in trouble, chaton. I’m just worried about you.”

His eyes found hers through his lashes, his head still hung.

“I just don’t get why you didn’t say anything sooner,” she nearly whispered, reaching up and tentatively brushing her fingers through his hair, a gesture that he accepted. “I… I asked you before, if you were lonely, and you said no. Why’d you lie?”

“I didn’t,” he whispered.

“After… after the movie. You told me you had other friends.”

“No, I didn’t. You asked me if I blamed my miraculous. And I don’t. That’s all.”

“But…” she sighed, stepping up close to him and placing her hands on his shoulders, “Don’t you?”

“If I didn’t have my miraculous,” he said quietly, his hands finding her waist, “I wouldn’t have met you.”

“You said that before,” she whispered, trying to ignore the stupid way her heart flipped, “But… what about everyone else lost along the way?”

“I would’ve lost them either way,” he muttered against her hair, and she frowned.

“That’s sad,” she said quietly.

“It’s okay,” he lied.

She forced herself to pull away from him, missing his warmth but settling down onto the edge of the roof. She patted the seat next to her, and he complied, sitting down next to her, and in a moment his head was rested against her shoulder, their fingers intertwined.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered.

“About what?” he whispered back.

She squeezed his hand. “Your especially bad night.”

“We’re not supposed to talk about our—”

“It’s okay,” she said, “I want to hear it.”

He hesitated.

“Someone… close to me’s birthday was coming up,” he muttered, “And I bought them a bottle of wine. A while ago. As a gift.”

She nodded against his hair and closed her eyes, sucking in a breath and quietly enjoying the scent of his shampoo. She waited for him to continue, to get to the bad part.

“But I… realized I wouldn’t get to give it to them,” he said quietly, and she couldn’t help but wonder what he meant by that. He continued, “So, I don’t know, I just… drank it all.”

“That’d explain it,” she muttered.

He chuckled sadly. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“Maybe next year?”

“... No,” he muttered, “Not next year, either.”

She hummed and rubbed her thumb against the back of his hand, closing her eyes and enjoying his presence.

“I get like that too,” she whispered, “I mean— not the wine specifically, but… whenever I realize I’ve lost a friend, I… it messes me up for the whole day, and I feel like I’m completely alone. Doomed to isolation.”

“Yeah,” he whispered.

“I think— I think every friendship I’ve… I’ve tried to make the past few years has been… completely doomed,” she confessed, forcing the words out despite her increasingly wobbling voice, “I… I’m so flaky. I have some friends, but… but practically all of them are always getting frustrated with me for disappearing for akumas and… and I know they’re not going to last.” She let out a small wet laugh. “And don’t even get me started on my romance attempts.”

“Well, I promise to not get mad at you for fighting akumas,” he said, smile audible, and she laughed again.

“I promise to let you buy me wine for my birthday. And I’ll even drink it very responsibly, unlike somebody I know—”

“Does that mean you’ll tell me your birthday?” he asked, propping his chin up on her shoulder and looking at her with a smile so affectionate that she wondered how she’d ever been annoyed at him.

“I can give you a fake date. Does that count?”

He hummed. “But I want to know more about you.”

“... But we can’t,” she whispered, “You know that, right? We can’t—”

“Well…” he sighed, reaching his free hand for her distant one, and soon all of their hands were interlocked. “What are the chances that we’d figure it out?”

“Well, if we just so happen to know each other—”

“I barely know anyone,” he muttered, and she sucked in a breath. “So it’s not likely.”

She chewed her lip, her mind racing for an argument, a way to quell the temptation in her heart. “And you’re definitely not secretly one of my friends who gets all pissy at me for disappearing?” He wasn’t Nino or Alya, she at least knew that for certain.

“No,” he chuckled, “I think if a friend of mine missed a get-together for an akuma fight, I’d be thankful. Not that it’s ever happened.”

She hesitated. “Still. If you go to the same university as me, we could end up meeting—”

“I don’t attend university,” he said, which for some reason excited her.

“But… what if…” she began, the words dying on her tongue, not because she had no argument, but because she didn’t want to give it.

It’s still possible. Even if it’s the smallest chance, there’s still a chance we know each other, a chance we’ll meet some day, a chance that whatever information we tell each other could spark a revelation that can’t be undone—

“You’re the most important person in my life, my lady,” he said so softly, so genuinely, so affectionately, and her entire body, cheeks especially, were enveloped in a familiar warmth that she usually pushed down, far down, but suddenly found herself not wanting to. “I just… want to know more about you.” He squeezed her hands. “Anything.”

“Not a birthday though,” she squeaked out, “That’s too much.”

“Anything,” he repeated.

“I…” she started, “I… like pink.”

Oh, how interesting. How informative. What a great factoid about herself, and definitely not the lamest thing she could have possibly said—

His smile brightened, and hers followed suit.

*****

“... and after that stunt, Ella and Etta finally got grounded,” Alya finished.

“Wow,” Marinette huffed, phone pressed between her shoulder and ear as she sketched out her newest piece, “And the parrot?”

“Oh, he’s fine,” she assured, “A little fat, but he’ll be fine.”

“Sounds like you’re having a lot of fun, Alya,” she chuckled.

“Uh huh, sure. I love my family to bits, but man, I think I’ve had my fair share for a while.”

“I can’t wait for you to get back, either,” Marinette sighed, grabbing a colored pencil and testing the color on a piece of scrap paper.

“How are things over in Marinetteland anyway?”

“Just the usual,” she said, unable to hide the bitterness from her tone.

“How’s Adeline?”

“I don’t know. Who cares?” Marinette huffed, “Anyway—”

“Oh, Marinette…”

“Anyway! I don’t want to talk about it,” she quickly said, “Any more news from Martinique? I’d love to be regaled.”

“I’m relenting, but only because I’ll press you about it later,” Alya said, and unfortunately, Marinette didn’t doubt it. “But I just about covered everything interesting. I don’t have any more news— oh, wait, I almost forgot— Nathalie died.”

“Oh.” Marinette stilled. “Oh… That’s… Alya, I’m so sorry…”

“... What? Girl, why are you sorry?”

“I…” she hesitated, “About… Nathalie?”

Alya laughed. “Do you even know who I’m talking about?”

“I—” Marinette flushed. “I don’t know! I assume she’s a family member! Or a pet? Or maybe a school friend? I’m being sensitive!”

“No, no, I was just doing some edits for work and saw the obituary,” Alya clarified, “Nathalie Sancoeur, that lady that worked for Gabriel Agreste?” Marinette sucked in a breath. “I think I met her, or at least saw her, a few times. Adrien talked about her sometimes too. It was kind of weird, seeing her obituary. Like a weird blast from the past. I just thought you’d might like to know.”

“Oh,” Marinette whispered. She remembered the woman— she always seemed so cold, her face made of stone. Now that she was thinking about it, she had gotten sick at some point, hadn’t she? “Oh… poor Adrien.”

“Were they close? I could never really tell. She seemed kind of evil-step-motherish to me, but I’m not sure.”

“I… I think they were, actually,” Marinette mused, “I don’t know.”

“Oh. Well, that’s sad. I should definitely tell Nino, then.”

“Yeah, I…” she chewed her lip, “Can you tell Nino to, um… send my regards?”

“I can try, but I don’t think he and Adrien… really talk much anymore,” Alya said, “He’s been kind of revving himself up to reach out again. He still hasn’t even texted him your last request about the movie. You could always text him yourself!”

“Augh,” she groaned, “You make it sound easy.”

“I mean, it is,” she said, “I don’t know what’s up with you and Nino. You two get way too stuck in your own heads.”

“Adrien’s a— a celebrity now. It feels kind of weird for us lowly peasants to text him now, doesn’t it?”

“What on Earth are you talking about? He was always a celebrity!”

“Yeah— but— but now he’s a movie star!” Marinette groaned, “That’s like— at least one step above supermodel! Probably even two! And what if I text him, and he thinks I’m only reaching out now because he’s a movie star? Like he thinks I’m some clout-chaser, or he doesn’t even remember who I am, or—”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“No,” she scoffed, “I’m just realistic.”

*****

Hey, Adrien. I know we haven’t talked much in a while, but lately a lot of things have been reminding me of you. Like that movie you were in (which I saw btw and you were great!). I heard that Nathalie passed away and I just wanted you to know that you can always talk to me if you need to. Assuming you remember who I am. Also, if I’m not in your contacts anymore, this is Marinette!

Too forward.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien. I’m so sorry for your loss.

Too empty.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien! It’s been a while. This is Marinette! I heard your dad’s assistant died. You two were kind of close, weren’t you? That’s so sad!

Awful.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien. I know this is super random but I’ve kind of just been thinking about you lately and I’d love to catch up sometime. But not because I want clout or anything, just in a normal friendship way! Also, sorry about Nathalie.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

Chapter Text

“I’m sorry,” Marinette panted, hunched over herself from her sprint over, “I’m— hahh— I’m sorry, I’m here, I’m here—”

“Seriously, Marinette?” Leila sighed, “You’re over an hour late.”

“I— I know—” Marinette tried through her huffs and puffs, well overexerted from one of the longest akuma battles in a while, featuring a perturbed librarian that could bring storybooks to life, “I got— you wouldn’t believe the— you see, there was a— a pigeon, injured, uhmm— in the street, so I had to call the bird rescue but they put me on— hff— hold and—”

“Okay…” Stephanie said, unconvinced, and Marinette’s cheeks warmed. “It doesn’t matter. We just did it without you.”

“You— oh?” she breathed.

“Yeah,” Oriana added, “We were just leaving. We almost timed out, it was actually pretty hard—”

“It wasn’t hard,” Leila scoffed, “Just unfair. I just don’t think it made any sense to hide the key under the floorboards. Who would think to check there?”

“Oh,” Marinette repeated, wiping the sweat from her brow and tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, hoping she didn’t look as disappointed as she felt. “That’s… did you guys at least have fun?”

“It was fine,” Stephanie scoffed, like they didn’t even enjoy it to begin with, like they did it without her without even any benefit, “But a line started to form while we were waiting for you, so we just got in line. Sorry.”

She didn’t sound sorry. None of them seemed to be, really, if their deadpan faces had anything to say about it— and Marinette only further receded into herself in her shame.

She wished she could be angry at the unjustness of it all— of the way her friends looked at her with nothing more than mild contempt after she’d just risked her life to save to world, or the universe, or whatever it was that Hawkmoth was planning on destroying or rewriting or whatever— but how could she? They didn’t know. None of them knew.

“I’m sorry,” she said instead, not even sure what she was apologizing for, but aware that she was expected to say it.

“It’s fine,” Oriana lied, “Anyway, there’s a new Revenge of the Denim movie out, so we were planning on going tonight. You can come if you want.”

“Oh,” Marinette breathed, “Tonight? When tonight?”

“Eight,” Stephanie said, and Marinette frowned.

“Oh... I can’t,” she sighed, “I have plans,”

“Really.” Leila raised a brow. “You have plans.”

Marinette frowned. “Yes. I do.”

“With who?” Oriana asked, somewhere between incredulous and curious, and Marinette bristled.

“A friend,” she said honestly.

“What friend?” Leila asked, sounding a whole lot like a passive-aggressive jab, but Marinette wasn’t certain enough to get defensive.

“He’s— You don’t know him,” she said, averting her gaze. She couldn’t exactly say that her plans were to have patrol with Chat Noir. “He doesn’t go to our university.”

“I don’t know, Marinette, I just…” Stephanie sighed, “You’ve stood us up the past, like… what? Three times we tried to do something?”

“Four,” Leila corrected.

Marinette bristled. “I— I didn’t stand you up last time! I was just a little late, but I still arrived—”

“A little?” Oriana frowned.

“I overslept,” Marinette defended, honestly, because that time she really had overslept, because she was just so exhausted all of the time. “I didn’t do it on purpose—”

“I’m just saying, eventually we’re going to give up on inviting you at all—”

“Inviting me?” Marinette spat, “The escape room was my idea!”

“Yeah, and we did it for you,” Stephanie said, “And then you didn’t even show—”

“I did show! I’m right here! I’m—”

“Whatever,” Leila sighed, “Come to the movie with us or don’t come, it doesn’t matter.”

“Well—”

“We want to hang out with you, Marinette,” Oriana said, a pitying look in her eyes, “But you can’t expect us to just… wait for you every time.”

Marinette wilted, and had nothing left in her defense.

*****

Ladybug laid atop the rooftop, her limbs splayed out and eyes cast skyward, watching the clouds.

Typical. Just typical. She wondered how long it would take for her to find a new friend group, one who didn’t hate her yet, and she wondered how long it would take for them to start to hate her too.

She’d considered canceling patrol and going to the movie instead, but what good would that do her? She’d be right back to where she started in another week.

At least Chat Noir didn’t hate her.

“Something bugging you?” the devil spoke, and soon the shadow of his face was covering the particularly fluffy key-shaped cloud that she’d been admiring.

“I’m going to die alone,” she decided to say through a breath, closing her eyes and resigning herself to sink deep into the concrete of the rooftop and allow it to envelop her.

“Aw man,” he whined, “I didn’t sound like that, did I?”

“No,” she said, eyes still closed. “You sounded much worse.”

He hummed, and she heard his shuffling and felt his presence lie down beside her— his shoulder bumping against hers and his claws slipping through her fingers.

“Did something happen?” he asked in that gentle way of his, his head turned to hers so she could feel his breath tickle her ear.

“Just the typical,” she murmured.

“You know,” he said, “I’ve always wondered what your ‘typical’ is.”

“Is this your way of trying to get to know me?”

“I guess so,” he said, and she could hear his smile.

“It’s not pleasant.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

She sighed and turned her head, finally blinking her eyes open to face him— and he was closer than she’d expected, his face mere inches from hers, but she found herself not minding.

“I missed a thing with my friends,” she said, deciding that it was probably vague enough to not give her away, “And they were pissed at me.”

“Librarian-related?” he asked.

“Yep,” she said, popping the ‘p’.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and she found it was just as easy to get lost in the green of his eyes as it was to get lost in the clouds. “You think you can make it up to them?”

“Maybe,” she sighed, “But I… I don’t know. It’ll just happen again and again, so what’s the point? I’ll just be caught in an endless loop of pissing them off and making it up to them, over and over and over…”

“How often do akumas interrupt your plans?” he asked.

“Often.”

He whistled. “Unlucky.”

“It’s almost like a black cat is constantly crossing my path,” she said, unable to stop herself from smiling.

“I’ll have you know that’s a harmful stereotype.” He mirrored her smile. “I, for one, am very lucky.”

“Are you?” She raised an incredulous brow. “I’ve yet to see any solid evidence.”

He rolled onto his side and propped his head up into his hand, smiling down at her in that affectionate way of his, and her icy heart found itself melting, just a tad. “It’s true. I bring joy to all who come into contact with me. I have rave reviews.”

“What’s your star rating?”

“A solid four outta five,” he said, “But purrsonally, I don’t think Hawkmoth’s reviews should count.”

“I’ll have to write a review of my own,” she said with a smile, reaching to flick his bell, “I’d give you… hmm… a solid three.”

“What if I include a complimentary bonus?” he asked, tilting his head so unnecessarily in that cute way he did sometimes, his face still so close to hers. “Could I get you to bump it up to a four?”

“Depends on what the bonus is, I guess,” she whispered.

“What would you like the bonus to be?”

Her eyes flicked to his lips for a moment— a flub that had her heart stuttering in her chest and her cheeks burning, and she wasn’t sure why she did it. Hopefully he hadn’t noticed.

She licked her lips, and then regretted that, too. “I don’t know,” she managed.

He watched her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, and she felt like her heart was going to leap out of her throat, but she had the distinct and familiar feeling that if she opened her mouth to speak, only nonsense would tumble out, so she bit her lip to keep it shut and added it to her three-second-long list of regrets.

Suddenly, his eyes lit up. “I know!”

He pulled away, and she released a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He sat up and scooted up close to her, crossing his legs and patting at his thigh. “Put your head here.”

She sputtered, “Wh— What?”

“You know,” he smiled down at her, “Like you’ve done for me.”

Her cheeks felt scorched for a reason she couldn’t explain. “Ah,” she croaked, and shifted herself around so that her head was in his lap. When she realized that he was right above her, smiling down at her in that sweet way of his, she shut her eyes tight.

“I’m sorry that you had a bad day, my lady,” he crooned, and she felt his claws scrape gently at her scalp, pushing through her hair. “But, you know, I’m always here to listen.”

And it was true, wasn’t it? He was always there. Besides Alya, Chat Noir was just about the only true constant in her life. She could count on him for anything— and she found herself further content with her decision to come to patrol instead of the stupid evil pants movie.

“They didn’t even like the escape room,” she found herself saying, more specific than she was sure she’d ever voiced anything to him before, “They barely even wanted to do it, but they still did it without me. Can you believe that?”

“Escape room?” he asked, and she felt his claws trace against the lines of her mask.

“Yeah,” she huffed, “It was my idea. I wanted to go to an escape room with them. I— I like puzzles like that, and I’ve heard good things about them, and I’ve never done one before, so...”

“Sounds right up my lady’s alley,” he practically purred, and a smile tugged at her lips.

“Yeah. It does, doesn’t it?” she sighed, “But I was late, so they did it without me. And then they said it was too hard and they hated it, and… what? Is that my fault? Maybe it would’ve been easier for them if I was there too, if they’d actually waited for me.”

“Maybe it’d be too easy then,” he cooed, “Knowing you, I bet you’d breeze through it with or without them.”

She chuckled. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“That’s terrible, though,” he sighed and returned to brushing his fingers through her hair, an act that definitely dislodged some strands from her pigtails. “It must’ve hurt to have them not even consider waiting for you.”

“I… yeah,” she croaked, thankful that her eyes were still closed and she couldn’t see his kind eyes, because she was sure it would push her over the edge. “And I— I get it. I was— I was an hour late, so I can hardly blame them but— but escape rooms take almost an hour! And they were already done when I got there! So, what? They— they waited like ten minutes for me and then gave up?”

He didn’t say anything, but she could still feel his claws on her, and she knew he was listening, knew that he was on her side, knew that she wasn’t alone.

“And the worst part was that they were right to,” she managed out, trying to keep her voice steady, “They only waited ten minutes or so, and they were right to, because they were right that I wasn’t going to arrive at a reasonable time. They were right, and I don’t know if I even have the right to be mad at them for that. So I don’t know who to be angry at. Myself?”

“You were saving Paris,” he said so softly, “That’s not your fault.”

“But everyone tells me it is,” she sniffled, “And— And maybe sometimes it is! You know, I— I can be really bad with time sometimes, and waking up at a reasonable hour, and a lot of other things, so— so sometimes it isn’t even akuma related. Sometimes it really is just me.”

“I think that happens to everyone, at least sometimes.”

“Me especially,” she sighed, “I’m a walking disaster.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” he hummed, “As the master of catastrophes, I don’t think you’re anywhere near a disaster.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Wait until you see what I’m like on a day-to-day basis. Then you’ll understand.”

“I can’t wait,” he said with so much sincerity that she couldn’t help but sigh, “I’d love to do an escape room with you, too. I’d wait for hours, until you came.”

She snorted. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, doing an escape room? I think we do enough of that as it is.”

“You’re right,” he chuckled, “We both know how that’d go.”

“I’d do all the work,” she began, unable to hide the affection in her voice.

“And I’d be dashing and hilarious the entire time,” he finished, and the two of them laughed.

She opened her eyes and looked up, meeting his eyes and smiling. “Also, I don’t think this works.”

“Hm?” He tilted his head. “What doesn’t?”

“You petting me,” she snickered, “It’s kind of weird.”

“What?” he gasped, scandalized, “I’m great at pets!”

“You definitely ruined my pigtails,” she snorted, eyes crinkling.

“If you kept your hair down, maybe it’d be easier to run my fingers through. That’s not my fault.”

“Also, you have claws, it feels super weird.”

“I was being gentle!”

She laughed and pulled herself up, sitting up and looking back at him, “Maybe we should just stick to what we’re good at.”

“What?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eye as he tilted his head, “You mean me, being showered in affection? I’m very good at that.”

She laughed and leaned forward, giving him a scritch behind the ear, and he smiled. “Yeah. You are.”

“Did I at least earn a star?”

She hummed. “One and a half, at least.”

*****

“So, um…” Marinette began, picking at her food with her fork, “How was the movie?”

“Kind of scary, honestly,” Stephanie said, sitting criss-cross on the picnic blanket and shoving a fork full of salad into her mouth.

“Kind of stupid,” Oriana added, flipping the page of the textbook she was eyeing between bites.

“It was great,” Leila said, “But I guess not great enough to trump your little date.”

Marinette bristled.

“Leila,” Oriana sighed.

“You know what?” Marinette huffed, “No. It wasn’t. Because my date was amazing, thanks for asking.”

“Ha! I knew it!” Stephanie cheered, “It was a date! I told you guys.”

Marinette glared down at her food, her cheeks burning, but what was the point in correcting them? They were going to assume what they were going to assume, and if someone wanted to assume that Chat Noir was her boyfriend, then let them. It didn’t bother her.

At least, it didn’t anymore. When did that change?

“What’s he like?” Oriana asked.

“He’s, uh…” Marinette began, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “Pretty funny. A— A big dork, actually,” she couldn’t help but laugh a little, “And really kind. And sweet. But mostly a dork.”

This was purely tactical, anyway. Having a ‘boyfriend’ could probably make coming up with excuses a lot easier, especially when it came to patrols and the like. Why didn’t she think of this sooner? It was barely even a lie— well, the boyfriend part was— but she could answer any questions about him that they threw at her, because she knew Chat Noir, and lies were easiest to keep up when they were based in truth—

“What’s his name?” Leila asked, and Marinette sucked in a breath.

I don’t know.

She hesitated, her mind racing. She just had to come up with a fake name— any name. It didn’t matter.

Jean? No, Chat Noir didn’t seem like a Jean. Too basic.

Jacques? No. Not Chat Noir.

Philbert? Eugh, no.

Pierre? Serge? Charles? Simon? Adrie— augh, get it together, brain!

“Do you…” Stephanie began, interrupting Marinette’s stupor, “... Not know his name?”

“Or he’s just not real,” Leila said simply, “Just like the pigeon—”

“He’s real!” Marinette hissed, “I just— I just— I don’t know his name because—”

Think, brain, think!

“He’s— I know him from— the internet! From one of my gaming groups!” Marinette said, and the others stared at her. She flushed. “I— I don’t know his name name. Just his… username. You know?”

“What’s his username?”

“I don’t have to tell you that,” she huffed, cheeks pink.

“So you, what, ditched us for a discord call?” Leila rolled her eyes.

“Hey,” Oriana said, “That’s not fair. My sister met her partner on tumblr, and now they’re married. It happens.”

“Yeah,” Leila said, “And my lycée friend fell in love with someone through twitter DMs, and then it turned out to be her little brother’s friend, catfishing her as a prank. I don’t trust that shit.”

“I’m not being catfished,” Marinette snorted, resisting the urge to emphasize the ‘cat’. Chat Noir would’ve appreciated it, if he were here.

“Are you sure?” Leila pressed.

“Yes,” Marinette said, “I’ve, um… known him for a long time. I trust him.”

“Still,” Leila sighed, “There’s a lot about a person you can’t know from just the internet. Like, maybe he doesn’t brush his teeth, or treats waitstaff terribly, or—”

“Well,” Marinette sputtered, “I doubt that—”

“And you don’t even know his name?” Stephanie sighed. “That’s a little suspicious.”

“That’s not— that’s not his fault,” she was quick to defend, cheeks warm, “I’m the one who… it was my idea. I just like my privacy, is all.”

“So it’s like a sex thing?” Oriana asked, and Marinette sputtered.

“What!? No!”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about sex—”

“I know that, but it’s not—”

“Are you the catfish?”

“No!” Marinette groaned, “You know what? I don’t want to talk about this anymore. Let’s talk about Stephanie’s boyfriend instead.”

“Stephanie’s boyfriend’s a fucking idiot.”

Stephanie sighed dreamily. “It’s true.”

*****

“Do you see them?” Ladybug asked, squinting out across the sea of dancing citizens.

“I’d tell you if I did,” Chat Noir responded, and she turned the two of them, glaring out over his shoulder at another batch. The akumatized villain had to be nearby, but the two of them simply couldn’t cover much ground when they could only move so fast. “Hey, uh, my lady?”

“What?” she asked, paying him just enough attention to not tune him out as she turned them around again, searching her previous blindspot.

“You know I think you’re the epitome of elegance and grace,” he cooed, “But anyone else watching us might think otherwise, what with you stepping on my paws.”

“Huh— Oh,” she said, sparing a quick glare down at the billowing fabric between them before returning his gaze, “Sorry, not all of us can be professional dancers.”

“Professional dancers? My lady, it’s just a waltz!”

“Yeah, so?” She turned her attention back off of him to survey the crowd. “You think I know how to waltz?”

“I have to admit, I don’t anymore,” he chuckled, “But I can admire the effor— ow! See, you did it again.”

“Oh, you can deal,” she snorted, “Don’t you have steel-toed boots?”

“Not at the moment, I don’t. See?” He interrupted their dance for only a second to stick his foot out from under his skirt, quick enough to not spur the spell they were under’s ire. “You hurt even more than the heels do.”

“Oh, those are cute,” she mused, falling back into step with him, “Why’d you get the better outfit? Doesn’t seem fair.”

It was true, too— the dress that the magic had created for him was stunning, a ballroom gown dark like midnight, with a dusting of white down the skirt that gave the illusion of stars. His neckline was bare— the barest she’d ever seen Chat Noir for sure— with black gloves nearly reaching his shoulders.

He looked beautiful.

And the butterflies in her stomach were simply a result of envy, of course. She was only envious of how pretty he was, and envious that she was sure she’d never designed a dress that beautiful or expertly crafted before.

So of course he had to draw her attention back to himself, to distract her while she was trying to focus. He was way too good at distracting her. Because of her envy.

“Oh, you like?” he cooed, and she forced herself to tear her eyes off of his bare neck— the bare neck that she was staring enviously at— and look over the sea of guests again. “You know, I’ve been— ow— told I can make anything look good.”

“Yeah,” she whispered under her breath, “You probably can.”

“Ow— I have to say, though,” he continued, as the two turned once more, “You look miraculous in a suit, my lady.”

“Yeah, well,” she huffed, feeling her face grow inexplicably hot in envy, “That’s— Yeah. Oh. Thanks. You too!”

His smile widened, a twinkle of amusement in his eye.

“I mean—” she began, “You— I know you’re wearing a dress now but you usually wear a suit, because a super-suit is still a suit of sorts and you look sex— GOOD in your normal suit, you look GOOD, so it’s, you know, haha…”

“You think?” He beamed, and she cleared her throat. “Why, my lady! What have I— ow— done to earn such high praise?”

“Well, you—” she began, shaking her head and willing herself to cool down, “For one, you— you’ve been saying ‘ow’ instead of ‘me-ow’, so I figured I’d ought to reward your good behavior.”

“You know I’d love to, I really would— ow— but it’s just happening too often to waste the syllables on it.”

She rolled her eyes. “Maybe lead me better, and we wouldn't have this problem.”

“You’re leading me!”

“Wait— I am?”

“You’re going to rip my mew-tiful skirt at this rate,” he sighed dramatically.

“See, that’s an example of bad behavior. Bad behavior doesn’t earn you any paw-sitive remarks.”

“Oh, so you can do it, but I can’t? Talk about a double standard.”

“Like I said, it’s not fair that you got the better outfit. I’m just balancing the scales.”

“I guess I’ll just have to face my pun-ishment.”

“Okay, I admit, that one was good,” she said, “I’ll let that one slide—” Her eyes caught on the villain, just beyond his shoulder. “Chat Noir! Now!”

With the bag of marbles she’d been holding onto, a well-timed dip, and a cataclysm, they managed to break the akuma object without breaking form. And as the magical ladybugs washed over Paris, freeing them and the citizens from a perpetual ballroom, she turned to her partner and smiled.

“You don’t happen to be free,” Chat Noir mused after their fist-bump, unfortunately dress-free but still enviable, the sunlight shining in his green eyes, “Do you?”

“I…” she began, hesitating despite the clear answer.

Because, no. She wasn’t free. She actually had plans, plans that, as she whipped out her yo-yo to check, she could probably still make. If she hurried, she’d probably make it to Oriana’s dorm only ten minutes late. They probably wouldn’t even be all that mad at her, and then they could play that new party game that Stephanie got.

“Depends on why you ask,” she said instead, because sometimes she felt like she deserved to be a little selfish, and lately the selfish part of her wanted Chat Noir. To hang out with, of course. Like a friend.

“Oh, so I need to make a good pitch, huh?” he mused, a silly smile on his face, his brow twisted ever-so-slightly in that way that it did when he was nervous— and he was always so cute like that— as he clasped his hands behind his back and rocked on the balls of his feet. “I was just thinking…”

“That’s always dangerous.”

“Improving our relationship would have excellent tactical advantages,” he said, shooting her a mischievous smile, “You know. Team bonding to improve our synergy.”

As if they weren’t already perfectly synergized.

“Oh,” she said, unable to hide her smile, “Of course. Sounds very practical.”

“And what better way to bond as a team…” he continued, “Than to, say… get some ice cream? Watch a movie? Heck, even go to an escape room. I’m open to ideas.”

“Weeelll…” she hummed.

“Oh, I know! Ballroom classes…” he gave a wistful sigh, “Something tells me we could use them.”

“You know, I have an inkling that ballrooms just aren’t my scene. Too stuffy.”

“You’re right. I think we’d be much better at tango,” he said with a grin, taking her hand in his and circling around her, and she spun to follow him, “Seems more our style.”

“I think I’ve had enough dancing to last me a lifetime,” she said, managing a smirk despite the tingling of her toes and the butterflies in her stomach, “And you’re seriously suggesting a movie? Haven’t we had enough of those disasters?”

“Like I said, my lady,” he said, slowing to a stop, her hand still in his, “I’m open to ideas.”

She shouldn’t. Her friends were mad enough at her as it was.

“As long as we’re together,” he continued, “Even a simple walk down the Seine would make my week.”

She could still make it to the game night. If she left, right now, she could. She didn’t have time for this.

“You know what?” she found herself saying despite it all, “I think it’d make mine, too.”

*****

“... I still can’t believe that Jules ate all of that dip without even any chips. Didn’t even leave any for the rest of us.”

“Yeah, that’s what I love about him,” Stephanie sighed, “He doesn’t care what other people think.”

“That’s one way to put it.”

“It wasn’t even good dip—”

“My boyfriend’s like that, too,” Marinette said through a sigh and a smile, picking at the croissant from the apology-bag of baked goods that she’d brought, “He’ll just… shove a whole cone of ice cream in his mouth.” She couldn’t help but chuckle. “It’s so dumb.”

“You mean M. Catfish?” Leila scoffed, grabbing a macaron. “How do you even know that? Did he tell you?”

“We video call,” Marinette huffed back, “Doesn’t matter.”

She wasn’t entirely sure why she was keeping the ‘boyfriend’ lie up— she could easily say that she and her mystery boyfriend had broken up and call it a day, but it was sort of nice, really, to craft this little world in her head where she had a boyfriend who she dearly loved, a world where she wasn’t doomed to isolation—

A world where her fake boyfriend just so happened to share all of the same qualities as Chat Noir.

Besides, it was purely tactical anyway. Talking about Chat Noir was easy because he was real, which made her lies all the easier to come up with and maintain. As long as she kept her stories close enough to the truth, maybe she’d become believable enough that they would stop doubting every word that tumbled out of her mouth.

“Speaking of him,” Oriana began, “What was the, uh… ‘boyfriend emergency’ that you had to miss game night for, exactly?”

Okay, maybe the truth wasn’t very helpful after all. She wasn’t sure they would accept ‘he was being too cute’ as a real emergency, no matter how dire it had seemed to her in the moment.

“Uh,” Marinette let out a long breath, mind racing for a reasonable explanation. “He… He was lonely.”

Maybe that wasn’t as far from the truth as she had meant for it to be. She was his only friend, apparently (a fact that she still had trouble believing, because he was so loveable, so charismatic, so easy to be drawn to), so it was no wonder that he wanted to spend so much time with her. Maybe he, just like her, just wanted some company.

After all, being surrounded by her new friends never made her feel half as loved or seen or safe as being around Chat Noir did.

Said friends who were staring at her, expressions blank.

“I mean, it wasn’t JUST because— I mean— he was— he was lonely because... because his… his cat died!” she quickly added, face hot, “His, um— his cat died, so he was sad, so I… so he needed the support!”

They hummed, their gazes decidedly less harsh, and she released a breath.

“And he— it’s… I mean, he’s usually a really happy guy,” she said, her eyes dropping to the table, “So when he’s sad, it’s… it’s somehow so much worse, you know? Because you know it must be bad if even he can’t find the humor in it. And he… has this… I guess he has this weird habit of pretending like he’s okay when he’s not, but he always does his best to cheer me up whenever I’m sad, so I… I wanted to be there for him.”

“Yeah, that’s sad,” Oriana sighed, “I love cats.”

“Me too,” Marinette whispered, face burning. “So, uh. Yeah. And I like being around him a lot. He’s so sweet and funny and… romantic…” She wet her lips. “I just want to spend more time with him in general. Not that— Not that I didn’t want to go to the game night, because I did, but he was sad because of his cat anyway so—”

“Wait, guys,” Stephanie gasped, “I forgot to ask—” She pulled her collar down. “— Are these obviously hickies? I have work later, and my boss will kill me if a customer sees.”

*****

“... it was so cute,” Alya sighed dreamily, and Marinette forced a smile at the screen, wondering why hearing Alya talk about Nino made her feel so sad as of late, “Nino’s such a sweetheart. I hate this long-distance bullshit. I miss him. I want to go back to Paris early so I can eat his face off.”

Marinette managed a chuckle. “Oh, so you’d come back early for him, but not me?”

“I could eat your face off too, if you’re offering.”

“No thanks! That doesn’t sound very pleasant.”

“Your loss,” Alya snickered, before her bright smile fell into a much more sympathetic one, “Well… speaking of romance…”

“No,” Marinette groaned.

“What happened with Adeline?”

“You know what happened,” Marinette scoffed, “It’s the same thing as always. There’s nothing to tell. Let’s talk about Nino again—”

“Oh, Marinette… You’re allowed to be upset about it—”

“I barely even knew her, it’s fine!” Marinette huffed, eyeing the clock, “Actually— you know what? I have to go anyway because—”

“Oh, right—”

“— I have a date with my boyfriend—”

“It’s— Wait, what!?” Alya gasped, “Boyfriend!?”

Wait.

“I—” Marinette choked out, and suddenly her dorm felt very, very hot.

“I thought it was time for patrol with Chat Noir,” Alya said, and Marinette sunk deep into her chair, “What do you mean, you have a date with a boyfriend?”

“I— I meant Chat Noir!” Marinette squeaked, and Alya gasped, “I mean— Not like that!”

“Chat Noir’s your—”

“NO!” Marinette gasped, “NO! He’s NOT! I don’t— I don’t know why I said that—”

“What!?”

“GOTTAGOTOPATROLNOWBYE!” Marinette shrieked, slamming her laptop shut and covering her face in her hands with a prolonged groan.

Chapter Text

She should’ve just canceled patrol. It was pouring, and she was in a terrible mood, and they’d already fought an akuma earlier that day, so the two of them really had earned a break.

Instead, Ladybug sat against the chimney, letting the rain assault her as she drew her knees to her chest, because she wasn’t very good at allowing herself breaks to begin with— so why start now?

She was cold and soggy and early, but apparently Chat Noir was early too, touching down on the rooftop mere minutes after she’d sat down.

She looked up at him, blinking the billowing water out of her eyes, and tried a smile. He tried one back, pressing a button on his baton that had an umbrella burst from the tip, and sat down right beside her on the wet rooftop.

“Funny,” she said, hugging her knees tighter, appreciating the cover that he provided her from the elements, “I never realized that phrase was literal.”

“What phrase?” he asked over the pitter-patter, his shoulder bumping against hers, and she chuckled.

“‘Raining cats and dogs’,” she said, crinkling her eyes at him, “You really just dropped down.”

“Well?” He smiled. “Aren’t you going to ask me if it hurt?”

“If what hurt?”

“When I fell from heaven?”

She snickered and leaned into him, “We definitely should’ve canceled patrol. I mean, it’s pouring and you’re injured? This is just silly.”

“It’s okay,” he said, leaning back against the chimney and getting comfortable, “I can tough it out. I’m pawsitively resilient.”

“Sure you are.” She closed her eyes and listened to the rain.

“Seeing you is heaven enough,” he said.

She sighed, and the two sat in silence for what somehow felt like hours and mere seconds all the same. She found herself resting her head on his shoulder, and despite the fact that they were on patrol, that they were supposed to be leaving the rooftop to survey the streets, neither spoke up to point it out.

It was strange, how warm and comfortable she felt, soaked to the bone, sitting atop concrete and against brick.

“Are you okay?” Chat Noir whispered, head turned to the top of her head, and she shuddered.

“Hm? Yeah,” Ladybug muttered, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

“I don’t know,” he said, “You just seemed kind of sad, sitting all alone in the rain.”

“I have no control over the weather. Besides, I was waiting for you.”

“I got here early.”

“So? I got here earlier.”

“Why show up so early when it’s pouring?”

“Why’d you show up so early?”

He chuckled. “Touché.”

“I’m not sad, I’m just…” she sighed, blinking her eyes open to watch the raindrops splash the concrete roof. “Contemplative. Mournful. I don’t know.”

She wondered why she chose such sad-sounding words to illustrate her decided unsadness, but Chat Noir made no comment— instead, he remained silent and attentive, his nose brushing against her hair, and she couldn’t help but heave out another sigh.

“I mean, not— not mournful, just…” She hugged her knees tighter. “I don’t know. I think sometimes I just… wish I had a normal life. More than sometimes.”

“A normal life?” he whispered, tone soft.

“Being Ladybug is… fine,” she said with a shudder, “But it’s so much work. I have so little free time, and I’m so stressed and tired all the time, and… and I can handle it, I think, but it also makes me so flaky and undependable, and everyone gets sick of me, and I… I don’t know. I overhear my friends talking about their significant others, and I just… I wish I could have that, too.” Rainwater slid down her forehead, from her bangs to her eyes, and she blinked it away. “I wish somebody could love me like that.”

“You say that like it’s hard,” he whispered.

“To love me?” A bitter laugh escaped her, and a clawed finger brushed a drop from her brow. “You have no idea.”

“No, I do,” he murmured, and she watched his far hand reach for hers and take gentle hold of her fingers. “It’s so easy, my lady.”

She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Don’t play with fire, kitty,” she said, tearing her eyes away from their hands to look him in his eyes— his beautiful green, looking at her with such soft affection that she couldn’t help but want to melt under their gaze, “You’ll get burned.”

“How do you think I lost my wings?” he whispered, their eye-contact unbreaking as he dragged her hand to his chin, brushing his lips against her knuckles and sending a harsh shiver down her spine. “Call me Icarus, because you’re my sun.”

She snorted.

He was so ridiculous, so over the top, so… so…

… so cheesy.

And Marinette loved cheesy.

Because no matter how much she tried to pretend like she didn’t, tried to pretend like she was above the simple pleasures of romance, like she would be content with only duties and kwamis and brews, Marinette had always been a helpless romantic. She’d never been good at it, but she’d always dreamed of holding someone’s hand, of speaking words of love without shame, of grandiose metaphors of suns and angels and skies, of kissing someone under an umbrella in the rain.

“You’re ridiculous,” she said instead of what she wished she could, her smile fading and her eyes falling to his lips to spare herself the warmth of his gaze. “I don’t know if you’re being serious or not, but… but if you are… you know it would never work between us. Right?”

“I am,” he muttered, lowering her hand but not letting it go, “And I don’t.”

“Am what?” she couldn’t help but ask, because it was easier than responding to anything else, “Ridiculous or serious?”

“Yes,” he answered instead, his smile sweet despite his silly words and the nervousness in his eyes.

“You’re cute,” she blurted, and then gasped, pulling her hand from his to cover her face with both hands, “I mean— That’s… You’re just… I… …”

“Yeah,” he chuckled, and she stole a peek at his cute shy face and pink cheeks through her fingers, “That too.”

“I don’t— It’s silly anyway,” she sighed, crossing her hands over her chest and turning her attention away from him, towards the skyline, “You and I would never work out. We’d be the worst idea.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, his voice so gentle she could barely hear it above the pitter-patter of raindrops atop their umbrella, “I think we’re inspired.”

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

“At least…” he hesitated, “... assuming you’d want us to be.”

She squeezed her arms, willing herself to say what she needed to to end the conversation.

‘I don’t see you like that.’

It was so easy. She’d gone through this whole rigmarole with Chat Noir before, years ago, back when she was in collège and still lost in her Adrien phase. She was never quite sure to the extent to which he’d gotten over her, but she knew that he tried, and she knew that if she turned him down again, he would try again.

Simple. Easy. All she had to do was say it.

‘I just want to be friends.’

… But she wasn’t a very good liar.

And it scared her, then, to realize that it would’ve been a lie— but the realization struck her hard and fast, because it was such a distruth, one of the boldest-face lies she ever would’ve told if she were able to will herself to speak it.

“It’s not about what I want,” she said instead, the words tumbling out of her mouth faster than she would’ve hoped, and she was so thankful that she was still turned away from him, “It’s about the— the— the logistics of it all.”

“The logistics?” he breathed out, somewhere between a sigh and a gasp.

“We can’t know who each other are,” she said, unsure which of them she was reminding, casting her eyes down to the streets below, at the tops of umbrellas drifting about.

“I don’t mind.”

“But… don’t you?” she asked, swallowing, “We don’t… we don’t know anything about each other. We’re complete strangers.”

“No,” he spoke, and she could feel his presence, his warmth, as he scooted closer to her. She sensed his hand ghost by her arm, not quite touching her, not quite pulling back. “We’re not.”

“I don’t know your name,” she whispered.

“You don’t need to,” he whispered back, barely audible over the rain and the thumping of her heart in her ears, “And I… I don’t need to know yours, to know who you are.”

She chewed her lip, her leg shaking on its own accord, desperate to expel some of the nervous energy currently overwhelming her.

“I know you,” he whispered, his voice so close, his breath tickling her ear, “You’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. You’re so intelligent, so creative— you can come up with the craziest, most incredible, harebrained, ridiculous, miraculous schemes on the spot, out of nearly nothing but a paperclip, and pull it off in an instant.”

She let out a little amused huff, an almost-laugh.

“And you’re so kind,” he continued, “You’re so selfless, so sweet. You do so much, my lady— you sacrifice so much, you work so hard, nearly to the bone, for the people who need you. Anybody who needs your help, you’ll be there, and you never expect anything in return.”

Sometimes, she didn’t feel so kind. She didn’t feel kind when her nerves were frayed, when she got short with people who had no reason to believe her terrible excuses, when she found herself lying in bed in tears, thinking me me me, why does this happen to me, why do I have to do this, what did I ever do to deserve this…

She wasn’t sure that she was kind. She wasn’t sure that she did it all out of selflessness and not some terrible sunk-cost fallacy, out of some obligation to not disappoint herself and the people around her.

But she wanted to believe it. She wanted to believe that she was kind. She’d always wished she were kinder.

Chat Noir always made her feel kind.

“And you’re so stubborn,” he said with affection, “When you have your sights set on something, you go for it. You don’t think twice. You don’t ask questions. You just do.”

She wasn’t so sure about that. She felt like she had second thoughts on a lot of things— on nearly every part of her life. She wasn’t sure when the last time she’d ever done anything without second-guessing herself was.

“And you’re so courageous,” he sighed, “I’ve always admired that about you, so much. Your bravery. Your confidence.”

“You,” she scoffed, “Chat Noir, Monsieur Ego, admire my confidence?”

“Of course,” he said so simply, without even a note of hesitation, “You inspire me.”

“But that doesn’t—”

“Don’t get me wrong,” he said, his voice still barely above a whisper, and she shut her mouth to hear him, “I know that you… that you struggle. I know you get lost in that head of yours sometimes— a lot of times— and you doubt yourself. When things go wrong, you panic, and you blame yourself.”

She hugged her arms tighter around herself, staring down at the streets below.

“But that’s… that’s what’s so amazing about it,” he continued, “It’s not that you don’t struggle, Ladybug. It’s that you do, and yet you… you always pull through anyway. No matter what. That takes a lot of strength, to pull yourself out of fear like that. It’s not easy.”

“Oh,” she rasped, her vision beginning to blur, and she blinked away the impending tears.

She removed her arms from around herself, and her chaton didn’t miss a beat— snatching one of her hands into his the moment he could. He must have leant the umbrella against the chimney at some point, because he used both hands to grasp her one.

“And I… I know that you apparently think you’re a ‘disaster’,” he continued, before pausing and adding, “Even though I don’t agree.” She resisted the urge to sniffle. “But I don’t care if you oversleep, or if you lose track of time. Because I… I know that you care. You care so much. And I’d wait forever for you.”

She couldn’t take it anymore. She turned to him.

Big mistake.

She shouldn’t have looked at him. She shouldn’t have looked at him, because he was so beautiful, smiling at her in that wonderful kind way that he sometimes did, his stupid eyes looking more kitten-like than cat-like, and her heart soared.

“And I… I know that you like pink,” he added, his eyes crinkling, and she couldn’t help the tiny wet laugh that escaped her, “And I know that I’d love to know more.”

“Know more?” she whispered, her traitorous heart wanting him to continue, wanting him to never stop talking.

“About you,” he said, squeezing her hand, “Always. As much as I can. I don’t need to know your name, or your identity, just… just you. Knowing you is enough.”

“Oh,” she sniffled, smiling despite herself, and he smiled back.

They stared at each other for a long moment, and she realized, then, how one-sided the whole exchange had been.

“I know you, too,” she managed out, lifting her free hand to swipe under her eyes, “I, ah… I know you too, chaton. I… I know that you’re… you’re really kind, too. And sweet. And brave. And funny.”

“You admit that I’m funny?” he asked with a tilt of his head, his eyes still so sweet despite his teasing words and big smile.

“I know that you have a big head,” she snickered, hitting his shoulder, “And you…” she trailed, chewing her lip and casting her eyes off to the side, towards the rainwater cascading off their umbrella. Her speech wasn’t feeling as good or personal as his— she was just listing adjectives. “You’re really good with words. Better than I am. You know, I— I always struggle a lot more with… with this.”

“This?”

“Talking about feelings,” she said, sucking in a breath, “But I… I want to. So I’m going to try.”

He nodded, watching her with so much interest, and she tried her best not to shrink under his gaze, not to panic and run and leave like she always did when it came to talking about love.

She didn’t remember the last time she’d felt this nervous from a simple conversation, the last time her heart was raging this hard in her chest, the last time she felt so close to flubbing her words, so close to dying. She never got like this when it was a simple fling, not when it was with someone she didn’t really truly care about, not when she wasn’t sure that a rejection would destroy her.

She hadn’t felt like this since her first love— since Adrien.

But Chat Noir wasn’t going to reject her. Maybe Adrien would have if she had given him the chance, all those years ago, when she was a silly little collège girl chasing after a boy way out of her league, after a boy that she never really got to know. But she knew Chat Noir. She knew him, and she was safe with him. He wouldn’t break her heart.

“Y-you… you may think that my confidence is inspiring somehow, chaton, but you’re the real… the real inspiration,” she spoke softly, her eyes watching the water once more, because she knew her heart would explode if she tried two impossible feats— maintaining eye-contact and speaking words of love— at the same time. “Whenever I feel like the world is falling apart, you…” She took a deep breath. “You’re always there. Steady and… steady— no, steady and proud, steady and ready— no, that rhymes— whatever, steady. You’re steady. You’re a… you’re a really good stone— My rock, I mean! You’re my rock.”

She hesitated, waiting for him to tease her, to quip about her strange blunders, but he didn’t. He remained silent, his hands squeezing hers, and she released a breath that she’d been holding.

“Sometimes it feels like you’re not scared of anything,” she continued, “I don’t… I don’t know how you do that. I guess it’s just… you’re optimistic. That’s it. You always see the good in things, you’re always… looking for the light at the end of the tunnel, I guess, even when I can’t… when I can’t see it.”

She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, focusing on his hands, keeping her steady, being her rock as usual.

“I know that… you deflect with humor a lot. And you’re stupidly good at it. Too good at it, I think.” She somehow chuckled. “And I— I don’t know why, exactly, because you’re so much better at feelings than I am, so it’s not fair that you’re also better at deflecting. Or maybe… you’re not good with feelings?” She hesitated. “I don’t know. You’re— You’re kind of a strange character. Sometimes you can just… speak so openly and honestly about how you’re feeling, in ways that I really… really envy, but… other times you… you do weird things, like smile and say that you’re fine and seem so believable about it even though you were crying in my arms the night before.”

Her eyes fell down to their hands. She wanted to look at him so badly, but the thought terrified her. Instead, she placed her free hand atop the pile.

“You’re… good with helping me through my feelings when I’m upset,” she whispered, the realizations coming to her just as the words did, “And you’re good at… talking about your good feelings. Feelings like love. But you’re also really good at hiding your bad ones.”

She forced herself to look at him, but now he was the one staring down at their hands, his expression difficult to make out, obscured by the shadows of the clouds, umbrella, and mask atop his features.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re a good actor?” she asked, hoping he could hear her smile even if he couldn’t see it, hoping that she wasn’t coming off weird or harsh or out of line.

He huffed out a laugh and, lifting his head, looked at her, his smile somehow so exhausted and so adoring at the same time. “You know, I think I’ve heard that before.”

She smiled wide, wider than she could control and enough that her burning cheeks ached, and hoped she didn’t look too deranged.

“I’m not good at this,” she repeated, forcing out an awkward laugh and tearing her eyes from his, “Am I coming off mean? I’m trying to— I’m trying to be…” Romantic. “Flattering.”

“No,” he said, “You’re doing great.”

“Oh— Oh. Okay.” She cleared her throat. “Anyway— you… what else about you? Hm…” She paused. “You’re so fun to be around. I don’t think I’ve ever met someone so… so personable. And charismatic. Someone so easy to… easy to lo… love.” She cleared her throat again, harder. “I don’t… I don’t understand how you’re lonely in your civilian life. Because I can’t comprehend how you’re not surrounded by people, because I can’t imagine what type of person wouldn’t want to be with you at all times. Because I— I know I do.”

She kept her eyes glued to the water, and he scooted closer to her. She thought she heard a sniffle, or maybe it was just the rainwater— but before she could think too hard about it, she felt his chin propped up against her shoulder, and she couldn’t help but smile.

“And I know that you…” she continued, before she trailed off, her mind coming up blank. “... are a single child, I guess? And I… I don’t know. I don’t know what else I know about you.”

“What do you want to know?” he whispered.

“I…” She sucked in a breath, her heart slamming into her ribs. “I-I don’t know.” Everything. “Are…” She licked her lips. “... Mister Bug’s eyes are green.”

“Huh?”

“I mean—” she started, “You— both Chat Noir and Mister Bug’s eyes are green. So, your… your eyes are green. Right? Like, they actually are? Even without a mask?”

She forced herself to look at him again, and he was staring up at her with those big emerald eyes of his— wetter than when she’d last looked at them, but just as wonderful.

“My eyes are green,” he said with a sniffle and a smile, “Are yours blue?”

“Huh?” she breathed, still coming down from the strange and insurmountable relief, “Oh. Yeah. They are.”

Slowly, he pulled himself back from her shoulder, and she almost missed his warmth until he was sitting up straight, scooting in closer to her, their faces mere centimeters apart. She looked down at his lips, her nose brushing against his as she tilted her head ever so slightly, and they started to close the distance—

“Wait,” she said, snapping her face away from him, back to the water, her heart hammering, “There’s— I still don’t know you well enough.”

“Huh?” he breathed.

“Maybe you have some— some deal breakers I don’t know about,” she murmured, staring down at her feet, “I don’t know.”

“Deal breakers?”

“Like…” she hesitated, “M-Maybe you don’t brush your teeth. Or maybe you’re mean to waitstaff.”

“I have impeccable dental hygiene,” he said with amusement, “And I… I mean, I hope I’m nice to them. I try to be.”

She hummed, gathering her knees to her chest and hugging them tight.

He leaned in close, almost conspiratorially, and whispered in her ear, “... If my order gets messed up, I usually just eat it anyway, because I don’t want to bother them.”

The image of that was enough to make her laugh despite how close she felt to throwing up. “Do you like pickles?”

“Huh?” he asked, and she turned to look at him, “I… not particularly. Why?”

“No reason,” she said, her cheeks hurting from her smile, “Just curious.”

He smiled back. “Do you… have any other deal breakers?”

“Yeah,” she breathed, but she struggled to think of any, her brain fuddled and distracted by the thought of his lips. “Um… I don’t know. I don’t even know your age—” she gasped, “Oh god, what if you’re way younger than me?”

“I’m almost twenty,” he said, and she gasped.

“What?” she choked, “You’re older than me?”

His eyes widened, and he pulled away. “What? But— But not by a lot, right?”

“I’m nineteen,” she said, and he let out a breath, “But not quite ‘almost twenty’. I can’t believe you’re older than me. I always thought you were younger.”

“Why?” he laughed.

“I don’t know. I’m— god. When I was born, you were already in a crib. That’s so weird.”

“We’re the same age!”

“It’s weird!”

He smiled at her in that affectionate way of his, and her whole face warmed. “But not weird enough to break a deal, right?”

She eyed him.

“There’s more,” she continued, tearing her eyes away from his to look at her feet, “Maybe you’re the type of person who’d be weird about the fact that I’m bi. I don’t know.”

“Why would I be weird about that?”

“I don’t know,” she said with a shrug, “Some people are.”

“You know, sometimes I…” he trailed, and in a moment rare for her chaton, hesitated, “Nevermind.”

She turned to him. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“No,” she said, watching him, her eyes now glued to his, “I want to know what you were going to say.”

“It’s dumb,” he said, but when she continued to stare at him, he continued, “I was just— I was just going to say, sometimes I think… I don’t actually have any experience in it, so it probably doesn’t actually mean anything, but I guess… …”

He trailed again, and she waited.

“When I imagine… domestic bliss,” he continued, “And being with somebody I love— and when I’m, in a rare moment, not specifically imagining you…” He shot her a shy smile. “I just… I don’t know. I can imagine that person being anything. That’s all.”

“Oh,” she breathed, and then couldn’t help but smile, “Oh.”

“I know it doesn’t mean anything,” he continued, “I was just trying to say— I’d like to think I’m not weird about that stuff.”

“It does mean something,” she said, finding herself turning her whole body towards him and reaching for his hands again. “You don’t need to have ‘experience’ in it.”

They stared at each other for a long time, and she wondered why she’d ever thought eye-contact would be difficult with him. She could get lost in his eyes for days.

She could just kiss him. Right now. She could grab him by the cheeks and mash her face against his and enjoy herself for once, be truly selfish for once, follow her heart and bask in all the love and butterflies that she’d always longed for.

“But, um… speaking of your lack of experience,” she said, tearing her eyes away again, “Or— wait, that sounded weird—”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, I just…” She squeezed his hands. “What if that’s all this is?”

“If what is?”

“That we’re lonely,” she tried, the words wobblier in her throat than she’d hoped they’d be, “Like… is that all this is? We’re the last people on Earth, so we’re settling?”

“I’m not settling,” he whispered and leaned in close, and she swallowed hard, “I’d love you if we were the only two people on Earth, but I’d love you just as much if Earth grew ten sizes. It’d always be you. No matter what.”

A shiver ran down her spine, warming her body and tingling her toes, but she waited for him to ask the dreaded question, to lob her horrible words right back at her— are you settling, my lady?

She wasn’t sure what the answer would be. She wasn’t sure, because she didn’t have the data to know for certain. She didn’t have the luxury of knowing how she’d feel, what her life would be like, who would be catching her eye if she knew she had other options.

But he didn’t ask her that. Instead, he leaned in close, and she felt his lips ghost against her earlobe— sweet, tentative, not quite a kiss, like he was just waiting for her to push him away, to tell him that she didn’t want it, that she didn’t love him, that she didn’t want to melt into his warmth and hold him tight and never let him go and eat his face off—

Screw it.

She lunged for him, aiming for his lips to devour them like she’d always wanted but would never admit— but her shoulder knocked the umbrella off its perch on the way, and it came crashing down.

“YE-OW!” Chat Noir shrieked as the cold water splashed him, leaping to his feet in an instant, his knees and arms held out and eyes wide, not unlike a startled cat. And if the splash of umbrella water wasn’t enough, the downpour of rain only further soaked him.

And despite how horrible it was, how typical it was for her klutziness to ruin any semblance of a romantic or tender moment in her life, seeing Chat Noir in such a startled state shattered something in her.

She laughed.

She laughed, and she laughed, crumbling forward and clutching her stomach— because he just looked so miserable and pathetic, drenched in the pouring rain, his fluffy blond hair turning limp and dark from the water, his silly cat ears unable to remain upright under the onslaught of rain, and she loved him. She loved him, and she loved him, and she loved him, and she laughed.

“Wait— No, wait— Let’s try that again—” he stammered, and she could just barely hear the sharp sound of metal hitting concrete from the street below. “Oh, shoot!”

The umbrella— which was also his baton— had rolled off of the roof and plummeted to the sidewalk below.

And she laughed harder.

“I’m— haha— I’m so—” she tried through her laughs, “I’m so-orry, haha, chaton—”

“It’s fine! It’s fine!” he quickly assured, scrambling to the side of the roof and peering down at wherever his baton had landed. He hugged his arms around himself, shivering, “Can you, uhh… fetch it back up with your yo-yo so we can try that again?”

She chuckled, her mirth thankfully deciding to have mercy on her abdomen. She smiled, pulling herself up to her feet and watching him, not caring how drenched she got.

“You know,” she said, blinking away the water catching in her lashes and ignoring the thunder that boomed in the distance. It really was coming down hard. “I’ve always thought rain was romantic.”

He turned back to her, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and her heart fluttered. He watched her for a moment, before he smiled. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” she said with a smile, her toes tingling as he took a step closer to her. She took one, too. “Don’t you think so?”

“I think any sky can be romantic,” he said, reaching for her hand and taking it in his before bringing it up to his lips, “so long as you’re under it.”

“You know, chaton,” she whispered, closing the distance between them and breaking her hand away from his so she could snake her arms around his neck, “your words are very pretty, but actions would be louder.”

“What?” he asked, his arms wrapping around her waist, and she wondered how she’d ever convinced herself that she ever wanted to be anywhere else but in his arms. He leaned in close to her ear, his breath tickling her skin, and whispered, “Are you having trouble hearing me, my lady?”

“Bark bark bark,” she taunted.

He reeled back, laughing, “Excuse me?”

“Where’s the bite?”

“Meow meow meow,” he corrected, and she rolled her eyes, grabbed his cheeks, and yanked his lips to hers.

It wasn’t the most elegant kiss— their teeth bumped against each other for an unpleasant moment— but they fell into it easily. It just felt so right, so correct, to have Chat Noir’s lips slot so nicely into hers, his arms around her waist. And despite the booming thunder and pouring rain, she felt so safe and warm.

She kept her hands at his cheeks, holding him close and enjoying the thrill of her heart slamming in her chest. She tilted herself onto the balls of her feet to gain the necessary height to properly deepen their kiss in all the ways she desired.

And when she finally had to break the kiss to gasp for air— the rainwater cascading into her nostrils making breathing otherwise impossible— she heard his sigh and felt his wonderful lips trail kisses along her jawline, and she shuddered.

“I love you,” he spoke between kisses, and she nearly whimpered, “I love you. I love you.”

“Chaton…” she sighed, her eyes closed and face turned up towards the rain, her knees growing weak.

“I love you,” he repeated, and she felt him shiver, and she did, too, “I love you— I’m— I’m c-cold. And I love you.”

She laughed, and yanked him into another kiss.

Chapter Text

“We need to set some ground rules,” she declared.

Chat Noir sighed, so sweetly, so cute, and she, amidst all her other kisses, pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth to reward him for making her heart flutter, before returning to her post of pecking him all over his jaw. He sat limp against the chimney, his eyes closed and limbs like jello beneath her onslaught of affection and the gentle pitter-patter of the dying rain. “Mmhm…”

“No identities,” she said between kisses, her hands gripping his shoulders, “Got it?”

“Mhmm…”

She pulled back and snapped her fingers right in front of his face. “Got it?”

He blinked his eyes open and looked at her, a big dopey smile on his face, his cheeks wonderfully red. “Whatever you say, lovebug.”

“We can— we can talk a little bit about our lives, because we definitely don’t know each other,” she clarified, her own face burning hot, feeling nearly foolish for allowing herself the delusion, “And I— I mean, it’s only fair we know a little bit about each other, since we’ll be… a couple.”

Dear god. This was actually happening.

He sighed wistfully, raising his clawed hand to brush at her cheek, and she shuddered.

“But nothing too specific or revealing. Use your best judgment. Oh! And we’re exclusive, if that wasn’t clear,” she said, “No secret civilian girlfriends. Or boyfriends. Or significant others. Got it?”

“I only have eyes for you,” he said through his dopey smile.

“If the press finds out, they find out, but we’re not going to announce it or volunteer any information to them. I’d like to avoid the trouble if we could,” she continued, “And no funny business mid-battle! We’re professionals.”

“Moi? Funny business?” he cooed, “I would never.”

“And if it doesn’t work out and we break up, we’re going to go back to how we were before and pretend like this never happened,” she said, “This can’t affect our partnership.”

“Mhm…”

“And… and…” she trailed, chewing her lip, “... I’ll probably remember something else later. Do you have any rules?”

“I’m going to buy you so many flowers,” he breathed.

She rolled her eyes. “That’s not a rule.”

“You have to accept them,” he said, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the bridge of her nose, and she couldn’t help but smile, as ridiculous as he was. Her lips met his once more, and she allowed herself to melt back into him.

*****

“So,” Marinette said, her nose scrunched and eyes set on her paper sketch, refusing to make eye-contact with the screen, “This is completely off the record, but…”

“Huh?” Alya asked through her laptop speakers, “Off the record?”

“Yes. The following conversation cannot make it to the Ladyblog. Got it?”

“I don’t know whether to be offended at the accusation that I would put something you told me in confidence on the Ladyblog,” Alya mused, “Or intrigued that every prior conversation we’ve had was on the record.”

Marinette opted to ignore that. Instead, she took a deep breath and willed herself to say “Chat Noir and I are…” she hesitated, her heart racing at the prospect of putting it into words, of speaking the impossibility into reality, “... dating.”

“You know, I think you already told me that,” Alya chuckled.

“What!? No! I didn’t! I—” Marinette huffed and snapped her gaze up to the screen, which was a mistake, because the smug look on Alya’s face only made her cheeks burn, “That was a lie!”

“Huh? Is he your boyfriend or not?”

“He is now, but he wasn’t when I told you before— I— Nevermind,” Marinette puffed, fanning her burning cheeks, “It— It doesn’t matter. What matters is that… we’re giving it a shot. So. Yeah. Thoughts?”

Alya hummed. “Well, I have a lot of thoughts, I suppose…”

“And?”

“Well, my first thought is— Hell yeah!” Alya cheered, a big grin on her face, “WOO! It’s about freaking time! You two have always had such good chemistry, and the entirety of Paris has been suffering under the tyranny of your guys’ unresolved romantic and sexual tension for far too long.”

Unresolved romantic and sexual tension? Only yesterday, Marinette would’ve denied that vehemently… but now?

Yeah. She had to admit that it was accurate. Once she’d admitted to herself that she liked Chat Noir, once she’d allowed herself to kiss him and hold him and call him hers— yeah. There was definitely a relief there, like a strain that she hadn’t even realized was there had been lifted.

She just felt so free right now.

“Oh, stop…” Marinette giggled, cheeks aching and heart fluttering.

“My second thought is— you definitely deserve to be happy,” she said, and Marinette took a long breath, “And I’ll definitely support you getting a taste of some catboy action.”

“Thanks,” she snorted.

“Another thought is…” Alya paused. “... That I’ll keep my other thoughts to myself to not sour the mood.”

“Huh?” Marinette blinked, her mirth popping, “What? No. Tell me.”

“I’m serious, Marinette,” Alya said, “I totally support you and think that you two are super good together, and I’m very happy for you…”

“But?” Marinette pressed, narrowing her eyes.

“I don’t know,” Alya mused, her eyes cast away from the screen, “I guess I just can’t personally imagine… dating someone who you don’t even know.”

“I do know him,” Marinette huffed, leaning back in her seat and crossing her arms over her chest, “I know him perfectly well!”

“I mean… you don’t,” Alya said, “Though, of course, some relationships do start like that! So it’s not too weird—”

“Thank you!”

“Buuut…” Alya continued, and Marinette groaned. “Just… Your guys’ relationship is really… unique. And important. And if anything threatened the integrity of that, it’d be pretty bad news—”

“Just because all my other relationships failed doesn’t mean this one will,” Marinette spat.

“What? No! That’s not what I meant—”

“I’m perfectly capable of having a steady relationship with someone!” she hissed, “Not all of us can meet the love of our lives in collège—”

“Marinette—”

“Or— actually, we can, because I met Chat Noir in collège, too! At the same time, anyway,” she continued, “So I don’t know why you think we’re strangers and doomed to failure when we’ve known each other for just as long as you and Nino have—”

“You’re not doomed to failure! You’re not! That’s not what I was saying—”

“Yeah!” Marinette spat, before shrinking in on herself, suddenly unsure of what she was even arguing anymore.

“I was just saying that you’re newly coming down from a breakup and— actually, you know what?” Alya shook her head. “Nevermind. Pretend I didn’t say anything. I’m happy for you, Marinette. I really am.”

“Thanks,” Marinette muttered, brow furrowed and eyes cast off.

“I want more deets,” Alya said lightheartedly, leaning forward and smiling softly at the screen, “Give me the play-by-play! I want to know how Ladynoir finally got together.”

“Well…” Marinette chuckled softly, forcing herself to meet Alya’s gaze, “It was raining and… he brought an umbrella—”

“Of course.”

*****

“Marinette,” Prof. Delacroix spoke flatly, shutting the door to his office, “Do you know why I asked to speak with you?”

“Because, uh…” Marinette breathed, gripping tight at her knees as he made his way around the desk and sat down.

“Last class was your fourth absence this semester,” he said, and she shuddered at the acknowledgement, “As you likely know, attendance is mandatory, as per the syllabus—”

“Without good reason!” she quickly added, “It— the syllabus says, so long as you have a good reason—”

“Such as a doctor’s note, death of a loved one, or other such tragedy,” he clarified, raising a brow, “Do you have any such reasons?”

Yeah, she did have a pretty good reason, thank you very much. She was saving Paris from a particular perturbed locksmith.

“Yes! I do, my, err—” she began, “My ha— hamster died, actually, which is very sad because he was very loved—”

“I’m sorry, Marinette,” Prof. Delacroix said without sympathy, and she shrunk in on herself, “I’m going to have to start docking your grade.”

*****

“I don’t know what you expected,” Stephanie said after a rare moment of honesty from Marinette, “That’s what you get for missing so many classes.”

Marinette wondered, not for the first time, why she even bothered trying to tell her ‘friends’ anything about her life ever. “I— I had my reasons— I’m just very busy, and I can’t always make class—”

“Had to miss class to flirt with a catfish?” Leila taunted, and Marinette bristled.

“Guys…” Oriana sighed. “Come on. She’s clearly upset—”

“It’s called tough love,” Leila scoffed, “You miss class, you get consequences. We’re just being realistic. If you want better grades, you gotta put the effort in like everyone else. What, you want pity?”

“I don’t want anything,” she hissed, “You asked me why I seemed down, so I answered. That’s all. Also, for the last time, he’s not a fucking catfish—”

“Yeah, just your weird little boyfriend who you don’t even know the first name of—”

“He’s not weird—”

“Let’s just change the subject,” Stephanie sighed, “You guys get so annoying when you argue.”

“We’re not arguing,” Leila said, “We’re just talking. I’m giving advice.”

“I don’t want your advice,” Marinette spat, “I didn’t fucking ask for it.”

“Yeah, I think I’m just gonna go to Jules’ dorm,” Stephanie said, standing up, “I’m not big on these vibes.”

“Take me with you?” Oriana whimpered, and Stephanie shook her head.

*****

“I know you,” Ladybug breathed out, caught between her partner’s steady arms and warm lips.

By all intents and purposes, their dynamic hadn’t changed as radically as Ladybug feared. Fighting akumas by Chat Noir’s side was still mostly the same— though perhaps she felt just a tad more distracted by him, freed from the strain of her previous denial and knowing as she did now that she could grab him by the face and kiss him whenever she wanted— but besides that, things were the same.

They went on patrol. They fought akumas. They bantered. Chat Noir’s unfairly soft lips— and she knew intimately, now, just how soft they were— smiled at her in all of those silly wonderful ways that they always did.

(His smiles as of late veered on the shyer side— a fact that only made her heart flutter more than it already would have. He was so cute like that, with pink cheeks and glittering eyes.)

But no, Ladybug and Chat Noir were mostly the same— save for the fact that she could— and always chose to— tug him aside post-battle for some well-deserved face-devouring.

It was only fair. She figured she’d earned a prize for putting her life on hold to be Ladybug as much as she did— and there was nothing she wanted more than to have her lips on that mangy cat.

No. Not mangy. He was wonderful, and he was sweet, and handsome and adorable and hers. Hers. He was hers, her wonderful little lap-cat, who she was more than eager to spoil rotten.

“Huhm?” Chat Noir hummed between kisses to her jawline, and she tightened her arms around his shoulders.

“I know you,” she repeated through a sigh, happily tilting her head to allow him better access to the underside of her jaw. “I’m just… augh.”

“‘Augh’?” Chat Noir whispered, pecking her just above the collar of her suit before pulling back to look at her, “Something bothering you, my lady?”

“Me? Bothered?” she scoffed, “Never. Let’s just go back to making out—”

“You wanna talk about it?” he asked, tone and eyes so soft as he reached to carefully brush her bangs out of her eyes— and she wondered, not for the first time, how she’d ever resisted him before.

“Just had a bad day,” she scoffed, “But nothing new there.”

He just watched her, blinking and waiting for her to continue, and she sighed.

“I just— I got in trouble with one of my professors for missing class— thanks to Hawkmoth— and I just…” she swallowed, “I dunno. My friends were kind of asses, too, and it soured my day.”

“Oh… that’s terrible,” he said with so much more sympathy than the others had ever cared to show her, brushing a clawed hand against her cheek, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, my lady.”

Yeah, it was terrible. It was terrible, because she was going to fail her classes if she kept this up— multiple classes, probably, and then she would get kicked out of school, and then her parents would be so quietly disappointed in her, and she would never be able to explain why it had happened, and her dreams would be shot and she’d never be able to get the jobs she wanted to get or live the life she wanted to live—

“Yeah, well,” she tried, her voice catching in her throat— and she hadn’t thought she was that upset about it, hadn’t thought she was anywhere close to crying, but suddenly she felt on the brink. “Let’s just— I just— I want to be distracted.”

He watched her for a long moment, and she tore her eyes away from his, staring out over the blurring skyline and hoping that the misting of her eyes wasn’t as visible to him as it was to her. Once she was sure that wasn’t going to work, she squeezed her eyes tight and puckered her lips for him, hoping he’d get the hint.

He did, briefly. His lips brushed against hers, giving her a tender kiss that was all-too-short, lasting only about two seconds before he pulled back. She huffed.

“You know,” she heard him whisper, his breath tickling her skin, and she licked her lips, “I’ve been… thinking…”

“Hm?” she hummed, not trusting herself to open her eyes or speak real words.

“Remember how…” he began, hesitating, “... We got a hotel that one time?”

“I don’t know,” she whispered, finding herself apparently able to speak if it meant teasing him, “Do you remember it? Because if I recall correctly—”

“What if we did that again?” he asked, “You know… spend the night together.”

The rooftop suddenly felt very, very hot.

“Oh,” she croaked, her heart slamming in her chest.

Yeah. That would certainly distract her.

“We don’t have to if you’re not comfortable,” he quickly said, “But—”

“I’m perfectly comfortable!” she quickly said, because yeah, that sounded nice, “And I’d— I’d like to but I— augh. Ladybug and Chat Noir waltzing into a hotel lobby isn’t exactly stealthy. Last time was embarrassing enough, it’s a miracle it didn’t end up all over the internet.”

“You’re right, we’re terrible at waltzing,” he grinned, pulling back and placing his finger to his chin in thought— and he looked so cute like that, his eyes narrowed and cast over the skyline, “... Okay. What if— now, I know this will sound bad, so just hear me out—”

“Oh boy.” Ladybug rolled her eyes, prepared for the worst.

“We go to… my place?” he offered with a nervous grin.

“Ha ha,” she deadpanned.

“No, I’m— I’m serious,” he said, “I don’t really… have people over… ever. It’s impossible for you to recognize my apartment—”

“Unless I see photos of you or your family on the walls,” she scoffed.

“I can hide photos!”

“Also, it doesn’t matter if I figure out your identity from it— knowing your address is just as bad! You want Hawkmoth to akumatize me and pick where you live from my brain—”

“Who said anything about knowing my address?” he asked with a grin, “You can close your eyes. We can spin you around and disorient you. I can take you there and you’ll know nothing about where you are except for the fact that it has an incredible bed.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him.

It was too risky.

“Well?” he asked hopefully.

But it… could work.

“... My lady?” he asked, a nervous look on his stupidly attractive face.

It sounded really nice.

“Fine,” she sighed, and he nearly gasped.

Didn’t she deserve to be a little selfish? Couldn’t she take some risks?

“But you better take a weird route and spin me really good, because if I get even the slightest inkling as to which cardinal direction you’re taking me, I’m pulling the plug.”

“Of course!” He beamed, giddy and nearly bouncing where he stood, and she couldn’t help but smile. “I know just what to do! May I borrow your yo-yo, my lady?”

With her eyes squeezed shut, the wire of her yo-yo coiled around her, and a sharp yank, Ladybug lost all sense of direction and had no contest as she found herself dizzyingly carried to and fro, with sharp turns, winding paths, and U-turns. Chat Noir, thorough as he was, even stopped and twirled around a few times on the journey (which was very unnecessary, thank you very much— Ladybug was dizzy enough as it was. The fact that she laughed, however, unfortunately only encouraged his terrible behavior.).

Soon (but not soon enough— he definitely overdid the ‘weird route’ part of the plan), she heard Chat Noir yank open a window and leap inside a room.

“Keep your eyes closed,” he said, and she did. He set her down carefully on her feet, and she patted behind her for a wall to lean against, disoriented as she was. “Let me, uh— make sure to hide anything compromising.”

“Mhm,” she agreed, leaning back against the wall, covering her eyes with her hands, and listening as she heard him scamper about the room. She waited as best she could despite her impatience, heart racing at the fact that this was happening, this was really happening. She heard a door open and close a couple times, some ruffling, and then she felt his presence step before her.

“Okay! You can open your eyes!”

She blinked her eyes open and peered around the room, her breath reflexively catching in her throat at the sight of it.

She was in Chat Noir’s room.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about it, nothing that completely jumped out at her as strange or weird— which was perhaps weird in and of itself, because she’d always expected Chat Noir to be a pretty strange character. But it was nice. A very nice room, much larger than her dorm room (though that wasn’t saying much), and a queen-sized bed that looked very comfortable.

It was a lot cleaner than her rooms ever were. Actually, it was remarkably uncluttered. She never understood how people managed that.

“It kind of smells like cheese in here,” she remarked instead of any of the compliments on her tongue.

“Eugh. I know. That’s Plagg’s fault,” he huffed with a roll of his eyes, and she suppressed a giggle. “The view’s good, though!”

“I’m not looking out your window.” She raised a brow. “Kind of defeats the purpose of all the spinning.”

“Oh! Right.” He stepped to the window and threw the curtains shut, and she stepped further into the room, eyeing the premises as she made her way over to the bed and carefully sat on the end of it.

This was such a strange feeling. She still didn’t know Chat Noir’s name, or nearly anything about him— and yet, here she was, in his apartment. It excited her more than she’d thought it would, the riskiness of it all, the glimpse into Chat Noir’s life— her boyfriend’s life— that she’d previously thought forbidden. A shiver ran down her spine.

“You could do with some more decorations,” she said, eyeing the bare walls.

“Yeah,” he agreed, turning around and grinning at her in that wonderful way of his, and she wanted him in the bed with her. “Haven’t gotten around to it. Of course, I’m open to suggestions— especially from the lady of creativity herself.”

“Sorry, minou, but consultations aren’t free,” she said, the room feeling warm as she scooted back and lounged atop his mattress. (Yeah, this was a very nice bed. He wasn’t kidding.) “You’ll have to make it worth my while.”

“Oh, I know just the thing,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye, making his way towards the bed, and she propped herself up on her elbows, tilted her head up, and began to pucker her lips—

He left the room.

“Wh…” She gaped at the stupid door for a moment, before collapsing back onto the bed and letting out a huff. What a tease.

She patted her fingers against her stomach and begrudgingly waited for him to come back. Did he expect her to follow him? Surely he didn’t. She was pretty sure he hadn’t identity-proofed the entire apartment. Just the bedroom.

She wondered what the rest of the apartment looked like, and her stomach had butterflies at just the thought.

Chat Noir lived here.

She pulled her yo-yo from her hip and opened the camera feature, taking a moment to inspect her appearance (all the stupid spins did a number on her hair, actually) when the door swung back open and Chat Noir reappeared.

“Catch!” he called, and she startled, springing up into a sitting position and catching the large object that he threw at her.

“Wh— Wha?” She blinked, staring at the object in her hands, “You… You got me a gift basket?”

“If I say yes, is it more romantic?” he asked, approaching the bed as she inspected the package. Adorned with careful wrapping and a fancy ribbon, it was filled with expensive-looking snacks of all kinds— chocolates, cheeses, fruits, even a bottle of wine. She felt the mattress dip beside her as Chat Noir sat on his knees. “I just had it lying around.”

“You just had it lying around,” she repeated back in disbelief, nearly drooling at all the goodies inside. “You— did someone get this for you?”

“I removed the tags! My name shouldn’t be on it anymore,” he said, and the thought hadn’t even crossed her mind.

“No, I…” she began, before sighing and pushing it towards him, “It looks really nice, chaton, but you should have it. It’s yours.”

“Oh, psshh!” He pushed it right back to her. “I get gift baskets all the time. Have at it! What’s mine is yours, and all that.”

“Who gets gift baskets all the time?” she asked, and he only shrugged. She eyed it again. “Well… we can share it, I guess.”

“Of course!” he said with a grin, reaching forward and easily tearing the plastic open with his claws.

“No wine, though.” She snatched the bottle from the basket and carelessly tossed it aside. He cringed as it thumped against the floor and rolled away. “You’ve lost your wine privileges.”

“I had wine privileges?” he asked, reaching into the basket and carefully picking out a box of chocolate truffles.

“You’re right. You never had them, but now you really don’t have them.”

“I’m never gonna live that down, am I?” he sighed, opening the box and plopping a truffle in his mouth. He held them out to her, and she grabbed one for herself, tossing it into her mouth.

Yeah. This was a very nice gift basket. The chocolate melted instantly and coated her mouth, and she quickly grabbed a second. “Nope,” she said, before devouring it.

This wasn’t exactly what she was expecting to do in his bed, but… she wasn’t exactly complaining, either.

She sighed and reclined back in the bed, grabbing a box of something she couldn’t quite place and opening it. “This is…” She chuckled. “... so weird.”

“What is it?” he asked, scooting back to lounge beside her. He leaned forward to inspect the box.

“Hm? Oh, I dunno. Some more chocolates, I guess— but that’s not what I meant. I meant this whole… everything. I didn’t expect to wind up in Chat Noir’s civilian bed eating snacks.”

“You didn’t?” he asked with a smile, rolling over to face her and draping an arm over her abdomen, “But you had a bad day, my lady! Of course I would open my home to my lovely, amazing, wonderful girlfriend and shower her in at least a fraction of all the gifts she deserves.”

She snorted and turned her head to face him, their noses centimeters apart. “This wasn’t really what I had in mind.”

“Unfortunately, I have no roses on such short notice— but I could make you tea,” he said, and she snorted again. “We could even order food! Oh, and you said you wanted to be distracted, yeah? I can probably bring the TV in here—”

“Wh— Chat Noir!” she laughed, “Are you serious?”

“Of course! You know, since I’m already transformed, moving furniture should be super easy—”

She raised a brow. “Is this why you invited me into your bed?”

He paused. “I could give you a back rub.”

“A back rub?”

“Of course!” Suddenly, he was sitting up on his knees, smiling down at her. “You may not have a taste for pets, but who can resist a back rub?”

She just stared at him.

“You had a rough day,” he said, his eyes soft, “You deserve to be pampered.”

“Oh,” she squeaked out, her face burning hot and toes tingling, and she wondered what she’d ever done to deserve such a wonderful partner, how she didn’t realize how wonderful he was sooner, how she ever resisted this wonderful wonderful wonderful man. “Okay.”

She’d never gotten a back rub before, so she wasn’t quite sure what she was supposed to do with her body. She rolled over onto her stomach and rested her cheek against one of his stupidly soft pillows, crossing her arms beneath it and peeking back at him.

He beamed at her, scooted close, paused, and then whipped his baton off of his back and turned his attention to its screen.

She blinked. “What are you doing?”

“Looking up how to give a back rub.”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “You offered, but you don’t know how?”

“I’ve never done it before!” he defended, his eyes still glued to the screen, “But it can’t be too hard, right? I just want to make sure I do it right.”

She rolled her eyes, but Chat Noir’s research didn’t take long. Soon he was tucking his baton back at his hip and leaning forward, and she felt the palms of his hands rubbing into her lower back.

It turned out, Ladybug did like back rubs. She wasn’t sure to what extent it was Chat Noir’s skill versus the overwhelming feeling of being loved and cared for, sandwiched between his careful hands and the softest pillows and nicest mattress she’d ever known, but she liked them quite a lot.

Too much, maybe, if her tears were anything to go by.

She knew she was stressed. She’d known it for a long time— at least as long as she’d been Ladybug, for sure— but she wasn’t quite hit with the reality of how stressed she was until she found herself on the verge of a meltdown due to some firm-but-gentle touches and sweet words from her partner.

At least it was a cathartic meltdown, this time.

His careful hands rubbed into the small of her back, and she sniffled and squeezed her eyes shut, feeling the warm tears roll down her cheeks, and somehow she couldn’t even find it in herself to be embarrassed about the sudden and abrupt change of her mood. Just minutes ago she was teasing him, and now she was crying in his bed.

He’d have every right to tease her back for it.

“Everything okay, love?” he whispered, and she almost laughed at the absurdity of it, of Chat Noir so genuinely calling her ‘love’ instead of any of his other silly nicknames for her, but she couldn’t find it in herself. Instead, her chest warmed, and she sniffled. “I’m not hurting you, am I?”

She hummed a negative and shook her head.

“Your muscles are so tense,” he said so softly, moving to massage a different part of her back.

She sniffled and managed a small smile. “Is that— is that a thing you can actually tell? O-Or are you just saying that because that’s what people giving massages are supposed to say, Monsieur I’ve Never Done This Before?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you think too much?” he asked, and she gave a wet chuckle, because yes, all the time. “Just relax, my lady.”

“I don’t know,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut, because she wasn’t sure she could ‘relax’ without crying even more than she already was, “Maybe I— maybe I want to k-keep talking.”

“You know I love your voice,” he said, and she felt his presence looming above her, and soon his gentle lips brushed against her cheek.

“I’m—” She hiccuped. “I-I’m— god, I don’t know wh-why I’m crying! What if an akuma comes—”

“I’ll cataclysm it,” he whispered, and she sucked in a stuttering breath. “Don’t worry about that. I’m here for you.”

“I just feel like… like…” she began, her broken honesty interrupted by her voice catching in her throat, afraid to place the dreaded word into reality. Her eyes only welled up further.

A clawed hand briefly left her back to gently brush a stray strand of hair out of her mouth.

“... a disappointment,” she finished, her lip quivering.

“Oh, my lady…” he whispered as if his own heart were breaking, and she choked out a sob.

“M-my professors…” she blubbered, “My— my fuh-friends, muh-my parents…”

“You’re not a disappointment,” he whispered, his breath tickling her ear, and she sobbed. “You do so much, my lady. You work so hard. Nobody could ask any more of you—”

“B-But they do, they do a-and they have— they have n-no reason to think I won’t b-be able to— to keep up with it a-all but I— I can’t— If only they knew—” she interrupted herself with another sob, and she clasped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries.

“They’d all be so proud of you,” he said, his tone so soft and gentle and loving that she wanted to cry harder. He pressed a kiss to her mask, just beside her eye. “They’d be so proud, if they somehow weren’t already.”

“I— I’m sc-scared I’m gonna— I’m gonna flunk—” she choked out, “I miss classes a-all the time, I— I’m always s-so tired, I’m not doing as well as I— I’m not as good as I th-thought I was— I’ll never— I’ll never make it in the industry, I—”

“The industry?” he asked, his gentle claws brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes.

“Fashion is so cut-throat,” she sniffled, “I’m gonna— I’m gonna b-be stuck making E-Etsy commissions for the rest o-of my life.”

“Owning your own business? Sounds impressive to me,” he said, pressing a kiss to her hair, and she huffed. “I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, my lady, but you’ll make it through this. I can’t imagine that your designs are anything but completely inspired. You’re so creative, so intelligent. I’m sure your professors see that, too.”

“Well,” she sniffled, “guess you’ll be disappointed, too.”

“You could never disappoint me,” he whispered in her ear, so soft but with so much conviction, “Never.”

She sniffled and rolled onto her back, allowing herself a moment to stare up at him, blinking through the tears in her eyes. He hovered over her, his gaze on hers, and she nearly melted into the sheets.

“I love you,” he said, as if the way he was looking at her didn’t already make it abundantly clear, “Unconditionally. No matter what. And I’m sure they do, too.”

Her lip twitched towards an amused smile, “My professors love me?”

He hummed and smiled. “I was thinking more your friends and parents, but sure.”

He was right. They did. She knew they did— well, maybe not her university friends, but Alya and Nino loved her unconditionally, and her parents certainly did. Maybe they’d be disappointed, but they’d still love her. They would.

“Mhm.” She wiped at the moisture from her face and sniffled again. But she wasn’t crying anymore, at least. She grabbed one of the chocolate truffles from the basket and tossed it in her mouth, focusing on the taste of it melting in her mouth instead of the pain in her chest. “I’m— augh. I wasn’t expecting to eat snacks in your bed, but I wasn’t expecting to cry in it, either. I had something else in mind entirely.”

“What did you have in mind?” he asked, and she reached up to brush her fingers against his cheeks.

“Well…” she whispered, ghosting her thumb at his bottom lip, “I probably ruined the mood by sobbing like I did.”

“You didn’t ruin anything,” he said, grasping one of the hands at his cheek to bring her knuckles to his lips.

“I’m all snotty and my hair looks like I just escaped a tornado.”

“You’re radiant,” he sighed dreamily.

She snorted and tugged at him, and he moved further atop her, his chest pressed against hers. “Sure I am, Monsieur Charming. How do you always know what to say?”

“Ahh, I always knew that you loved the sound of my voice,” he cooed, brushing another strand of hair out of her face, his face mere centimeters from hers, “It’s nice to hear you admit it.”

She did. She really did.

She snaked her arms around his neck and tilted her head upwards, brushing her lips against his.

Chapter Text

“I can’t believe you’re reading that,” Oriana snorted between bites of yet another apology-bag of baked goods.

Marinette looked at the book in Leila’s hands, but she couldn’t quite see what it was, the cover out of view. “What is it?”

“Is that the perfume guy?” Stephanie asked with a raised brow.

Huh?

“Adrien Agreste,” Leila corrected, “And so what? He’s cute.”

What!?

“Wha— huh?” Marinette sputtered, suddenly scooting her library chair towards her to get a better look, “A— Adrien has a book?”

Leila showed her the cover, and sure enough, there he was— Adrien, looking thoughtful and picturesque like he was always so good at, and Marinette gaped. “Yeah. It’s a memoir.”

“Adri— Adrien has a memoir,” Marinette parroted back, aghast, “Wh— how— when— I didn’t hear about—”

How did she not know about this?

“It just came out,” Leila said, throwing the pages back open to look over wherever she was last. “I just bought it.”

“Can I— Wait—” Marinette gasped, scooting even closer to her, and Leila blinked. “Is it— what does it cover? Does it— what parts of his life— I mean, does he talk about people he’s known or—”

Was she mentioned in it?

“Um… yeah?” Leila shot her a weird look. “It’s a memoir.”

What would he say about her?

“Does he talk about— y-you know— being a teenager, in collège and lycée and—”

“I dunno, probably? I just started it.”

“I can’t believe you guys are into that,” Stephanie scoffed, “He’s so bland.”

“No he’s not!” Marinette instinctively snapped.

Leila shrugged. “I just think he’s hot. Sue me.”

*****

Marinette bought three copies of the book.

Perhaps it was a bit excessive, but she thought maybe she would give a copy to Nino, or Alya, if they were interested. And, more importantly—

She wanted to support him.

(Not like he needed her pathetic pennies of support. Not like he wasn’t already a celebrity, drowning in dough and attention.)

(She still felt the need to support her friend.)

(Even if they weren’t technically friends anymore.)

But the blasted book terrified her, taunting her at all times of the day from its spot on her nightstand, or its spot in her backpack, or its spot beside her sewing box. Adrien’s stupid pretty face kept catching her eye, and she’d cringe and shrink in on herself.

“All throughout collège and lycée, there was this awkward girl who was obsessed with me, and everyone knew it,” the Adrien from her nightmares would write, “She thought we were friends. She thought she had a chance with me. How pathetic is that? She was so embarrassing to be around, always face-planting and tripping over herself, and this one time she spilled ketchup all over my white shirt and I told her it was fine but it was a lie and it ruined my life and I never forgave her—”

No. Adrien wouldn’t say that about her. Right?

Maybe she wasn’t even mentioned at all! Maybe she made such an irrelevant blip on his life that he wouldn’t even remember her, wouldn’t even bother to bring her up.

That somehow felt worse.

But she had to read it. She had to, because the longer she stalled, the more nervous she got.

And even if she wasn’t mentioned… she still wanted to read it. She’d always dreamed of seeing the world from Adrien’s point of view— of knowing his inner dialogue, of knowing what he thought of the world around him, the way he went about life. She used to always dream of getting a glimpse into that wonderful mind of his, and now she actually could.

Saturday, she decided. She’d read it on Saturday. She’d blow through it as fast as she could— rip the bandaid off, if it were.

Which brought Ladybug to where she was now— on Saturday, snuggled in Chat Noir’s plush sheets, atop his super comfy mattress, turned on her side and reading the book.

After all, Chat Noir invited her over after a particularly long fight against a loan-shark-turned-literal-shark— and who was she to deny the comfortable atmosphere? After all, he’d assured her that he was more than happy to have her over even if she was just planning on reading all day.

It would be fine. She’d read the book, Adrien would probably mention her vaguely in passing and be fairly polite about it (He was too nice to say something mean about her. Probably. Right?), she’d get some interesting insight into his perspective of various events she remembered, and her partner would be at her side keeping her sane and grounded through it all.

…

Ladybug growled.

“Oh no,” Chat Noir murmured sleepily from his spot behind her, his face buried in her hair and arms around her torso, spooning her, because he was (unsurprisingly) a cuddler. “Are the bad guys winning?”

“It’s not that type of book,” she grumbled, turning the page and bristling at the words.

Who the fuck was Sophie?

No, seriously. Who the fuck was Sophie? She wasn’t surprised that there were names that she didn’t recognize in the collège and lycée chapters, that was probably par for the course to avoid possible legal issues and protect people’s privacy, right? The problem wasn’t that she didn’t recognize the name, the problem was…

Sophie, Adrien’s first girlfriend, shy and sweet and always wearing flowers in her hair, who he would hold the hand of on the steps of the school—

She didn’t recognize her at all.

Marinette was pretty certain that Kagami was Adrien’s first girlfriend, but Sophie clearly wasn’t Kagami. Adrien and Kagami kept their relationship mostly secret, they didn’t hold hands in front of their school, Kagami didn’t even go to their school, and Sophie’s personality was a direct contradiction to hers. And Marinette was pretty sure she would’ve noticed if Adrien was always holding someone’s hands on the steps of François Dupont.

In fact, she didn’t recognize any of the people that Adrien described. Éloise? Pierre? Martine? The stories attached meant nothing to her, not a single personality or tale recognizable to her. Not even Nino, who she was so sure would get significant recognition in the book, could be attached to any of the characters.

“This is bullshit,” she hissed, flipping another page without even bothering to read the last one, her eyes skimming over the words to see if she caught sight of one that would suddenly make it all make sense.

“What kind of book is it?”

“Memoir.” She squinted at the page. “Adrien Agreste’s.”

Chat Noir fell silent, and she turned another page. And then another. And then she groaned.

“You’re… reading Adrien Agreste’s memoir,” he repeated back to her, almost as if he were in disbelief.

“Yeah,” she scoffed, “But it’s— it’s— I don’t know. I don’t get it.”

None of it sounded like Adrien.

“What’s there not to get?”

None of it made sense.

“Just— I don’t— like, I don’t believe this.” She flipped through the pages, back a couple chapters. “Like— here. This chapter’s about his fourteenth birthday…”

‘I would catch my father slaving away at light-blue yarn at odd hours of the day. I always wondered what he was doing, why somebody as busy as him would waste time knitting. But then I understood, on my birthday. I had come home from a party at a friend’s place to him handing me a present, and inside was a hand-knit sweater.’

It wasn’t a fucking sweater.

His father gave him a scarf.

He gave him a scarf, and while yes, Adrien may have believed that his father had made it, he hadn’t actually made it. She had. She’d made that fucking scarf, she was the one who’d slaved away at it, so there was no way that Adrien’d seen his father working on it.

She couldn’t say that to Chat Noir, though. So instead, she pointed to a different offending word— ‘party’.

“Here, Adrien says that he had a birthday party ‘at a friend’s place’,” she explained, “But— But we fought Bubbler, that day. And I’m pretty sure Bubbler was akumatized because Adrien wasn’t allowed a birthday party at all. Right? It doesn’t make sense.”

“Au contraire, it makes perfect sense.”

She turned her head to get as good of a look at him as she could. “How?”

“Adrien Agreste didn’t write that,” he said simply. “It’s all fake.”

“That’s…” She turned back to glare at the book. “Why would…”

She didn’t want to believe it, but she had to admit that it was just about the only explanation that made sense.

“It’s probably ghostwritten,” he explained, and she scowled at the words even more. “The actual author probably had some brief interview with him for vague inspiration, peppered in some half-truths here and there, and invented the rest themself. There’s no way Adrien Agreste would actually write a memoir—”

“Well!” she scoffed, “Why not? He can write!” Marinette had peer-reviewed a few of Adrien’s essays in school, and they were always fantastic. “I bet he’d be a great author— he’s smart! He could do it!”

“Nobody wants to read Adrien Agreste’s actual thoughts,” Chat Noir scoffed as if amused, but Ladybug wasn’t amused. She wasn’t amused at all.

“I do!” she spat, “I want to read his thoughts— that’s why I bought this stupid book!”

“People don’t want genuine. They want mindless fluff. That’s what Adrien’s brand is. It’s not like Gabriel would approve of anything else to have his name on it.”

“Well, that’s—”

“Besides, it’s a waste of the precious time that he has that could be better used sitting still and smiling mindlessly at cameras,” he said bitterly, “Nobody would want him to actually write a book.”

“I didn’t take you for such a cynic,” she grumbled, flipping back through the pages.

All the descriptions of Gabriel Agreste being a kind, loving parent— she’d thought they seemed off. M. Agreste never seemed very kind to her, and Adrien was constantly at the mercy of strict schedules and expectations. She thought it was weird that the book had never mentioned the nastier sides of him, but she’d tried to give it the benefit of the doubt— like, maybe it wasn’t as bad as she’d thought it was, maybe Adrien was just remembering things with a nostalgic lens, maybe there was more to it than she’d thought.

But if Chat Noir was right (and as much as she hated to admit it, he probably was) then the reason was simple. Gabriel Agreste funded the book. Gabriel Agreste probably chose the ghostwriter. Gabriel Agreste had to have personally approved the book. The book was supposed to make him and his brand look good.

It wasn’t actually about Adrien.

All those paragraphs about Adrien loving modeling, about how he’d wanted to be a model since he was two fucking years old, how he was always begging for more photoshoots to be scheduled… Well. Those didn’t sit right with her, either. But they made sense now.

“This is bullshit,” she snapped, chucking the stupid book at the wall. “I was scammed! What the hell!?”

He chuckled. “You should sue.”

“Maybe I will!” she huffed, rolling onto her back and splaying her arms out. “I’m so pissed. I really wanted to read his thoughts, not some stupid ghostwriter’s fanfiction about his life.”

“If it makes you feel any better, my lady,” he sighed, adjusting himself to snuggle up to her new position and nosing her cheek, “An actual book of his thoughts would’ve been much worse.”

“No, it wouldn’t’ve,” she huffed, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Like I said,” he muttered, “Nobody’s actually interested in what he thinks. They… say they are, but… they’re not. Nobody actually cares.”

“I do,” she whispered, turning her head to stare at the wall.

*****

Hey, Adrien! I read your memoir! It was really good! Sorry if this comes across as rude, but… did you actually write it? Not that I’m accusing you of anything! I just thought it was kind of weird that none of it matched my memories. Maybe I’m wrong though! Oh, and this is Marinette!

Too forward.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien, it’s been a while! This is Marinette. I saw your face on a book in the bookstore the other day. I didn’t know you had a memoir! Did you really write it yourself? I’m just wondering if I should buy it or not. I’d love to read your thoughts!

Too dishonest.

Delete.

Marinette here! I loved your book so much I bought three of them! Couldn’t put it down!

Also too dishonest. And weird.

Delete.

Hey, Adrien! I read your memoir and couldn’t help but notice that it didn’t really sound like… you. I heard that it was probably ghostwritten, which is understandable. You’re probably so busy! But I’d love to hear about your actual perspective on life or reminisce about old memories or something??? over coffee???? does that make sense????? is that a good segue???????? what am i doing who am i kidding you dont care

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

*****

Marinette was determined to take her life back.

She worked hard to get where she was— she worked hard to make friends despite all the extenuating circumstances of her life, she worked hard to keep her grades up, to turn things in on time, to get into the university of her dreams in the first place. She worked hard, dammit, and she wasn’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

First things first on the docket— she needed more sleep. Oversleeping was one of the greatest cardinal sins of her life, leaving her tardy to classes and late to plans with her friends. She’d always blamed her exhaustion on being Ladybug— and it was certainly mostly that— but she hadn’t exactly been doing a great job of working around it.

Unfortunately, this meant cutting down on patrol— which felt terrible, really, but Chat Noir had insisted that it was okay, and she really could use the time to rest, or work on her designs, or on commissions, or schoolwork.

Besides, it wasn’t like she didn’t still see him. Akuma battles were still a constant, forcing them together at odd hours of the day— and if the battle happened to occur at a convenient time, the two would use the opportunity to spend some time together.

“It’s a sign,” Chat Noir would coo, after the two of them had saved Paris from being encased in jelly and discovered they were both free for a couple hours, “We should thank Hawkmoth for scheduling a date for us.”

Problem was, those ‘convenient times’ were actually quite rare. Marinette had so much work piled up, she didn’t often find it in herself to allow herself the break. And when she did?

Well, it turned out Chat Noir was pretty busy, too.

“I can’t,” he’d cringe, genuine remorse in his eyes, “I’m supposed to be at work right now.”

She was really starting to miss patrols. It seemed he was only ever really consistently free when the sun was down— when she was supposed to be trying to rest.

But she could make an exception, for at least one night. She was starting to miss her partner, and from the way his smiles seemed dimmer than they used to be, she figured he probably did, too.

And so, she’d scheduled a date for them. She bought tickets for the first movie that caught her eye in the romance genre for what used to be their usual patrol hour, determined to make it up to him for her past movie blunders (She didn’t really hate rom-coms! Honest!), and presented them to him the next chance she got.

“Sooo?” she teased with a big smile, waving the tickets in his face, “You free?”

He blinked owlishly at the tickets, taking one from her grasp and eyeing it like he was confused.

“A movie date!” she clarified, “Look, I promise I won’t get us kicked out or bawl my eyes out this time.”

“Birth of a Star?” he read the title aloud.

“What? You don’t want to go?”

He flashed a grin at her, and she smiled back. “You know I’d follow you anywhere. Though, my lady, you are allowed to cry at movies. I’ve heard this one’s pretty sad.”

She rolled her eyes. “Pssh— how sad can it be?”

…

It turns out, it could be very sad.

“I thought it was a rom com,” she rasped as they exited the theater, patting her leaking eyes with a tissue that she’d stolen from her yo-yo compartment.

Chat Noir wiped his own eyes with one she’d given him and sniffled, “You thought it was a rom com?”

“The— the plot synopsis said it was about a couple and— and— god!” she groaned aloud, leaping up to a rooftop once they were out of the building for some privacy. He landed beside her in an instant. “That was so fucking depressing! Wh-what the hell? Talk about a mood-killer.”

He chuckled sadly, his eyes cast off over the skyline. “I warned you.”

“I think movie dates are just cursed,” she sniffled and blew her nose into the tissue. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, “It was… it was still nice. To spend time with you. And it was… a… good movie.”

“You don’t sound too sure about that,” she chuckled sadly.

He shrugged, his eyes watching the streets below.

“I was expecting a movie about romance, not depression and alcohol and— god, I’m so glad I’m not— that this isn’t—” she breathed, gesturing vaguely with her hands, “Stardom sucks. It— it ruined them, tore them apart, he fucking killed himself— I’m— god. That was so fucking sad. I guess it makes me happy to be a nobody.”

He eyed her out of the corner of his eyes. “You’re not a nobody. You’re Ladybug.”

She shook her head and waved one hand dismissively, the other wiping any remnants of moisture from her face, “Y-You know what I mean. We’re not celebrities, we’re superheroes. It’s different. We can— we can take the masks off and just be normal people.”

“Right,” he whispered, nearly inaudibly, his eyes cast off to the civilians below once more.

Chapter Text

After what felt like an eon of agony and disarray, the pieces of Marinette’s life finally started to fall back together.

Her grades, while perhaps not as stellar as she would’ve liked, were stable enough. She came up with some believable lies and made deals with most of her professors for extra-credit work she could do to make up for her erratic class attendance.

She was getting better sleep. Not necessarily great, but better. She wasn’t flunking like she thought she might, her friends didn’t hate her as much as she feared they would, and now—

“I didn’t know it was my birthday!” Alya laughed as Marinette pushed multiple gift-wrapped presents across the restaurant table.

“Yeah, well!” Marinette huffed and smiled, “I missed you so much! Think of them as— I don’t know— welcome back presents?”

“Are you trying to make me look bad?” Nino whined from his seat beside Alya, his arm draped over her shoulder, and Marinette chuckled.

“I think she is,” Alya teased, tearing open the wrapping paper, “Better step it up, Lahiffe.”

Marinette leaned forward across the table, eager to watch her reveal the sweater that she’d made—

A terrible chime rang out from her pocket, and she cringed.

An akuma alert.

Alya immediately stopped the unwrapping, and Marinette whipped her phone out and eyed it warily.

“Oooh no, would you look at that!” Marinette forced out an awkward laugh, feeling guilty already. Alya was finally back, and the three of them had planned this lunch for weeks, and Hawkmoth had to pick now? “Looks like uhmm— my boyfriend needs me!”

“Well,” Alya said with a sympathetic smile, “You better get on that! Boyfriend emergencies are very important.”

“Now? Can’t he wait?” Nino asked, his eyes widening. “What kind of emergency is it?”

“Oh, you know him!” Marinette quickly excused, despite the fact she’d never told Nino about her boyfriend before (He seemed to already know, though. Alya must have told him something.), “He’s just so— you know! Accident-prone! Just like me! See, that’s what makes us, um, soulmates—”

“Oh.” Nino frowned. “Okay. Hope he’s alright.”

“He will be,” Alya said, eyeing her, “So long as Marinette gets there in time.”

“Mhmm!” Marinette nodded, rushing over to plant a kiss on Alya’s cheek, “Okay, I’m going now but I’ll— I’ll be back soon! Hopefully! As soon as I can! I promise to try my best— so good to see you— bye!”

“Bye!”

Ladybug took to the skies, determined to get the stupid battle over with as soon as possible.

Thankfully, that was an easy task— and Monsieur Pigeon was dealt with in (almost) record time (to be fair, their record of five seconds was pretty hard to beat, but four minutes was still pretty good, in her book).

The moment the magical ladybugs burst out to cleanse Paris of all the feathers, she spun on her heel and revved her arm back, ready to chuck her yo-yo out and get back to the restaurant as fast as she could—

“Hey,” Chat Noir’s voice came from behind her, “Forgetting something?”

“Oh, right,” she said, spinning back around to quickly bump her fist against his, saying in time with him, “Pound it!”

She moved to turn back around—

“Hey,” he interrupted again, and she stilled, “My lady, are you, uhh… free today?”

“No,” she sighed, shooting him an apologetic glance. They really hadn’t had much time together as of late— time that wasn’t spent battling strange supervillains, anyway. She wasn’t sure their depressing movie date really counted, either. “Sorry, I have plans. I actually really need to get going—”

“Tomorrow?” he asked, eyes a little hopeful.

“I can’t,” she said, “I have this huge design project that I’m super behind on, plus some extra credit work… I’m totally strapped for the rest of the semester.”

It was true. Even finding time in her hectic schedule to meet with Alya was difficult— she’d been back in Paris for over a week, but only now was Marinette finding time to see her.

Any other spare scraps of free time she had were being used to nap or maintain what small semblance of a relationship she still had with her university friends. They wouldn’t stick around if she kept ditching them. But she knew Chat Noir would.

“Ah,” he said, managing a small smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes, “Got it. Don’t overwork yourself too hard, though.”

“I won’t,” she said, perhaps a lie, and smiled at him, “Well… see you next catastrophe.”

“See you next catastrophe,” he returned, and she kissed his cheek before swinging away.

Marinette sprinted back to the table, huffing and puffing and slipping into her chair, “I’m— I’m back!”

“Woo! That was a quick emergency!” Alya cheered.

“Is he okay?” Nino asked.

“Who? Oh! Yeah, he’s fine! Just a, uh, false alarm!” she said, “Sorry about that! You can open your presents now.”

“Speaking of presents,” Alya said, fingering a hole in the wrapping paper, “Guess what Nino realized while you were gone?”

“What?”

“It’s Adrien’s birthday,” Nino said, and Marinette’s eyes widened. “The presents reminded me.”

“What?” she gasped, “But it’s—” She snatched her phone back out of her pocket and eyed the date.

It was.

“I should text him,” Nino sighed, “I’ve been meaning to…”

Marinette frowned. “Me too…”

“So text him!” Alya said, “What’s stopping you guys?”

Marinette chewed her lip.

“It’s not like I’ve never tried,” Nino said, “I used to text him all the time after he was pulled out, but after a while… he kind of just… stopped responding.”

*****

Hey, Adrien! This is Marinette! I know we haven’t talked in a while, but— HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I hope you get to have fun and party like you couldn’t back in school! You know, like your ghostwriter came up with. Do you go to a lot of crazy fun celebrity parties? Are they as weird as people say? Stay safe!

Why did she say that?

Delete.

Happy Birthday! —Marinette

Too empty.

Delete.

Happy birthday, Adrien!! This is Marinette! Wow, you’re 20 now huh?? So weird! Last time I saw you in person you were 16 and three quarters. Time flies!

Weird.

Delete.

Happy birthday, Adrien! I hope you have a great day! I’d love to hang out with you some time and catch up! You know, I’ve had your 20th birthday gift planned since I was 13. It’s a pair of gloves, but gloves are really hard to make, so I don’t think they’re very good. Also, your hands are probably bigger now! Weird that I had today planned all this time though, right? Hopefully that’s funny and not creepy! I can give you the gloves and we can laugh at the poor craftsmanship. And I can make you something new and better, too! This is Marinette, by the way?? is this weird?????

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

*****

“I j-just—” Stephanie blubbered, “I don’t— I don’t understa-and!”

Leila sighed, her arms wrapped securely around Stephanie’s shoulders, holding her close, “He never deserved you, Steph.”

“We’re so sorry, Stephanie,” Oriana said softly, her hand gripping hers, “That’s awful.”

“I-I’m s-such a— a f-fucking idiot—”

“You’re not an idiot,” Marinette said, squeezing Stephanie’s other hand, thankful that she had taken the ‘stephanie’s dorm. now. no excuses.’ text that Leila had sent her seriously. “Don’t say that.”

Just her luck. Chat Noir and her shared so little free time together as of late, and of course the one day they discover that they have a single hour to spare together, emergency strikes. She hated canceling on Chat Noir, hated it because she missed him so much and saw him so little, but she really had to see what the hubbub was about.

And, yeah. She was definitely glad she came. She cringed at the thought of her calling another ‘boyfriend emergency’ as an excuse, like she’d been tempted to.

“I-I ca-can’t believe he— all this time—” Stephanie sobbed, “With Rachel!?”

“Jules is a fucking pig,” Leila spat, “And an absolute idiot. Didn’t realize how good he had it.”

“You’ll find someone else, Stephanie,” Marinette said softly, reaching to brush a tear from Stephanie’s eye, “Someone worthy of your trust.”

“W-Was I just— did I— was I not paying enough a-attention to him? Was he n-not satisfied—”

“It’s not your fault,” Oriana assured, “None of it is. He betrayed you, and that’s all on him.”

“I j-just…” Stephanie sniffled, “I didn’t know him a-as well as I… I thought I did.”

*****

She was free.

She was finally free.

As she stepped out of the classroom, out of the building and into the open air, she took a deep breath.

She’d finished her finals. She’d gotten through the critiques. She wasn’t sure exactly where her grades were going to end up— but she knew with certainty that she’d passed. She’d passed, she’d made it through the year, and she was finally, finally free.

What should she do now? She had so much free time— she had no more classes or homework, she didn’t have any commissions lined up, her friends were dispersing to their hometowns for break, she…

She could do whatever she wanted.

Maybe she should nap. Or play some Ultimate Mecha Strike. Maybe she should call up Alya and Nino and celebrate with some bad movies. Maybe she should—

An explosion rang out in the distance, startling the students on campus and rattling the building behind her.

She smiled to herself, and Ladybug knew exactly what she wanted to do.

The supervillain wasn’t exactly an easy one— a wrecking ball crane operator made for a pretty nasty akuma— but Ladybug and Chat Noir had been through this rodeo a thousand times before, and they’d dealt with worse.

After a long battle (with way too many close calls), Ladybug let out a long, relieved sigh as her magical ladybugs washed over Paris.

And then she spun on her heel to look at her partner— her partner— a warmth bubbling in her stomach and blooming in her chest, because she was free, free, free—

Chat Noir was turned away from her, his baton at the ready, preparing himself to leave, and she launched herself forward, throwing herself at him and her arms around his shoulders.

“Whoa!” he gasped, nearly stumbling forward, and she pressed her nose into the back of his neck and took a whiff. “Hey, there.”

“Hey,” she said, holding onto him tight and batting her eyelashes up at him, and he turned around in her arms to face her, “You forgot the ‘pound it’, silly.”

“Oh,” he said with a small smile, his eyes not quite as bright as she would’ve expected, but his arms wrapped around her waist. “Sorry. Hard to fistbump when you’re all over me, though.”

“Mmhm,” she hummed, stretching herself on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his cheek, “You free tonight, kittycat? And now?”

“I…” he hesitated, “... am. Yeah.”

“Me too,” she said with a smile, and he smiled back. She raised her hand to brush a strand of pretty blond hair out of his eyes. “Been a while since we’ve both been free, hm?”

“It has…” he whispered, and she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

“And it’ll keep happening,” she declared with a grin, “Because guess what?”

“What?”

“I finished my finals. I’m free!”

“You did? You are?” He beamed. “That’s great!”

“Yeah!” she laughed, “Wanna celebrate with me?”

“Of course!”

“Okay,” she said, letting go of him and stepping back. She snatched her yo-yo from her hip and pulled at the cord. Holding the wire down with one hand and the yo-yo over her head with another, she did a long twirl to coil herself.

“Here,” she said as she spun to a stop, shaking the yo-yo atop her head at him, “Do your thing!”

He blinked owlishly at her, as if he didn’t understand what she was doing— which was weird, since they always did this when they went to his place. It was the easiest way to spin her hard and fast enough to disorient her.

“We’re…” he began, after a solid moment of her staring at him, “... going to my place?”

“Uh… yeah?” At least, she’d wanted to. Why not? It was the only place they really had where they could have true privacy. They could order pizza, they could watch a movie on his TV, they would have a bed.

“You know,” he began, his eyes cast to the sky and a hand rubbing at the back of his neck (his nervous tic), “I’ve… never been to your place.”

“Right now, ‘my place’ is a dorm that I’m supposed to be packing out of,” she snorted, “With pictures all over my walls, no TV, paper-thin walls, and a twin bed. The only other ‘my place’ would be at my parents’ place, and that’s not happening. Besides, your bed is better than any of mine.”

“Ah,” he sighed, but continued to hesitate, and she raised a brow. What was the problem? Why was he suddenly acting so weird about it? “... You know, I heard of this really nice hotel with stunning views and room service—”

“We see ‘stunning views’ all the time,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him, alarm bells ringing in her head. “And we can order food from your place, too. Why are you being weird?”

His eyes widened. “What? I’m not.”

“Yeah,” she said in challenge, hoping she would still be taken seriously while ensnared in her own weapon. “You are.”

He was. Come to think of it, he’d been acting weird for a while. When was the last time he really flirted with her? Kissed her hand? Distracted her mid-battle with some poorly timed romance-themed quips?

It used to be so hard to deny him over the past few months, to tell him ‘no’ when he asked if she was free. But when was the last time he’d even asked? When he’d initiated?

“You don’t want this,” she said in horror as the realization dawned on her. “Oh my god. You don’t want me to—”

“What!? No!” he gasped, rushing forward and grasping her shoulders, “Of course I do! I want to!”

“Then why are you coming up with excuses?” she asked, heart racing.

“I’m— I’m not! I just… I mean…” He cringed. “I’m just wondering if we have to go to my place—”

“What’s wrong with your place?” she hissed, “Are you hiding something?”

Oh, god. What if he was hiding something?

“What? Of— of course not!” he defended, a guilty look in his eyes, and she realized with horror that she didn’t believe him.

If it was identity related, he could’ve just told her. If there was something in his room that would reveal himself, there’d be no reason not to tell her as such. She wouldn’t have argued it. She would have understood.

But instead, he was lying. Which meant it was something else, something else he didn’t want her to see, something she wouldn’t accept, something that had nothing to do with identities.

He must have picked up on the fact she wasn’t buying it, because he cringed again. “I just… I wasn’t… expecting company—”

“So what?” she asked, glaring at him. What was he hiding? What was he hiding? What was he—

“... We can go to my place,” he relented with a heavy sigh, not quite meeting her eyes.

“Great,” she grumbled, her eyes locked on something beyond his shoulder, awful pictures flooding her mind.

He took the yo-yo from her grip, and she squeezed her eyes tight— and soon the world was spinning, and she was being carried to and fro, around unfamiliar sharp corners and u-turns. She kept her eyes shut tight, holding onto him, her heart still racing.

Why was he acting so weird?

Chat Noir touched down on solid ground, and she could no longer feel the wind on her face. He set her down carefully on her feet, and she heard him shut the curtains behind her.

“Don’t— Don’t look yet, alright? Let me just—”

“Will it reveal your identity?”

“Huh? No, but—”

She opened her eyes and looked around the room.

She didn’t know what she was expecting, exactly, but she knew it wasn’t going to be good. Maybe a stray bra thrown haphazardly on the floor, a dress not quite his size thrown over the foot of the bed, a pair of boxers clearly not his in the corner, a suspiciously emptied box of protection in the trash can.

Something bad. Something obviously wrong. Something that she wouldn’t like, something that would get him in trouble, something that would hurt her—

Instead, she just saw junk.

Junk, and junk, and junk— his normally nicely-made sheets in disarray, clothes (that, from a cursory glance, looked like they fit him) piled on the floor, books and empty containers that used to contain who-knew-what on the furniture and floor.

Chat Noir cringed, and she blinked.

“I told you not to look,” he said shamefully, before tearing away from her and scurrying to gather the trash in his arms.

She frowned and hugged her arms around herself, brow furrowed as she watched him. She took note of the items he prioritized to tear out of her view, but they didn’t seem to be anything particularly incriminating— just regular trash. Messy, sure, but nothing that rocked her world or broke her heart.

“Is this it?” she asked despite herself, watching as he scurried to gather more junk. “Your room’s just… messy?”

Messy wasn’t a big deal. She could deal with messy. Marinette often lived in cluttered, organized chaos. Though, every time she’d been to Chat Noir’s room before, it’d never been anything but neat and spotless. Even when she decided to come over last-minute, even when he had no reason to expect company, it was always nice.

This was just… weird.

“Sorry, I would’ve cleaned if I knew you were coming,” he quickly excused, rushing out of the room with the trash and returning in only a moment. He started snatching clothes from the floor, tossing them into a nearby hamper.

She frowned and slowly made her way over to the bed, looking around at all the ways his room wasn’t like it was supposed to be. She sat down carefully on the edge of his mattress, her hands carefully folded in her lap.

Her stomach churned with so many feelings that she couldn’t quite place. Shame, because she’d projected such nightmares onto a man whom she loved, who’d never given her any reason to distrust him? Relief, because her catastrophizations were once again proven unfounded? Confused, because something was clearly going on, and her only theory held no solid foundation? Worried, because while she understood organized chaos, this was more mess than clutter?

“Are you…” she began tentatively, watching as he moved to straighten out the sheets as best he could with her sitting on them, “... okay?”

“Huh?” he breathed, not looking her in the eye as he straightened out his pillows, “Why wouldn’t I be?”

The fact he didn’t want her to see his room wasn’t the only thing that’d concerned her. It was also the way he’d been acting, the way he never seemed to be eagerly vying for her attention like he used to, the way he didn’t joke around as much, the way his smiles seemed dimmer…

“Well…” she started, but he disappeared out of the room again, and she frowned.

Her foot shook to expel some of her nervous energy, and she looked around the room while she waited for him to come back.

Once he slid back in through the door, she said, “Hey, kitty, it’s okay. It’s clean enough.”

“Huh?” He frowned, his eyes trailing to some stray books, “But…”

She patted the bed beside her. “Here, kitty kitty kitty…”

He gave her a small, nervous smile and sat down beside her.

She turned towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and leaning in, and she felt his arms snake around her waist. She nosed his cheek and asked again, “Are you okay?”

“Hm? Of course.”

“You know… I really don’t care if your room’s a little messy. But… it is kind of weird, because it seems unlike you—”

“I’m fine.” He smiled at her in a way that just didn’t look quite right to her. “Really! Sorry you had to see it—”

“I don’t care,” she repeated, “Really, I don’t. And I— I’m sorry that I looked when you didn’t want me to. But it doesn’t bother me, I’m just a little worried—”

“Don’t be. I’m fine.”

“... Okay,” she relented, because she really did want to believe it. Besides, if something was wrong, he’d tell her. Right?

… Right?

Instead of arguing, she opted instead to lean in and press her lips against his, allowing herself a moment to share a tender kiss with her partner.

After a moment of basking in his presence and lips, she broke away from him with a sigh and whispered, “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he returned, raising his hand to brush his claws against her cheek.

She sighed and leaned into his touch, “... Can we order pizza? You know, to celebrate?”

He smiled. “Of course.”

She smiled too and scooted back to lounge on his bed. “You have to order it. I don’t know the delivery address.”

He chuckled and pulled out his baton. “Sounds good. What kind do you want?”

“You can never go wrong with pepperoni.”

She waited in comfortable silence as he fiddled with his baton screen, her hands resting on her abdomen and ankles crossed. She could lounge on his comfortable mattress forever.

“What size?” he asked after a moment, presumably because he was placing the order.

“I dunno. Depends on if we’re sharing it.”

“It’s all yours.”

“Okay,” she hummed, “I don’t know. Medium? I’m pretty hungry and might steal some leftovers.”

He pressed some more buttons on his baton before putting it away and turning to her with a smile. “Half an hour.”

“Purrfect.” She smiled and reached out for him, and he crawled up next to her, leaning in and brushing his lips against hers.

She sighed, reaching up to brush her hands through his hair.

“How’d your finals go?” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

“Good, I think,” she said, wishing he were closer. She rolled onto her side and scooted as close to him as possible, pressing her body against his and wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “The professors seemed to like my work.”

“Of course they did,” he sighed, his eyes filled with their usual affection, and she felt her chest bloom as he brushed a claw through her hair. “My lady’s the pinnacle of creativity.”

“Mhmm…” she giggled, hooking a leg over his, “You’ve never even seen my designs, chaton.”

“How sad is that?” he sighed dramatically, and she pressed a kiss to his cheek. “You know, if you’re offering to show me—”

“Maybe later,” she whispered, wondering how much of a risk it would be to show him. Art could inherently be recognizable, but if they were loose sketches or a finished product that she never planned on recreating or wearing herself…

She wanted to show him. She wanted to show him everything she feasibly could. She may not be able to share her identity with him, but she wanted to share her life with him— in whatever ways she could manage.

“Is that a promise?” he asked, so genuinely hopeful, because he wanted to see them. He wanted to see her designs, because he cared, because he loved her and he was a wonderful boyfriend or partner or whatever word felt more special in the moment, and she loved him so much—

She yanked him into another kiss, their noses bumping together, and they laughed.

As they waited for their pizzas, she wondered if she’d ever been so comfortable in her life. They found themselves with their limbs ensnared and fingers intertwined, forehead to forehead as she whispered little updates on her life, on the things she would’ve told him sooner if only she’d made the time. Without any specific names or dates, she told him about her poor friend’s relationship troubles, on her best friend who returned to Paris, on the things she was excited to do on her break.

Eventually, the doorbell rang, and she was disappointed as his familiar warmth left her side.

“Don’t forget to detransform,” she teased as Chat Noir opened the bedroom door, “Don’t want to scare the delivery person by having a superhero answer the door.”

“What? I’m sure they’d love it,” he cooed, before slipping out. She saw a flash of green light under the doorframe and smiled.

She sat up on the edge of the bed and waited, trying not to be too enraptured by the thought of he’s out there, just a room away, detransformed, unmasked, identity on full display. She wasn’t sure why it excited her so much, but it did.

It wasn’t long before she saw another flash of green light, and soon the door was opening to reveal her smiling partner, a pizza box, stack of napkins, and plate in hand.

“Here,” he said, setting the box and napkins down beside her and handing her the plate.

She smiled and happily took them, and then he sat back down beside her, and…

Wait.

She opened the pizza box. Pepperoni, just like she wanted, and it looked good, but…

“Wait,” she said, turning to look at him, “They only gave us one pizza?”

He looked confused. “I only ordered one.”

“What?” She looked back down at the pizza. She could’ve sworn he said that they weren’t sharing one. Good thing she got a medium, then. “Oh. Well, that’s fine, I guess. Wait— where’s your plate?”

“I’m not having any,” he said, settling back to lounge on the bed, and her eyes widened.

“What?” she asked, startled. They ordered a pizza just for her? “Why not? Did you already eat?”

“No,” he said simply, and she stared at him until he clarified, “I just can’t eat pizza.”

“You—” she sputtered, “You can’t eat— why? You should’ve told me, we could’ve gotten something else! Are you… lactose intolerant? Gluten intolerant? Vegan?”

She could’ve sworn she’d seen him drink milk before, and if he was gluten intolerant she definitely needed to know for any future baked goods she’d bring him—

“What? No, nothing like that.”

She stared at him.

He blinked.

She stared harder at him, gesturing with her hand.

He stared back, confused.

“............ Soooo…….?” she prompted.

He shrugged and looked up at the ceiling. “I’m on a diet.”

She gaped.

“You’re— You’re on a diet?” she asked, giving his thin body a quick once-over before looking back at him, “You— why?”

He frowned thoughtfully, not meeting her eyes, and shrugged.

“No, seriously, why?” she asked, scooting back to stare at him, because it didn’t make any sense to her. “Is it like… a health thing? Is everything okay?”

“Huh?” His gaze snapped to hers, eyes wide. “No, nothing like that. I’m perfectly healthy!”

“Okay…” She squinted at him. “So, why the diet?”

“Oh, you know…” he mumbled vaguely, blowing a stray strand of hair out of his face. But she didn’t. She didn’t know. And she didn’t know why he wasn’t just telling her.

Feeling strangely lost, she took a glance around the room— the room that was still kind of a mess, for reasons that she didn’t know either. In fact—

A realization struck her.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, horror dawning on her, “This is so one-sided.”

“Huh?” He sounded startled. “What is?”

“This,” she said, her chest aching in her rising panic, “Us.”

She turned to see the horror on his face.

“What?” he rasped, scrambling up onto his knees and scooting towards her, “What? What are you saying—”

“What do— What do you know about me?” she gasped, “What do you know about me?”

“H-huh?” He reached for her, and she backed away. “I—”

“You— You know I go to university, you know I’m studying fashion, you know that I never used to get enough sleep and would sleep through some of my classes, that I— that I struggle with maintaining a relationship with my friends,” she began to prattle on, “You know my friend recently came back to Paris from a trip, you know I was really worried about my grades, you know I finished my finals, you know my friend got cheated on, you know I like pink—”

“Huh?” he asked, still alarmed but now confused.

“You know all that about me,” she ranted, pulling herself up onto her feet and ignoring the way he reached out to her. “But— God!” She spun around to face him and gestured out with her hands. “What the hell do I know about you?”

He gaped at her.

“Seriously,” she hissed, “What do I know? Because thinking about it, I— I’m not sure I know anything!”

“You do,” he rasped out, nearly a whisper.

“No,” she argued, jutting her finger at him, “I don’t!”

“You do,” he argued right back, “You do—”

“I know that you don’t have siblings,” she relented, “And I know that you somehow have no friends. I know these things because one time you were too shitfaced to stop yourself from telling me. And I know that you drank a whole bunch of wine one time because you lost a friend, and I know that because I kept prodding you to tell me, and you were too hung over to put up a good fight against me.”

“Well, that’s—”

“And, sure, I know that you don’t attend university, a fact you only told me to ease my worries about us crossing paths at school. But that’s— that’s it!” she cried out, pacing the room, “I know you don’t have siblings, friends, or university. What do I know that you do have? Gift baskets? A diet? Are the only things I know about you two conflicting out-of-context food facts? I— Oh my god, I can’t even picture a single thing that you do when you’re not around me! I have literally no idea at all!”

She could hear Chat Noir behind her, apparently on his feet and approaching carefully. “My lady—”

“You didn’t even want to tell me about the diet!” she pointed out, turning on her heel and jabbing him in the chest with her finger. “What do I know about you that wasn’t forced out of you somehow?”

His eyes widened in something akin to fear, and he opened his mouth to answer, hesitating before offering, awkwardly, “Gift… baskets?”

“I don’t know you,” she said, the words hurting her more than she’d expected, “Oh my god. I don’t know you—”

“Don’t say that,” he gasped, grasping ahold of her shoulders, “Ladybug, please, don’t say that—”

“Isn’t it true, though?” she asked, crossing her arms and looking off to the side, feeling her eyes begin to mist. “I… God. This is so fucked up. I feel like I’ve been just… information dumping on you, all the time, and you’ve never told me anything. Doesn’t that feel weird to you?”

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, and she felt his claws graze her cheek, “My lady, I’m sorry.”

“Why don’t you ever want to tell me anything about yourself?” she asked, forcing herself to meet his gaze, “Is this— I thought we were serious. Is this not what I think it is?”

“What?” he gasped, a genuine horror in his eyes at the thought, “No! Of course not— We are serious, that’s what this is—”

“Have I just not asked enough questions?” she muttered, her eyes falling to the floor.

“No, that’s not—” He took a deep breath. “I… My lady, let’s sit down.”

He led her towards the bed, and she was too winded from her rant to resist as he gently forced her to sit. He sat down beside her, taking both of her hands in his and squeezing them.

“I love you,” he whispered in broken honesty, and she forced herself to look up at him. “I— I love you so much, Ladybug. And it’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’m sorry.”

She stared at him for a long moment, until finally she willed herself to say, “Tell me about yourself.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but hesitated. “What… what do you want to know?”

“I don’t know,” she muttered, her gaze briefly falling to their hands, “Everything? I— I have no idea what you do on a day-to-day basis. What…” she hesitated, “What are your hobbies?”

He stared at her. He opened his mouth. He cringed. He broke her gaze.

“Really?” she hissed, her shoulders tensing, “You won’t even tell me that—”

“No, no!” he gasped, looking back at her, “It’s not that! Of course I can tell you that, I just—”

“Just what?”

“I’m…” he hesitated, before his face crumpled and his gaze fell to their hands. He muttered, “... I’m not sure that I have any.”

“What?” she asked in genuine surprise, her irritation dissipating, “None at all? Not even… video games or something?”

“I…” He blinked. “Okay. Yeah. I play video games. That counts?”

“Of course,” she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear, “I mean… anything that you do, I want to know.”

“Well…” He paused, seemingly in thought. “I also… read sometimes.”

“Yeah?” She couldn’t help but smile. Her eyes flicked to the few books still strewn about the room. She supposed she should’ve already figured that out, but the image seemed so strange to her— Chat Noir, sitting still for extended periods of time. “What kind of books do you read? Oh! Can I guess?”

He chuckled. “Sure.”

“Sci-fi,” she mused, “I don’t know why. You seem like a sci-fi guy to me.”

“Really?” He smiled. “Why?”

“I don’t know. It just feels right.”

“I guess I should read more sci-fi, then,” he chuckled, and she huffed, because her guess was apparently wrong. “Normally, I read more… classics, I guess.”

“Classics?”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “So long as they’re in French, Chinese, English, or Japanese. French and Chinese especially.”

She gaped. “... Trans…lated?”

“No.”

She gaped more.

He frowned. “What?”

“You…” She blinked. “That’s… you’re fluent in that many languages?”

“Fluent?” he laughed, “No, no. Not fluent.”

“Okay, fine. Good enough to read classics in that many languages?”

“I guess so.”

“Wow,” she said, eyeing him, “That’s… wow. Okay.”

“What?” He grinned. “You impressed?”

“A bit!”

He chuckled, and looked back down at their hands, his eyes affectionate as he squeezed at her fingers, and her heart swelled.

“More,” she whispered.

“Huh?”

“Tell me more,” she said, “What else do you do? Do you have any other crazy skills I should know about?”

“I don’t know about crazy,” he teased, “But… let’s see. I… I fence, sometimes.”

“Oh! Fencing! That makes sense,” she mused, “Very practical. No wonder why you’re so good with a baton.”

He chuckled. “Yeah…”

“Have you ever won any awards?”

“... Yeah,” he said, and she gasped. “I have a few medals and trophies. I’d show you, but at least some of them have my name on them.”

“That’s awesome!” She beamed at him, her heart swelling with pride. “Very impressive.”

He chuckled almost sadly, a strange look in his eye as he watched her. “You think?”

“Of course!” She scooted closer to him and draped her arms around his shoulders, “Tell me more, stud.”

“Oh, stud?” he laughed, his cheeks pink, “I’m ‘stud’ now? I’ll take it.”

“What else do you do?” She batted her eyes at him, twirling her finger around a strand of his hair.

“Hmm…” he hummed in thought as she pushed him back, and soon he was lying flat against the mattress, her lying right on top of him. “I also… play piano.”

She wondered, briefly, if she had a type.

“Are you serious?” She snorted. “You fence, know four languages, and play an instrument, and you say you have no hobbies?”

He shrugged, a sad smile on his face.

“What kind of songs do you play?” she asked, brushing her fingers through his hair, “Don’t tell me classical.”

“Of course classical,” he said, and she groaned, “But, um… other things too, if I’m in a good mood. You know, I…” he leaned in and whispered, almost conspiratorially, in her ear, “I used to be in a rock band.”

“What?” she laughed, “You’re joking!”

“I’m not.” He smiled up at her.

“Classical and rock,” she snorted, “You’ve got quite the range.”

He brushed his hand up and down her back, staring at her with all of his usual affection. She had to will herself to keep digging, to learn all she could about him while she had the chance, to not ruin her golden opportunity by shoving her tongue down his throat.

“What else?” she whispered, nosing his jaw.

“Mm…” he hummed, “... I don’t know.”

“You know, you…” She paused. “You’ve said before that you go to work. What kind of job do you have?”

His eyes widened, and he stared at her.

“... Well?”

“Um.” He tore his gaze away from hers, and to the ceiling, “I’m… I’m thinking.”

“You’re thinking?” she asked, raising a brow. “You shouldn’t have to think, if it’s just the truth—”

“No, no, I know, just…” He chewed his lip. “I’m trying to think of a… vague way to describe it.”

Oh. That made sense. She frowned, but nodded.

“I…” he finally said, after a long moment, “I work in… … advertising.”

“Advertising,” she hummed, “Okay… Interesting. Do you have something to do with all those billboards around?”

He paused, and then smiled guiltily. “Um. Yeah. Kind of.”

“Damn you,” she cursed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. He chuckled. “... Tell me more. How did you get into advertising?”

“Oh, um…” he hesitated, “It’s… … nepotism, I guess.”

“Nepotism,” she snorted, “Really.”

“My… family owns the business,” he said cautiously, his eyes cast to the side.

“Oh, interesting,” she hummed, “My family owns a business, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” He eyed her.

“Yeah. But we’re talking about you right now, not me,” she reminded, brushing some of his blond locks out of his face. “That’s cool, though. Are you… going to inherit it?”

“Oh, god,” he rasped, “I hope not.”

She laughed, but she understood. She was pretty sure she never wanted to own a bakery, either. “You know, if you don’t want it, I’m pretty sure you can just say no.”

His face crumpled, and he looked away.

“... Chat Noir?”

“Yeah,” he sighed, “You’re… you’re right.”

She watched him, something in her stirring, a voice in the back of her head shouting at her, telling her, that’s something, he doesn’t want to talk about it, he’s closing up again—

“Anyway—”

“No,” she said, because she wasn’t going to let him get away with that, not after all the other things that made him shrink on himself, all the other things that made his smiles dim that she never pressed. “No changing the subject. What was that about?”

He blinked. “What was what about?”

“That weird reaction,” she pointed out, “What does that mean? Do you— Do you think you can’t say no?”

He opened his mouth. He hesitated. He cringed. He looked away.

“Chaton?”

“It’s fine,” he said, “I’m very lucky to be where I am. I don’t want to complain.”

“You don’t want to complain?” She narrowed her eyes at him.

“Really,” he murmured, “You don’t want to hear me whine. I… I’ve been told I’m very melodramatic—”

“Melodramatic?” she scoffed, “Who told you that?”

He frowned. “... Like I said, I don’t want to complain—”

“Okay,” she said, “What if I want you to complain?”

“Why would you want to hear me—”

“I want to know more about you,” she huffed, “That includes the good, the bad, and the ugly. God. Chat Noir, how many times have I vented about my problems to you?”

He blinked. “Uh…”

“Did you think I was just being whiny and melodramatic?”

“What?” he gasped, “No! Of course not—”

“Okay, well, then you can complain to me. And you can be as ‘melodramatic’ as you want to be. I don’t care. I want to hear your thoughts.”

He hesitated.

“Please?” she pleaded, “Vent to me. Come on. Let’s balance the scales a bit here.”

He chewed his lip.

“Why do you feel like you can’t say no?” she asked, tone soft as she brushed her fingers through his hair. “I want to know. Get melodramatic about it. I’ll keep guard for any akumas. Get mad. Get sad. Let it out, trust me, you’ll feel so much better. I promise I won’t mind.”

He was still hesitating.

“Please,” she repeated.

“I never say no to him,” he scoffed, a fire sparking in his eyes as he turned his gaze to the side, and— Ha! They were getting somewhere! “So why would I start now?”

“‘Him’?”

“My father,” he clarified, “My boss, more accurately.”

“What?” she gasped.

“That’s all I’m worth to him, anyway,” he nearly growled, “I’m just a mindless little pawn in his game, moving wherever he tells me to, doing whatever he says. Because that’s all I do. I do what people tell me to and I never make decisions for myself, because I don’t have any control over my life, and none of my thoughts or feelings have ever mattered, so why should they start mattering now?”

She gaped.

“Going to university to study anything other than business? No, that’s a waste of time that’d be better spent doing what he tells me to,” he scoffed, “‘Oh, you think you have enough free time to attend university courses, Chat Noir? Well, then you have more time to work, too. I’ll be sure to add it to your schedule.’ Hobbies? Only whatever’s already been approved— ‘wouldn’t want you to be caught doing something too ‘quirky’ and messing with your image’. Friends? ‘Sure, you can keep them, until you defy me or make me mad. If you do, I’ll make sure you never see them again’!” He let out a bitter laugh.

She gaped more.

“Heaven forbid I want to spend any time with him, you know, like a family, because there is no ‘family’ in our family, only business— yeah, Father, let me just schedule a meeting with you months in advance to have a simple brunch, surely you’ll show up this time, surely you won’t leave me waiting for hours only to cancel! Oh, wait, he always does,” he hissed, “It doesn’t matter if I hate my job, it doesn’t matter if I don’t actually care for the family business at all, because he’s made it abundantly clear that being in the business is equivalent to being in the family, and the only times he ever talks to or acknowledges my existence at all is in regards to my position as his employee.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed.

“I do what he tells me to for any of the tiniest scraps of acknowledgement from him, because if I don’t, I’ll have nobody left,” he hissed, “I’ve lost everyone else important to me— I don’t have any friends, he made sure of that, my mother passed long ago, not that he ever acknowledges that she did, though, because heaven forbid he grieve anyone in a healthy way— not her, not Na— my— my— stepmother? Kind of? Who— who didn’t even get a funeral, because I was told that I would be the only person who would show up if she did— and heaven forbid that he actually acknowledges that she died, or is willing to grieve with me, or be normal about anything at all other than business, business, business—”

“Oh my god,” she repeated.

“And then I can’t help but wonder— man, what if I died? Would he show up to my funeral? And the answer is, of course, yes, because if I died, he could probably find a way to make a lot of money off of it, could probably make a big show of it, get a bunch of sympathy, and then I’d be just as useful to him dead as I would be alive— so I would die alone and miserable, have a funeral packed full of people who never fucking knew me but pretend like they did, he’d get to give some grand eulogy about how much he ‘misses’ me, as if he ever saw me as a presence in his life at all, sales would skyrocket, and then everyone would probably all be better off for it anyway—”

“Chat Noir!” she gasped.

“So I just go through the motions of life, day after day, whatever he tells me to, whatever motions he tells me to take, because at the very least if I keep that up, he’ll make money when I die and think my death was worth it,” he spat, “Otherwise, I’ll just die well and truly alone, and nobody will even bat an eye or care at all—”

“Why do you think you’re going to die?” she hissed, her heart racing.

“I— I don’t!” he gasped, eyes wide, “I don’t, I just— I— God,” he choked, pressing the palms of his hands into his eyes, and took a deep breath before continuing, voice wobbling, “I-I think something’s wrong with me…”

“Hey,” she said, scrambling off of him and moving to sit by his head, legs crossed as she tugged gently at him, “Here, chaton. Come here. Pspsps.”

He sniffled, but he got the hint, and soon his head was in her lap.

“I— I don’t like you talking like that,” she said, leaning forward and petting at his scalp, “B-But— But keep talking— What do you mean, something’s wrong with you?”

His lip quivered, his glistening eyes looking to the wall.

“Chaton?”

“I don’t know,” he sniffled, “I— I think I’m— I’m… depressed. I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she choked out, despite it not being okay at all. “Okay, chaton. But I— I don’t like that— I don’t like that combination, of you talking about your death and saying you’re depressed—”

“I— I’m sorry,” he whispered, “Like I said, I— I’m melodramatic—”

“Okay,” she whispered back, cupping his jaw and caressing his skin, “Okay, minou, but— but you know you were wrong, right? You were so wrong.”

He looked up at her, blinking.

“Nobody would be better off,” she spoke, trying to keep her voice steady, needing to make sure he heard the conviction of her voice. She leaned in close to him, her face hovering just above his, “If anything happened to you, chaton, I—” Her breath caught in her throat. “I w-would care. I— It would break me, minou. I don’t— I don’t want to imagine a world without you in it.”

“Oh,” he choked, his face crumpling and tears welling his eyes.

“I love you,” she whispered, hunching forward to kiss his forehead.

“You do?” he asked, voice wobbling.

“What?” she breathed, her heart shattering at the fact he seemed shocked, “Of course. Have I not— Haven’t I said that already?”

“N-No,” he sniffled, “I— I don’t think so.”

“Oh,” she croaked, feeling her own face crumple, “Oh, chaton… yes, I love you. I— I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he rasped, and she kissed him, not caring about the awkward angle.

“I don’t like any of what you said,” she whispered against his skin, “It scares me.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, “I really didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Okay,” she said, not sure she believed it. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “You should talk to someone, love, if you— if you think you’re depressed, if you’re thinking like that. Someone like— like a professional, you know?”

His eyes closed. “I can’t.”

“Yes,” she argued, “You can. Why not?”

“My father would never allow that,” he muttered, and fire lit her veins. “It’s all about image. If it got out, it wouldn’t be good for the busine—”

“If what got out?” she spat, and his eyes flew open. “If it got out that you were getting help? Fuck your stupid fucking dad. I don’t care what he thinks. He doesn’t get to decide what you can and can’t do for your health—”

“He can, and he does,” he scoffed, “Why do you think I’m on a diet—”

“You—” she sputtered, “Oh my god. Chat Noir. Chat. Noir.”

“... What?”

“You’re not doing this,” she said, scooting back away from him, and he blinked and sat up, looking at her confused. “I’m not going to let him do this to you.”

“What—”

“This isn’t good for you,” she spat, jabbing her finger into his pec, “I’m not going to let you— let you kill yourself over this—”

“I won’t—”

“—abuse,” she finished, and he wilted, “Chat Noir. Get away from it. Don’t let him control your life. Please. It’s killing you.”

“This is— this is what I meant,” he muttered, his eyes shamefully downcast towards his lap, “I make everything sound worse than it is. I let my emotions get out of hand, just like he says—”

“Like he says?” she spat, “Chat Noir. Don’t fucking listen to him. I don’t like him one bit.”

“Ladybug—”

“Do you like your job at all?” she pressed, and he wilted further, “Are you happy? With your life, at all?”

“I’m…” he began, voice wobbling, “... I’m happy with you—”

“I mean your normal life. I’m sticking around no matter what. I mean— I’m asking you seriously, Chat Noir, if you quit this stupid job you hate, if you cut ties with your shithole of a dad who’s apparently only ever terrible to you— what would you lose?”

He said nothing, his head hung.

“What would you lose?” she pressed.

“The eulogy,” he choked out, somewhere between a laugh and a cry, “I guess.”

“You’re not going to die,” she forcefully reminded, hoping it would sink in, “Chat Noir. Please. I’m begging you, take your life back—”

“I don’t— Ladybug, it’s not that easy—”

“Is money an issue?”

“No, money’s no issue—”

“Then please,” she pleaded, “Chat Noir—”

“I don’t know what I’d do instead,” he sniffled, “I— I’m not— I don’t know what else I would do—”

“Anything,” she said, scooting up to him, “Anything, chaton. You could do anything. You’re so smart. You— you sounded like you wanted to go to university, yeah? You could do that. I’m sure you’d do great! You’re fluent in four languages—”

“Not technically fluent,” he quietly corrected.

“Okay, whatever, you’re at an advanced reading level, at least, in multiple languages, you play an instrument, you read classics for fun, you’ve won fencing awards…” She shook her head. “Oh my god. I bet you could get into a great university. You’d do so good there.”

“I don’t know what I’d major in,” he muttered, picking at his claws. She threw her arms around his shoulders and leaned in close.

“Anything,” she whispered, “And if you don’t want to go to university, you don’t have to do that, either. It was just a suggestion. Whatever you want to do. What do you want to do?”

“Nothing,” he laughed bitterly, “I don’t— I don’t have… ambitions like that. Nothing that would work out beyond a stupid fantasy—”

“What are your fantasies?” she whispered in his ear, “Tell me.”

“Nothing serious—”

“Tell me anyway. I want to know.”

He hesitated for a long moment, and she waited patiently.

“Like…” he chuckled sadly, “I don’t know. I… sometimes I think working at a flower shop would be fun, flower arranging and all that, but I tried to take care of a cactus once and it died.”

She forced herself to not laugh, screwing her face hard to listen very seriously to him.

“I liked physics a lot, back in school, but I don’t care much for math, so that’s probably a bust,” he said, and she rested her chin on his shoulder, “Linguistics always sounded really interesting to me. I— I used to volunteer at cat shelters, and… sometimes I think it’d be nice to do that again, but… more.”

“Of course,” she cooed, her heart blooming with warmth, “Of course you’ve volunteered at cat shelters.”

He chuckled softly. “Yeah…”

“Anything else?” she asked, leaning even further into him.

“... Writing a book,” he snorted, as if it were some kind of inside joke with himself that she didn’t quite understand, but she smiled. “Like— romance novels, maybe. That’s— that one’s really silly, though. But it sounds kind of fun—”

“I’d read your romance novels,” she giggled, “I’m sure they’d be exceptionally saccharine.”

“Of course.” He smiled at her, his eyes soft. “And… I don’t know. I always kind of wanted to be a… a school teacher. I don’t know.”

“Oh my god,” she breathed, “You’d be such a good teacher.”

“You think?”

“You’re so good with kids,” she sighed, “And you’re smart. And very approachable. And you’re good at keeping things interesting. And you’re kind of a nerd. I can definitely see it.”

“I’m a nerd?” he laughed.

“You read classics for fun,” she reminded affectionately.

“I suppose so,” he hummed, and she pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.

“You should give it a shot,” she whispered in his ear, and he shuddered. “Any of those. I love them all. I love your fantasies, they’re… they’re very you. And they all sound very sweet.”

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “... None of them would actually work out.”

“You don’t know that,” she said, combing her fingers through his hair, “I think they would. I think you could do any of those things. And if one doesn’t work out, you can just try another. At least one of them will definitely work for you.”

“It’d be so ridiculous,” he chuckled sadly, “I… anybody would think I was insane, quitting what I’m doing now to do something like that instead—”

“Who cares what other people think?” she scoffed, “You can do it, chaton. You’re an adult, you can do whatever you want. You don’t have to be confined to other people’s expectations of you.”

He hummed thoughtfully, and she kissed his cheek.

“You know how… when I was struggling, I… you helped me process it, and then I put in all that work, and everything ended up okay?” she asked, and he nodded silently. “I want you to do that, too. I want— I want you to put in the work, chaton, because I don’t want to see you hurt like this. I really, really think you should quit your job. I think your dad doesn’t deserve you. I think you should go to a doctor. I think you should do whatever you think will… actually make you happy.”

“I…” he muttered, “... I’ll think about it.”

“Please,” she whispered, “I love you. I want you to be okay.”

He let out a long sigh and looked to the side, eyeing the untouched box on the bed.

“Can I…” he murmured, “... have some of your pizza?”

She smiled.

*****

“You know,” she mused between bites of pizza, “I bet you’d make a good actor, too. Maybe that’s another thing you can add to your list.”

He hummed and swallowed back his own bite. “You know, strangely enough, I… … I don’t think I want to. Is that weird?”

“What? Of course not. Suit yourself. Don’t do it if you don’t want to.” She took another bite.

“Yeah,” he said, watching her, “... I… don’t think I will.”

*****

“And now, for today’s celebrity news…” Nadja’s voice drifted through the living space.

“Dear, can you hand me the cabbage?” maman asked from her perch at the counter.

“... Clara Nightingale’s newest single…”

“Mhm!” Marinette hummed, making her way over to the fridge and throwing it open. She rummaged through the shelves, pushing aside various bottles and boxes to look for it.

“... Bob Roth Records continues to refute numerous plagiarism accusations…”

Finally, she found the cabbage. She pulled it out of the fridge and kicked the door shut, making her way towards the counter—

“... And, in a shocking move, supermodel and movie star Adrien Agreste announces his permanent retirement from modeling and acting—”

Marinette’s foot caught on her ankle, and she fell face-first into the linoleum.

Chapter Text

‘WHY DID ADRIEN AGRESTE QUIT’, Marinette typed aggressively into her search bar, not caring to turn her caps lock off. She slammed the enter key and scrolled through the results.

Because unfortunately, as Nadja went on to point out (as Marinette was tending to a bloody nose), no official reason was given. Adrien’s announcement was vague as ever, a gentle statement that alluded to ‘pursuing other paths’. It was almost nothing, the kind of thing that a PR firm would write to avoid drawing too much undue attention to it.

But of course, the internet still had its theories.

‘It doesn’t make any sense,’ someone wrote, ‘he was getting movie deals and doing better than ever? and in his book he said he wanted to keep it up for the rest of his life. Something must have forced him to quit.’

She didn’t trust the stupid book. She clicked on a different link.

‘lmao anyone else waiting for the inevitable accusations?’ someone posted, and Marinette sneered, ‘I bet they forced him to resign to get ahead of a scandal. I bet he did some real nasty shit. the ones who build their image on being ‘wholesome’ are always the worst’

Marinette didn’t believe that. She clicked on a different thread.

‘It’s obviously some marketing ploy. He pretends to resign so that when he comes back they can make a big deal out of it and make a bunch of sales. This is marketing 101’

She clicked on another.

‘I bet he got someone pregnant. maybe he’s focusing on being a dad or something’

Another.

‘it’s probably drug related’

Another.

‘maybe he just wanted to?’

Another.

Another.

Another.

*****

Hey, Adrien! This is Marinette! I heard on the news that you’re not going to be renewing your modeling or acting contracts. Did you WANT to quit? If not, that’s so sad! Is everything okay? Or is it what you wanted? If so, congratulations! Is it… a good thing for you? Whatever you’re feeling, I support it!

Terrible.

Delete.

Hi, Adrien!! Wow, you must be due for a lot of free time soon, huh? I heard you were retiring! Talk about mixed feelings, I presume? Wanna talk about it over coffee?

Inappropriate.

Delete.

Hi! This is Marinette! I heard about your announcement on the news. I hope everything’s okay!! I remember that you always had a lot of mixed feelings about working for your dad back in school... is that why you quit? Or is it unrelated? Did something bad happen? I know we haven’t talked in a long time, but I’m always open to listen! And I promise I’m good at keeping a secret and I’m not going to leak anything you tell me to the press or anything because I’m not that cruel and I promise this isn’t a trap or anything and

Weirdly suspicious.

Delete.

Hi, Adrien. I hope everything’s okay. Funny how I used to see your face all the time, because you were a part of my life, and then you left and I saw your face all the time because you were famous. And now I guess I won’t be seeing your face at all anymore? That’s kind of sad. I miss you. You made a really big impact on my life, and I don’t think you ever knew that, because I never got around to telling you how much you meant to me. You were a really good friend of mine, and I miss you. I’d love to see you again, but if you don’t want to, I understand. I just hope everything’s okay and that you’re happy.

Delete.

Delete.

Delete.

*****

Over the coming weeks, Ladybug was more than happy to spend her newfound free time with her partner.

After all, ever since that night in his room, she found herself more worried for him than she’d ever thought possible. Pulling genuine thoughts and feelings out of Chat Noir was akin to pulling teeth, apparently, and she hadn’t really been prepared for how terrible everything was beneath the surface until it all came flooding out.

Everything seemed fine. Chat Noir smiled at her in battle. He said he was fine. He told her he was feeling better when she asked.

She just didn’t believe him.

She’d done her research, after all— she wasn’t going to fall for his stupid tricks anymore. She knew better, now, than to trust his word when he said that he was fine.

Depression didn’t disappear in a day.

She arrived to patrol nearly an hour early (now that they were patrolling again) with a picnic blanket rolled under her arm, a basket, and as many pillows as she could reasonably carry (she ended up needing to take multiple trips).

And once the blanket was rolled out, the basket and pillows set, she sat down and waited for him to show.

It didn’t take long, of course. He was always early to patrols.

And soon, Ladybug and Chat Noir were lying atop the sea of pillows that she’d set, an opened and half-eaten basket of pastries at their side, their limbs entangled and fingers intertwined.

“I love you,” she whispered, because she’d apparently been very poor about saying it before, and she hated the idea of losing another person in her life with things left unsaid. She pressed a kiss to his nose and pressed herself further into him, “I love you so much.”

“I love you, too,” he said easily, pressing a kiss to her cheekbone. He whispered, “What put you in such a good mood?”

She wasn’t sure that she was in a good mood, exactly. A fine one, sure— basking atop the parisian skyline, beneath the starless sky, surrounded by pillows and her papa’s baking and her partner’s warmth certainly made her chest bloom and her eyelids droop, but she hadn’t done all of this because she was in a ‘good mood’.

“Nothing,” she said instead, reaching to scratch at his scalp, just behind his stupid, cute leather cat ear. “I wanted to treat you.”

He hummed, an almost thoughtful look on his face as his gaze flickered to the emptied box of macarons beside them. It wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

She wanted to chase that.

“What’s on your mind?” she asked, ghosting her thumb at his bottom lip, hoping he’d tell her honestly without her having to dig and pry.

“Hm?” His gaze snapped back to hers, almost startled. “Oh, nothing.” He shot her a silly smile. “Just thinking of how sweet you are—”

“What’s really on your mind?” she asked, “I want to hear. You’ve seemed a little distracted.”

She wondered if something had happened in his civilian life. She wondered if more awful thoughts were plaguing him, if he was hiding something, if something was nagging at him and she needed to find out—

“It’s nothing, I just…” he began, his gaze flicking briefly back to the box, “... Are… these from… Tom & Sabine’s?”

She blinked.

“Uh,” she said, “Ye…s? I, uh. Bought them.”

“Oh.” He looked back at the box again. “Okay. Cool.”

“Why?”

“I was just wondering,” he said, a nearly shy smile on his face. “... How were they?”

“How were… what? The macarons? You had some—”

“No, uh…” He cleared his throat. “The Dupain-Chengs?”

She blinked.

“They…” she began tentatively, wondering why Chat Noir would care about her parents, and why it was so incredibly sweet and wonderful to her, “... were good?” she said honestly, “Again, I only just… bought some pastries,” she lied, “I didn’t have an extended conversation with them or anything.”

“Right,” he chuckled quietly, his eyes cast to the side, “Of course…”

“Why?”

“No reason,” he said, shooting her a smile and brushing a stray strand of hair from her mouth.

“You know what I want to know?” she asked, her eyes locked on his.

“Hm?”

“How you are.”

“Oh, I’m great—”

“I’m not asking in a smalltalk way,” she pointed out, squishing herself further against him, “I’m asking in a real way. How are you?”

His face fell, as if disappointed by the topic, and sighed. “I’m fine, Ladybug. Really.”

“Have you thought about my advice at all?” she asked, brushing her fingers through his hair, “You know, about… making changes?”

“I…” he hesitated, “... I put in my resignation.”

She gasped.

“You did? Why didn’t you mention that sooner?”

He chuckled sadly, and she huffed at him.

“Really. Why didn’t you?”

“I…dentity… reasons?” He avoided her gaze for a moment. “You know… adds an air of mystery to it. When exactly did I resign? Who knows! Ha…”

She didn’t quite understand, but if it was for identity reasons, she was going to choose not to think too hard about it.

“Okay,” she relented, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Well, that’s— that’s great, chaton!” She smiled. “How does it feel?”

“Fine.”

“That’s…” She furrowed her brow. “That’s not a real answer.”

“It’s fine,” he repeated, and she huffed, “I just— It’s kind of weird, I think. And a lot of… people are pretty angry at me. My father, especially.”

“Angry at you? Pff!” she scoffed, “Your life isn’t any of their business. They’ll deal.”

He nodded quietly, and she frowned.

“I’m sure it’s hard,” she whispered, cupping his cheek, “But… anybody who really cares about you would understand, chaton.”

“Hah,” he huffed, his eyes shining, “Where— where are these imaginary people? I’d love to meet them.”

She shook her head, willing her own eyes not to mist as she pressed her lips against his.

“It’s okay, love,” she whispered as he let out a stuttered sigh, “Maybe you— maybe you haven’t met them, yet, but you will. Your stupid dad can’t keep you alone anymore. He’s not your boss anymore, he can’t stop you from getting help or making friends, you’re nineteen, he can’t—”

“Twenty,” he quietly corrected.

“— control you anymore and— wait— what?” she gasped, “You… You told me you were nineteen.”

He gave her a strange look. “Um… time flies?”

“You—” she started, stopping herself, the horror dawning on her, “Oh my god. Your birthday passed?”

“Um, yeah—”

“When?” she gasped, “You— you didn’t tell me! When did—”

“I thought…” he began, his brow furrowed in confusion, “I thought we weren’t supposed to tell each other our birthdays.”

“Well, we’re… we’re not, but… but…”

But she loved birthdays.

Or, more accurately, she loved showering her loved ones in hand-made gifts and pouring all of her love and feeling and admiration for them into a project. She loved seeing their eyes light up as they opened it. Gifts were her love language, and she loved her friends’ birthdays.

And she’d missed her boyfriend’s. Her partner’s.

“Well…” she breathed, trying to mask her insurmountable disappointment, trying not to focus on how she wanted to mourn all the sacrifices they had to make in their relationship, “... Did you… have a good birthday, at least?”

He hummed a noncommittal positive.

“Oh,” she croaked, because who was she kidding? Of course he didn’t. She wondered how many times it would have to be drilled into her thick skull before she got used to the idea that Chat Noir was so alone. “You didn’t. Your birthday totally sucked.”

“I mean, it was purrty typical,” he said with a small smile, and she knew what that meant. ‘Typical’ was always code for ‘awful’.

“Did you spend the day with… anyone?” she asked carefully.

“Of course,” he said, and she let out a breath, “Plagg gave me the nastiest piece of cheese he could find.”

“I mean other than your kwami,” she scoffed.

He shrugged and closed his eyes, resting against the pillows.

“... I just don’t believe it, chaton,” she muttered, “I don’t believe that there’s nobody in your life who loves you to death. Do you realize how impossible that sounds?”

“Plenty of people love me,” he murmured, “For my work. Without my job, not so much.”

“Well, I’m not talking about them,” she scoffed, “I mean people who love you for you. People who don’t care about your stupid job. I know they exist. I can’t— I don’t believe that they don’t.”

He hesitated.

“Haven’t you known someone like that?”

He chewed his lip. “... I… I used to.”

Her eyes widened. “Yeah?”

“Back in…” he hesitated, “... Back in… lycée. I had some friends.”

“Yeah?” she whispered, watching him, “Okay. That’s good. What about them?”

“I…” He swallowed. “I don’t think they’d want anything to do with me, anymore.”

She frowned. “What? Why not?”

“I kind of…” he paused, “I… my father kind of… made it really difficult to see them, and then… I don’t know. They kept trying to reach out, but… I didn’t reach back, I guess.”

Her eyes softened. “Why not?”

“I don’t know,” he whispered, the broken honesty of his voice making her believe it, “I… same reason I don’t clean my room sometimes, I guess.”

“Oh, chaton…” she sighed, caressing his cheek, and he let out a shaky breath, “You should try reaching out. Maybe they miss you just as much as you miss them.”

He let out a bitter, broken chuckle. “I doubt that.”

“It can’t hurt,” she said softly, pressing a kiss to his nose, “Please? You know, breaking things off with your stupid dad was just the first step. Now it’s time to do all the things he was keeping you from doing before. You know, like getting support! Like making friends…” Her eyes darkened. “... and talking to a professional.”

He hummed. “... Yeah, I… I guess.”

“Please?” She batted her eyes at him. “For me?”

“... Yeah,” he agreed, and she smiled, “... Do we have to keep talking about this? I think I’d rather just cuddle, now.”

“Fine,” she relented, because she figured she’d made her points well enough, “But you know what’s comfier than a bunch of pillows on a roof? An actual bed.”

“My room is…” he trailed, cringing.

“It’s okay,” she said, sitting up, “I’ll help you clean.”

*****

Marinette stuck her tongue out, hunched over her old work table and pushing the fabric through the sewing machine.

So maybe she missed Chat Noir’s birthday! That was fine. She could still shower him in hand-made gifts, even if the day wasn’t quite right. She didn’t need a reason to want to make him happy.

She hummed, lifting her foot from the pedal to inspect the stitches, when her phone buzzed from across the room.

“Can someone check that for me?” she called, and at least a few of the kwamis flitted towards the source of the sound. “And tell me who it is?”

She pulled the material from the machine and rolled her chair over to grab some more fabrics.

“It says…” Mullo began, “Unknown?”

“It’s probably spam,” she sighed, cutting a portion of fabric from the roll, “Can you get Sass to block and delete the number for me?” Sass was one of the few kwamis that she trusted with technology, anyway.

“Guardian,” Wayzz said, “I think you may want to see this.”

She sighed. She’d heard that same spiel before. The kwamis were always so easily duped by ‘there’s been a large purchase on your account’ and ‘your subscription has been canceled’.

“Fine, fine.” She held her hand out. “Give it here.”

Pollen placed the phone in her hand, and she turned from her work to give the screen a look.

Her jaw dropped.

—

Unknown Number: Hey, Marinette! I hope this is still your number. I know that this is probably very sudden, and I’m sure you’re very busy, but I was wondering if you’d like to meet up sometime. Maybe coffee or lunch? No hard feelings if you don’t, of course! I’ve just been thinking of you and the others a lot as of late, and I’d love to catch up sometime if you’re free.

Unknown Number: This is Adrien, by the way! 😅 My number got leaked a while back, so I had to get a new one. Sorry for any confusion.

—

She stared.

And stared.

And stared.

Maybe if she stared hard enough, the words would start to make sense to her— because there was no way that Adrien was reaching out to her. Adrien, who had a million other things to worry about, who probably barely even remembered her—

Could it be a prank?

No. It probably wasn’t. The texts sounded like Adrien, they looked right, and it would be such a strange and specific prank to pull on someone— the only people alive who would understand the way such messages would affect her would be Alya and Nino, and there was no way they’d pull something like that.

She rushed to add his new number to her contacts, ignoring the strange twist in her heart that said ‘you didn’t even have his number, all this toiling over sending him a text, and you never had his number’. It was fine. It didn’t matter. She had it now.

Because Adrien wanted to meet her for coffee.

—

Marinette: YEAJH

Marinette: I MEAN YES

Marinette: SORURY CHAPSLOCK

Marinette: Hi Adrien! tes, let’s get coffee or lunch or something! I’d ljvog to catch up!

Marinette: love*

Marinette: yes*

Marinette: like**

Marinette: this is marinette 🤮

Marinette: WRONG EMOJI

Marinette: 😊*

—

She groaned and collapsed back on her chair— because apparently years apart wasn’t enough for her to learn how to act normal around him.

—

Adrien: Really? Great! 😀

Adrien: What days work for you?

Marinette: I can make time whenever!! 😄

Marinette: tomorrow?

Adrien: Tomorrow’s perfect!

Adrien: Does lunch sound good? I’d love to have more time to chat with you! Unless you’d prefer to get coffee instead, of course. Whatever you’re comfortable with

Marinette: nono lunch is great!! more time to talk!! I have a lot Ive been menaing to say to you too!!

Adrien: Perfect!

Marinette: maybe we can meet in the park outside my bakery and decide where to go from there?

Marinette: unless thats weird haha

Marinette: actually maybe thats weird

Adrien: That’s a great idea! Let’s do that

Marinette: oh okay haha!!

Adrien: Is noon good?

Marinette: yeah noon! noon tomorrow! lunch!

Adrien: Park!

Marinette: noon tomorrow in the park for lunch!

Adrien: I can’t wait 😊

—

Chapter Text

Waiting was agony.

Marinette paced her room, already dressed up in the most appropriate outfit she could muster— something nice, because meeting an old friend was a special occasion, and because Adrien was a literal supermodel and she was determined not to embarrass herself, but not too nice, because she didn’t want to come across as too eager, or give Adrien the wrong idea (she was very happily taken, thank you very much).

Then again, this was Adrien. He wouldn’t pick up on anything either way.

She still couldn’t believe that this was happening.

Nino had called her shortly after they’d arranged the lunch— because, apparently, Adrien had texted him, too, and he was pretty excited.

(Alya got a text, too. Adrien had texted all of them. The idea that Adrien was reaching back out to them, that he possibly wanted to be a part of their little group again, warmed her heart. It’d always felt a little wrong hanging out with just Alya and Nino, like something— someone— was missing. She hoped it wasn’t going to be a one-time thing. She hoped he’d be filling that space again.)

She reviewed the list she’d made of all the things she’d wanted to say to him over the years (she didn’t want to forget, in case this was a one-time thing, in case this was her only chance to say them). She double-checked her skirt and hair in the mirror, made sure the light eyeliner she’d applied wasn’t too crooked, and sighed.

Would it be weird if she showed up an hour early? Probably, but surely he wouldn’t know that she was there that early, right? She was just so nervous, bouncing between sudden spikes of panic that forced her to double-check the time, somehow so sure that she was going to end up late and ruin everything.

She had one chance at this. If she was late, there was no certainty that Adrien would ever want to talk to her again.

She should probably just head there early.

With her sketchbook in hand (might as well have something to pass the time with), she kissed her parents goodbye and leapt down the apartment steps two at a time. She pushed the door open, towards the outside air—

Something shot past her at lightning speeds, blowing her skirt up and nearly knocking her off her feet. She stumbled back and grabbed hold of the doorframe, her mouth agape as she steadied herself, her heart racing, because what the hell—

An alarm went off on her phone, and her heart dropped.

An akuma alert.

Marinette did not have time for an akuma alert.

She swore to herself and stepped back, slamming the door closed for some semblance of privacy, and transformed.

Ladybug took to the rooftops, inspecting her yo-yo for any news coverage on the subject. The most she could garner was that somebody or something was tearing through the streets at impeccable speeds.

She heard her partner’s steel boots hit the roof beside her, and she wasted no time, whipping to face him and saying, seriously, “Let’s make this quick.”

“Speed’s the name of the game, lovebug,” he teased, twirling his baton in hand, “But I agree. I have somewhere to be.”

As long as they dealt with this akuma within the next hour, everything would be fine. It was just some speedster. They had until noon, how hard could it be?

…

…

“What time is it?” Ladybug croaked out, using her arm to shield her face from the billowing snowfall, trudging through the knee-deep snow.

“I don’t know,” Chat Noir grunted, but she couldn’t quite see him through the darkness or the cold wind stinging her eyes, “Seven pm?”

“Seven pm!” she cried out, “Don’t joke about that, Chat Noir, we haven’t been at this for that long—”

“I mean, give or take a couple hours— Siberia falls under a lot of timezones, and I’m not quite sure which one we’re under—”

“I mean in Paris!” she whined.

“Oh,” he sighed, and she heard the familiar sound of his baton’s screen clicking open, “... Half past noon.”

“Oh my god,” she choked out, thinking she might cry, because Adrien was waiting for her, halfway across the world, and she was already so late, and the longer they took the harder it would be to come up with a reasonable excuse— “Where is this guy!?”

“HEY!” Chat Noir screamed out, “QUIT RUNNING, YOU COWARD! COME FACE US YOURSELF!”

“YEAH!” Ladybug bellowed, cupping her hands around her mouth, “FIGHT US, YOU CHICKEN!”

“SLOWPOKE!”

“SNAIL!”

“SONIC THE HEDGEHOG WANNABE—”

With the telltale whoosh that they had unfortunately grown accustomed to, a tsunami of snow was thrown atop the two of them.

Ladybug broke her head out of the top of her hill of snow and gasped for air, and in a moment she heard Chat Noir do the same.

“Th-This s-sucks,” he chattered, and she would’ve found humor in it if she weren’t feeling so miserable herself.

“He’s probably going to come back,” she said, breaking her arms out from the snow, yo-yo grasped in one hand and the other held out to Chat Noir, “Hold on. I’m going to try to snag him again.”

“Think he’ll take us cross-ocean water-skiing, this time?” he asked, taking strong hold of her arm, and she sighed.

It turns out, he did.

…

…

The Nile was stunning, and the pyramids were even more grandiose in person.

…

…

Shanghai was much like she’d remembered. She wondered how her uncle and Fei were doing, but she was a bit too preoccupied to check on them.

…

…

The grassy hills of New Zealand were beautiful, but they weren’t the reason she was crying.

…

…

Victoria Falls, on the border of Zambia and Zimbabwe, was breathtaking. She honestly felt like she couldn’t breathe.

…

…

She was a bit too distracted by the hunger panging her stomach to pay much attention to the Brazilian rainforest.

…

…

The Grand Canyon was almost as empty as she felt.

…

…

She wasn’t even sure where they were by the time they finally caught him, with the help of her nineteenth Lucky Charm (many of which were scattered, abandoned across the globe). She stomped down on the stupid pair of goggles harder than she was sure she’d stomped any object before, and stomped and stomped and stomped as the akuma was fluttering away—

She caught the stupid butterfly and released it, not even bothering to give it a proper goodbye. She muttered “miraculous ladybug” under her breath and tossed the hair clip over her shoulder.

The magical ladybugs burst out, dispersing and swarming away. She wasn’t even sure what they would be fixing. Torn apart roads, unearthed foliage, and blown away fences, probably, but they couldn’t fix the actual damage.

“What time is it,” she said, not even making it sound like a question, staring deadeyed at the ground as she registered, vaguely, Chat Noir helping the akuma victim to his feet from the corner of her eye.

She hadn’t asked in a while, not since Siberia. She wondered how possible it was that only another half hour had passed, how possible it was that her lateness could almost be considered somewhat reasonable, if there was any possible excuse that she could muster—

“In Paris?” Chat Noir asked, before pausing and answering, “... … … Seven pm.”

Of course.

She didn’t say anything else, not anything beyond the ‘power up’ to Tikki before Cosmobug and Astrocat took to the skies, a rattled civilian in Astrocat’s arms, clutching to him for dear life.

Kaalki would’ve been faster, of course, but miraculouses were only to be combined when absolutely necessary, and well…

It wasn’t like she was in any hurry.

They reached Paris eventually (they’d been in Iceland, apparently), and Astrocat placed the civilian down on a sidewalk. It was raining, so Cosmobug flew up to their favorite spot on the Eiffel Tower, allowing the iron to shield her from the rain as she murmured her de-powering phrase.

Ladybug stared down at the civilians below, feeling nothing beyond… empty.

Astrocat landed beside her, a flash of green leaving Chat Noir in his wake.

“Hey,” he said, his tone soft as he stepped up to her, and she felt a clawed hand on her shoulder. “You okay?”

“Just typical,” she rasped, nearly inaudible over the sounds of rain pattering against iron.

“Something wrong?” he nearly whispered, his hand moving to her far shoulder, his arm reaching across her back.

At least she wouldn’t lose him.

“I missed something,” she managed out, blinking away at the impending tears, “S-Something… something important.”

Marinette may have been a master of excuses, the master of brewing up silly falsehoods that— while not necessarily always believable— were at the very least baffling enough that people didn’t question. The craft was a necessity to hone, after all, with the secrets she had to keep.

… But seven hours?

Her mind was blank.

Half an hour, she could do. An hour, she could manage. Two hours, she might’ve been able to scrape by. But seven?

Usually, when things were this bad, she could use the akuma itself as an excuse. ‘Sorry, I was caught up in the attack! I got turned into one of the minions!’ ‘Sorry, I was hiding in a closet. There was a battle right outside the door, I was so scared!’ ‘Sorry, I lost my phone in the fleeing crowds, and then my parents made me stay home because they were so worried!’

But she didn’t think ‘Sorry, Adrien, I couldn’t make it to lunch in Paris with you because I was hiding from that guy who was doing laps around Antarctica’ would be very believable.

She hadn’t even texted him. She hadn’t canceled, she hadn’t even warned him she was going to be late. The akuma kept them so busy, could’ve appeared at any second, and there had simply been no time to whip out her yo-yo and send a text.

She just never showed up. Or contacted him.

She simply stood him up.

For seven hours.

Adrien was never going to talk to her again.

And if he was mad at her, which he would have every right to be, who’s to say he wouldn’t extend that anger to Alya and Nino, too? Who’s to say that she hadn’t irreparably broken his trust, that he was never going to reach out to any of them again, that he—

Chat Noir stepped into her view, and she sniffled as she felt his finger brush away one of her tears.

“Oh, my lady…” he whispered, and she sobbed, “I’m sorry. How important was it?”

“Very,” she sniffled, “I— I was supposed to m-meet with an old friend, who I really missed, b-but… but I stood him up, and now he’ll never t-talk to me again.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, so soft, so gentle, so comforting, his hand caressing her cheek, and she melted into his touch.

“I-I’m sure,” she said, “You— Th-there’s no excuse for being seven hours late. I-it’s not possible.”

“... Yeah,” he said, his face crumpling and his eyes falling to their feet, “... I… I guess not.”

“A-are you okay?” she sniffled, because he seemed sad, too, and she would grab hold of any distraction from her own problems that she could muster.

“Yeah,” he muttered, clearly a lie, his cat ears and belt drooping, “I, just… I missed something with a friend, too.”

She blinked.

“A friend?” she asked, suddenly stirred to attention.

“Yeah…”

“A friend?” she repeated, mind racing, “Like— Like— one of those friends you told me about?”

“Mhm,” he tore his gaze out to the cityscape, “... She’ll probably never talk to me again.”

Her veins lit aflame.

“No,” she said, standing straight, grabbing his hand and squeezing it, “No. No! Chat Noir, you are not giving up, you need this—”

“What?”

She furrowed her brow and jabbed his chest with her finger. “You are not giving up on rekindling with your old friends when you need the support right now—”

“It’s like you said,” he sighed, “Seven hours. There’s no possible excuse, I never even texted her—”

“Of course there’s a possible excuse!” she scoffed and stepped back from him, pacing the platform as the gears in her head spun, “There’s always a possible excuse! So what if you stood her up all day, there’s always a solution for anything—”

“I’m not so sure—”

“Like a—” she gasped, spinning on her heel and clapping her hands, “An emergency! Or a tragedy! Of course, seven hours is very bad, but if you had a very serious reason—”

“What, you want me to tell her someone died?” he scoffed, “I mean— even if someone had, wouldn’t I have still texted her?”

“Maybe not! Not if you… hm…” she hummed, her face screwed in thought and her finger to her chin, “Like… not that something happened to someone else, but something happened to you…”

“You want me to tell her I died?” he snorted, “And then, what, I got better?”

She gasped. “YES! That’s it—”

“Huh?”

“—I mean, not that you actually died, obviously, but if you almost did—”

“Pardon?”

“—Like, say…” She threw her hands out. “... you fell down a manhole!”

“You think I should tell her I fell down a manhole,” he deadpanned.

“THINK ABOUT IT!” she exclaimed, “If someone stood you up all day without even a single text or anything, what possible excuse would you accept for that besides ‘Sorry I stood you up, I didn’t mean to, I was in the hospital because of an accident’? It explains why you weren’t there and why you wouldn’t text her, and it’s so outlandish and specific and embarrassing that there’s no way she’ll think you lied about it—”

“But it wouldn’t explain why I appear completely uninjured.”

“Who says you’re uninjured?” she scoffed, “Wear long sleeves! Maybe say ‘ouh, ouchies, ow’ whenever someone touches you, say you lost your phone in the accident and had to take a bunch of x-rays and tests and were maybe briefly unconscious so it took seven hours but it all turned out fine and you didn’t break any bones so you don’t need any casts, say you’re covered in bruises and if she asks to see tell her it’s frankly none of her business to see you shirtless anyway because you have a girlfriend and—”

“Are you serious?” he laughed.

“—morally you’re still in the clear since, y’know, the actual reason you were standing her up was because you were saving the world!”

He chewed his lip, a thoughtful look on his face as he looked to the side.

“It would work!” she argued, so sure of it, “You know it would! In fact…”

She whipped out her yo-yo, her face screwed in determination as she opened up her Adrien contact.

“I’m going to do it, too,” she declared, “Because I’m so confident that it’ll work! We’ll both do it, we’ll both get to keep our friendships, and everything will work out. You’ll see!”

She looked up to stare seriously at him— because she was absolutely not going to allow Chat Noir to lose one of the few friendships within his reach die out when he was in such a vulnerable position, when he needed support and connection so desperately. He watched her for a long moment, almost as if he was doubting how serious she was, before he sighed and whipped his own baton out.

“Are you texting her?” she asked, as she watched him tap away at it.

“I guess so.”

“Good,” she huffed, turning down to her own screen, “Me too.”

She began to type, her heart racing, the adrenaline of the moment carrying her through the mortifying action of apologizing to Adrien. She typed and typed, deleted and typed.

She couldn’t bring herself to re-read what she’d written, too afraid that doing so would make her chicken out. As she reached to hit ‘send’, Chat Noir tapped a button on his baton, and a new text came in from Adrien the moment her finger hit the button.

—

Adrien: Marinette, I’m so incredibly sorry that I didn’t make it. I was really excited to see you, but I ended up in a bit of a manhole-related accident that ate away at most of my day. I’m totally fine, just some bruises, but I lost my phone and was in tests all day and only just now got out of the hospital. I’d still love to see you if you’re still up for it, but if not, I understand.

Marinette: Adrien I am SO SO sorry that I stood you up!! I swear that i never in a million years would have if it werent for the fact I fell down a manhole 🥺 im just so clumsy!! anyway I was in the hospital all day and only just got access to my phone now! DONT WORRY about me I got better but I am so so sorry and I reall ywould love to reschedule with you if we can

—

She stared.

And stared.

And everything went blank.

Maybe staring at the text long enough would make it make sense. Maybe if she read it enough times, she’d understand what was happening. Maybe then, the incomprehensible cacophony of thoughts swirling around her brain would be able to come up with a single coherent explanation. Maybe it would explain the spike of fear that shot through her system, the overwhelming relief and worry, the blooming of her heart and the nausea in her gut.

The words blurred, the symbols on the screen losing any and all meaning to her, the words shaking in her trembling grasp.

After what felt like hours of nothing, of net zero thoughts rattling around in her skull, she looked up.

Chat Noir was staring at her, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and her nausea only spiked.

“Why are you looking at me like that,” she rasped, her tone flat and not even sounding like a question, because a part of her felt like she already knew the answer.

“You…” he choked out, raising a quivering claw to point at her, “You’re… you’re a fashion student.”

All air was knocked out of her lungs.

She didn’t know why, though. She didn’t know why it terrified her, why her world felt so completely rocked, why her hands were shaking or why it felt so difficult to keep standing. It’s not like anything had happened. Nothing was happening. Nothing strange had occurred at all, and no realizations were being made, because she had no thoughts at all, and there was a very simple explanation for why Adrien would happen to fall down a manhole today and she had no reason not to trust him and the texts were completely irrelevant to Chat Noir anyway and it was all just a string of coincidences—

“You worked in… advertising,” her tongue betrayed her, the words falling out before she could stop herself. She gasped, her voice strangled, “U-Until… … until you… quit…”

A very long string of coincidences.

Surely this was a dream. Surely, she had to wake up.

This wasn’t happening. It didn’t make sense. Surely, she could disprove it, surely the strange garbled mess of her brain, the malformed amalgamation of her disjointed thoughts, was all a result of an empty stomach and a bad day.

She’d feel better in the morning. She’d be more rational in the morning. Everything would make sense, then.

Blond hair, green eyes, fencing, piano, multiple languages, a terrible, strict, business-owning father, friends he lost long ago—

Dear god. Kitty Section was a rock band.

Chat Noir opened his mouth—

“Don’t,” she choked, “Don’t say anything.”

Not that he was going to say anything upsetting, of course, because the upsetting thoughts in her head were all fake. They weren’t real. They were merely in her head, not Chat Noir’s, and Chat Noir was completely disconnected from all of it.

The two stared at each other for a long moment, neither able to voice anything else, the rainfall the only sound between them.

At least, until her stomach growled.

Chat Noir stared at her for only a moment longer before his gaze dropped back down at his baton, tapping away as if he were typing, and her mouth went dry.

Her eyes fell back down to her screen, mesmerized by the way the dots by Adrien’s name bounced in time with Chat Noir’s taps.

Chat Noir tapped one last time, and a new message came in.

—

Adrien: WOW!! What a crazy coincidence! 🙀🙀 We should stay away from those manholes! Anyway, Marinette, since I’m guessing you missed lunch just like I did, do you want to get dinner?

—

She stared.

The emojis weren’t even subtle.

Her hands shaking, she tapped at her yo-yo.

—

Marinette: k

—

“Eloquent,” Chat Noir whispered under his breath, and she pointedly chose to pretend like she didn’t hear it.

“I… I have to go,” Ladybug croaked, closing the screen to return her yo-yo to its usual functionality.

“I do, too,” he said, a dopey smile on his face as his eyes locked on hers, and she was sure that she was going to faint, her heart exploding in her chest, “I have plans.”

“K,” she said, tearing her gaze away from his and leaping off the platform.

Her mind was empty as she swung through the city, touched down beside her bakery, detransformed, and mechanically marched into the park. It wasn’t until she was standing there, in the middle of the wet grassy field, that she realized how stupid it all felt.

There she was, standing in the middle of a park on a raining evening, the sun nearly finished setting, in nothing but a short-sleeved blouse and a skirt. No jacket, no umbrella, hugging herself around the torso and shivering as her eyes cast out over the park, realizing only then that “meet me at the park” was so horribly vague. What if he didn’t see her? What if she was on the wrong side of the park? What if he didn’t know where to find her, what if—

Her eyes caught on a figure approaching her, holding a—

“No,” she choked out, the wind knocked out of her sails, the image of him in front of her overwhelming her in a way that she never could have prepared for, feeling as though she’d been sacked in the gut. “No… No, no, NO!”

“What?” he called out and slowed to a stop, still meters away from her. She couldn’t quite make out his expression through the darkness and shadows and rainfall.

“You have to be joking!” she cried out, so overwhelmed that she bent down to tear wet blades of grass from the mud, throwing them in his direction and not even caring that they simply plummeted back to the ground, nowhere near reaching him. “You— You have to be kidding me!”

“What?” he repeated, taking another step closer to her, and then another, seemingly unfazed as she ripped out another bundle of grass and dropped it in his direction. “What— What’s wrong?”

“What’s with you and umbrellas!?” she choked out, her eyes burning and vision blurring, and she felt so silly and stupid, raising her hands to grasp at the hair at her scalp. “Why do you— why do you always have one—”

“Huh?” he said, confused and stepping closer to her, and he was close enough that she could really see him now— his gorgeous green eyes and pink cheeks and blond hair— a face that she knew so well, that she’d seen in magazines and posters and movies and billboards and webpages, but hadn’t seen in person and bare in so long— “I don’t…”

“You do!” she cried, taking a step back, the heel of her flats sinking into a puddle of mud, ensnaring her, trapping her in this paradisiacal nightmare, “You always do!”

“Only when it’s raining.” Adrien tilted his head, his wonderful eyes locked on hers, and her heart stuttered at the way he smiled at her— gentle and shy and yet so unabashedly affectionate in such a familiar way. He took another step towards her, holding the blasted thing forward, sheltering her from the onslaught of water, and she sucked in a painful breath. “You say it like it’s strange.”

He was so wonderful like that, so close to her— and she couldn’t help but hate him, for making her fall for him, for leaving her behind, for making her forget about him and mourn what would never be only to trick her into falling for him a second time—

“I saw your movie,” she blurted, stupidly, because it was easier to say that than all the other thoughts swirling in her head, than all the other things she wanted to say to him but never could, her whole body burning despite her soggy clothes. “I— I meant to… I meant to tell you that. But I never got around to it.”

“I…” he started, averting his eyes from hers for a moment, his smile only curling further and his eyes crinkling in amusement as they re-locked on hers. “I know.”

“Oh,” she croaked, feeling all air leave her lungs at the horrible realization, “Oh. My god. Yeah. I— Yeah.”

“I… heard it made you cry.” He ducked his head shyly for a moment, before looking back up at her through beautiful blond lashes. “Sorry about that.”

“Only because I missed you,” she choked out, her cheeks burning, and his eyes widened.

“Really?” he rasped, stepping even closer to her, as if she weren’t already overwhelmed by his proximity.

“Also I… I… I hated that…” she trailed, tearing her eyes away from his to gaze out anywhere else, “... Umbrellas were our thing.”

“Our thing?”

“I…” She swallowed. “Y-Yeah… don’t you… don’t you think so? You… You gave me your umbrella… after we met—”

“Oh.” His face lit up, as if he wasn’t shining enough. “Right! I guess I did.”

“It ruined me,” she said, looking up at the underside of their shelter. “I’ve never… never been able to look at umbrellas the same way ever again.”

“What? Why?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” she said after a sharp inhale, shoving his shoulder and finding herself unable to fight a smile, “I have a boyfriend now.”

“Oouf!” he cried out, stumbling back and grasping at where she’d touched, “Ow, ouch! Careful, Marinette, you know I had a nasty fall today?”

“Wha— Oh, shut up!” she laughed.

“I’d show you my bruises,” he said with a smile, “but I don’t think my girlfriend would appreciate me taking my shirt off.”

Maybe she never got around to knowing her first love, and maybe she never fully allowed herself to know her partner. But the strange amalgamation of the two of them, standing in front of her with a silly smile and honest eyes, was someone she understood completely.

And somehow, nothing seemed to be crashing around her anymore. All her fears and anxieties, all the terrible premonitions and the implications of her convoluted life, suddenly didn’t matter. Because the man in front of her was radiant, he was glowing, and he was smiling at her in that way that he always would— full of all of the usual affection that he held on the rooftops, but with a vulnerability in his unmasked brows that brought her back to lycée.

She wanted to hold onto him forever.

“Bruises, huh?” she found herself saying, aided by the warmth blooming in her chest, “Who knew falling from heaven could be so painful?”

He laughed, a familiar snort breaking through and sending a shiver up her spine. She reached forward and grasped at the umbrella handle, not allowing herself to flinch back when her hand bumped against his.

She thought of all the things she’d longed to say to him, all the things she wished she could and never did— the list she’d tried to memorize, the regrets, the unsent texts. I miss you, I loved you, I wish I knew you.

“I never learn my lesson, I guess,” he said, his eyes crinkling in an old familiar way that the magazines had never managed to capture for her, “I really need to get my wings checked.”

She didn’t miss him. Not anymore. Not when he was standing in front of her. Not when he’d been right at her side all this time. Not when he’d never actually left.

“I don’t know,” she hummed, as the two began to walk, falling in step with each other with ease. “I think I prefer you grounded. How am I supposed to reach you when you’re up so high?”

And she still loved him. She still loved him so much, in so many ways that she’d never known possible, all so much more tangible than it ever felt before.

“I’d let my hair down for you, of course,” he said, as she found her bare hand slotting so easily into his. “But you’re right. I never liked that tower much, anyway.”

And she knew him.