Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“This is so stupid,” Ladybug said with a huff, grabbing ahold of a particularly gaudy ladybug-themed pillow and giving it a once-over before chucking it aside.

Chat Noir reached out and easily caught the pillow, giving it a small appraisal with a stupid grin on his face. “What is, My Lady?”

“This whole… everything!” Ladybug huffed, motioning outwards to the room they were situated in. The large hotel room, courtesy of Le Grand Paris, was almost suffocating in how over-the-top its decorations were, and the rose petals lining the floor certainly didn’t help. “You have to admit, it’s a bit… gauche.” 

“I think it’s flattering,” Chat Noir teased, shooting her one of his awful smirks as he stepped towards the couch-side table, which was adorned with just about the worst lamp she was sure that she’d ever seen, made of hot-pink glass blown into the shape of a heart. She nearly gagged as Chat Noir motioned to it and asked, “You don’t like pink?”

“I love pink,” she huffed, rolling her eyes, “And my des— creative endeavors have been referred to as ‘kitschy’ before, but compared to this? Call me a minimalist.”

“No!” he gasped, placing a hand over his heart in his dramatics, “Who could say such a thing? My Lady, I’m sure your art is purr fectly inspired!”

Ladybug scoffed, unable to hide the smile on her face as she rolled her eyes and motioned towards the bed behind her. The one bed. “Also, they only gave us one bed? They’ve got to be kidding.”

“Ahhh, bed-sharing, my favorite trope!”

“There will be no bed-sharing,” she said, so used to his antics after all these years that she couldn’t find it in herself to be truly annoyed at him. The situation, however? That was getting on her nerves. “I mean, how dumb does the mayor think we are? Offering us a permanent hotel room as a ‘gesture of gratitude for all our work for Paris’, like it isn’t clearly just some half-baked political ploy to place him more in the public’s favor after the whole school funding scandal, like we’ll allow ourselves to sleep in a hotel that we were publicly offered, making ourselves sitting ducks for Hawkmo—”

“It’s a pretty big building,” he countered, and at least he seemed amused, because she certainly wasn’t, “Nobody knows which room we were given but us.”

“It doesn’t matter!” she scoffed, “It’s still a security risk that he can narrow our location down at all! Also,” she jutted her arms out towards the bed a second time, “May I remind you? ONE. BED. ONE!”

“But My Lady!” Chat Noir grinned, clearly enjoying her little tirade as he motioned towards the bucket of ice on the coffee table, “They gave us champagne! How could we paw ssibly refuse?”

“We tell them, time and time again, that we aren’t a couple,” she groaned, reaching up to pinch at the bridge of her nose and squeezing her eyes shut, “And they think… they think this would be acceptable? That it’d be appropriate ? Do they really respect us that litt—”

CRASH!

Ladybug snapped to attention, yanking her yoyo off of her hip and whipping her head towards the source of the sound and— 

The stupid heart lamp was in pieces. 

She turned her attention towards Chat Noir, who stood there, mouth agape and freshly-opened champagne bottle in hand. It was pointed towards what remained of the lamp, vapors wafting out the top.

“Oops,” he uttered, the cat ears atop his head pinning back, and her resolve broke. She broke into a fit of laughter and threw her head back.

“Chaton!” She scolded through her giggles, “Do you have any idea how much that horrible thing cost? Probably a lot!” 

“I’ll pay for it,” he said, a sheepish smile on his face. She loved Chat Noir ( platonically! ), she really did, but seeing him get knocked down a peg was always amusing. 

“You can’t go one day without breaking something, can you?” she teased, stepping forward and flicking at his stupid bell and enjoying the little jingle it gave her. “You really are the perfect wielder for destruction.”

He pouted at her, and she found herself enjoying the pinkness of his cheeks as he turned back towards the table and poured two glasses of the drink. Seeing Chat Noir embarrassed was something she could certainly get used to. “It was an accident! Why doesn’t creation do something about it and fix it?”

She rolled her eyes, smiling as she accepted the glass that he handed to her. “Oh, so it’s always up to me to fix your mistakes, is it?”

“Isn’t it?” He grinned, turning on his heel and plopping down onto the couch.

“Sorry, minou, but I fix magical disasters. A cat breaking some furniture is way below my pay grade,” she said with a smirk, watching as he reclined back into the cushions and propped his feet onto the coffee table, “Getting comfy, are we?”

“And why shouldn’t I?” he grinned at her, and she realized he already had the TV remote in hand, “I got nothing else planned, and we have this whole place to ourselves…”

“I told you,” she rolled her eyes, “We’re not actually going to be using this place.”

“Maybe not, but why leave now?” he took a sip of his champagne before glancing to her with a mischievous little glint in his eye, “What? Too embarrassed to share a couch?”

“I never said I was too embarrassed to share a bed,” she snorted, rolling her eyes, “Just that it was inappropriate.”

“Think it’s too inappropriate to share a couch?” he revised, raising a brow at her in challenge. She huffed and stepped forward, plopping down right next to him and mirroring his movements by thumping her feet up on the table as well. “Ha! I thought not.”

“You’re lucky it’s a Saturday,” she said, settling down into the cushions as she took a sip of the champagne. She had to admit, the couch was pretty comfy and the champagne wasn’t half bad. “What are we going to watch?”

“I dunno,” he said, reclining further and resting his arm behind her shoulders. She rolled her eyes, but found herself too comfortable to tell him off. He turned on the TV, which was hooked up with all the streaming services they could ever possibly need, and started flicking through the options. “You still hate rom-coms?” 

She opened her mouth to respond, only to be cut short by an explosive BOOM that shook the room and made the lights flicker. 

“It wasn’t me that time!” 

“So much for a lazy Saturday,” she groaned, pulling herself up to her feet and snatching her yoyo off her hip.

******

Marinette tossed and turned, squeezing her eyes shut as she tried to will herself to tune out the sounds echoing off the walls.

Nino and Alya’s laughter was like a curse, seeping into her bedroom and damning her to a fitful rest. She never thought she’d regret moving in with Alya and, well, she never thought her friends’ laughter could annoy her so much, either.

She was being ridiculous, she knew. It was a Friday night, and they had planned on a friendly get together where they could all hang out and play games well into the night, just her, Alya, Nino, and Adrien.

Only, Adrien didn’t come, citing a disastrous scheduling conflict that sent him to some evening charity event all night long, with an early-morning photoshoot scheduled at the crack of dawn. Nino had regaled Marinette and Alya with the details, explaining just how sullen Adrien had seemed about the whole thing after how excited he had been to come. But he’d insisted that they go on without him, and they’d complied. After all, there was no reason to cancel.

Except, Marinette suddenly didn’t feel like having fun anymore.

She’d tried to be a good sport about it, laughing and watching a movie alongside her two close friends, but it was hard. It was hard because she missed Adrien, because she’d picked out her outfit and fumbled with her make-up all day in preparation to see him, because she missed him so much and saw him so rarely these days, and because Nino and Alya were… well…

They tried not to make her feel like a third wheel, and Marinette could appreciate the attempts, but it was never really enough. She’d force a smile as she watched the two of them, laughing and bumping knees, seeing the way they’d sneakily brush their fingers together when they thought she wasn’t looking, and she’d think about how much she wished Adrien was there. 

At least then they could be third wheels together.

Another roar of laughter echoed through the apartment, and Marinette pressed her pillow to her ears, letting out a low groan.

Sure, she’d excused herself to bed a bit earlier than was reasonable (citing a headache, which she wasn’t sure either of them really bought, but they were sympathetic nonetheless), but she’d been in bed for hours, and it really was getting late, and Marinette wanted nothing more than to be unconscious right now.

“What are they laughing at?” a voice drawled out, penetrating the stupid pillow, and Marinette peeked an eye open to see that it was Mullo.

“Such joyous sounds!” Daizzi cheered, and Marinette huffed. “They must love each other so much!”

“Guys…” Marinette grumbled.

“Why don’t you join them, guardian?” Roaar asked, floating up to Marinette’s face, “You deserve a little fun!”

The kwamis surrounded her, all nodding in agreement, and Marinette took a long, deep, frustrated breath.

“Hushhh,” Sass hissed out kindly, “The guardian isss trying to sssleep.”

Another bout of hysterics echoed off the walls, and now Marinette just felt like she was being mocked. She let out a loud groan.

“They shouldn’t be so loud,” Barkk huffed, “Don’t they have any respect?”

The kwamis continued to chatter, and Marinette felt her limbs tingle in frustration. She wanted to sleep, but she needed to move.

“Guys! Marinette needs quiet!” Tikki chirped up, and Marinette felt all patience dissipate.

“Yeah, I need quiet!” Marinette hissed, launching up into a sitting position, “But I’m never going to get it here, apparently!”

The kwamis flinched a little, and Marinette let out a long, agonizing sigh, raising her hands to rub deep into her eyes. 

“... It’s not your guys’ fault,” she muttered, feeling all their eyes on her, “... and it’s not their faults, either. I just… I just wish I had somewhere actually private that I could—”

The realization dawned on her.

It had been weeks since she’d even thought about that place, and sure, she’d promised that she’d never go there again, and she still found the whole existence of the room a bit insulting, but it was there, and she’d done more than enough to earn it, hadn’t she? Hawkmoth hadn’t made any targeted attacks on the hotel since the mayor’s announcement, either, and he had no way of knowing which days she was using it and which days she wasn’t.

It wouldn’t be too dangerous to sleep there, surely, and the whole one-bed thing wouldn’t be a problem if she was going there alone. Right?

She threw her covers off of herself, launching up to her feet and calling out “Tikki, spots on!”

She wished the kwamis goodnight and tossed her yoyo out her window, swinging from building to building, leaping from roof to roof, on her way towards the hotel. She had to admit that the run was nice to get the pent-up frustration out of her system, but it didn’t help with the exhaustion settling deep into her muscles. 

She wanted nothing more than to just collapse into the stupid plush bed, detransform, and pass out for the night.

So when she swung into the stupid hotel room, landing on her feet just beside the bed, she allowed herself to do just that, collapsing right onto the—

—human body.

A man’s voice yelped out, and Ladybug shrieked as she scrambled off of the bed and onto the floor. 

Wrong room. Wrong room. Wrong room! She thought that she’d remembered which window was ‘hers’, but she had never been particularly good at not humiliating herself at every chance she could, so why did she ever believe that tonight would be the exception?

“I— I’m sorry! Citizen!” Ladybug yelped out, scrambling to her feet as the figure sat up. She couldn’t make them out in the darkness of the room, which she supposed she was thankful for, considering how embarrassing this all was, “Just, uh— You know! Doing my, uhh, routine superhero duty of a bed check—”

“My…” the man’s voice rasped out, laden with sleep and strangely familiar all the same, “... My Lady…?”

Ladybug sputtered. “Cha— Chat Noir!?” Flabbergasted as her slow thoughts caught up to the situation at hand, she realized that she hadn’t gotten the wrong room, and she suddenly felt a lot less embarrassed as she went to flick on the bedside lamp to get a good look at him.

Chat Noir gasped, yanking the covers up and ducking behind them, and Ladybug’s sleepy mind wracked for why he was trying to hide when she noticed the hands that were holding the comforter up.

The bare hands.

Ladybug shrieked, immediately flicking the light back off and shielding her eyes as she sputtered out, “You— You— You’re not transformed!”

“Of course I’m not transformed!” the man who was both Chat Noir and not Chat Noir hissed out, “I was asleep!”

“Oh my god,” she gasped out in horror, her face suddenly very hot, “Are you— Are you naked!?”

“Wh— No! Why would I be naked!?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” she hissed out forcefully, her hands only pressing further into her eyes, “Why are you here!? I thought we agreed that we weren’t going to use this place!”

“I can ask you the same question!”

“I— I—” she stuttered out before the reality of the situation sunk in and snuffed out any and all panic or anger in her system. He was right after all, she couldn’t be shocked or upset that he was here when she was too. She sighed, her shoulders dropping as she muttered out, a little embarrassed, “... I couldn’t sleep, and I just— I guess I thought I might have better luck here.”

He responded in silence, and she turned back towards the window. Snatching her yoyo off her hip, she continued, “Sorry for the rude awakening. I’ll just, uh, go—”

“Plagg, claws out,” he rasped out, and suddenly the dark room flashed in a bright, electric green light. 

She blinked, dazed for a second before she whipped back around to face him. It was still too dark for her to make him out, but she could clearly see the silhouette of cat ears adorning his head as he scooted to the edge of the bed and stood up. “Wh… What are you doing? I told you, I’m leaving!”

He shook his head and approached her. “No, you’re not.”

“Yes,” she scoffed, “I am. I told you, I’m not going to share a bed with—”

“Of course not,” he said, his voice sleepy and a tad deeper than she was used to, and thanks to his proximity she could almost make out the features on his face through the darkness. “You take the bed. I’ll go.”

“What?” she gasped, realizing that he was serious as he turned towards the window and reached for his baton. She shot her hand out and gripped his wrist, “You can’t be serious! You were just sleeping in it!”

He responded to her in silence, and she stood there for a few moments too long, awkwardly gripping his wrist, waiting for him to say something. Chat Noir was never this quiet, and she almost wondered if she’d somehow offended him until he turned to her with a sleepy little smirk on his face and said, “My Lady, this breed of cat doesn’t shed! I purr omise, the bed’s clean as a… as a… clean thing.”

“That’s not what I meant,” she snorted, a strange warmth blooming in her chest at just how cute he was when he was sleepy, “I meant you had dibs. Also, the fact it took you that long to come up with that just goes to show how sleepy you are.”

“Mmmmnnnope,” he hummed out, popping the ‘p’ at the end, “I’m totally awake right now. Meow. Right meow. See? I’m coming up with puns like… nobody’s business. I’m like a… a… engine.”

“Like an engine, minou?” she smiled at him, a twinkle in her eye, “That’s what you’re going with?”

“Like a… cat engine,” he drawled out, before slowly shifting into something she could only describe as a ‘stupid cat pose’, bent at the knees with his hands splayed out like claws, “This… baby purrs! Engines purr, too. That’s what people say. See? It works.”

“Mhhhmm…” she hummed, stepping between him and the window and pressing the palms of her hands flat against his chest. She pushed him back gently, and he didn’t quite have it in him to resist as she pressed forward until he was sitting back down on the bed. “I think it’s time we put it in park. Would be a shame if the engine ran out of gas, wouldn’t it?”

“I have plenty of gas,” he snorted, and she rolled her eyes, taking satisfaction in the knowledge that he had night vision and could definitely see it.

“Good night, Chaton,” she whispered, too tired herself to think twice before she leaned forward and pressed an affectionate kiss to his forehead for a moment longer than strictly necessary. “I’m sorry I woke you up. I’ll see you tomorrow at patrol. Okay?”

She turned back to the window to leave, but he grabbed her wrist. “No. You’re not leaving.”

“I can go wherever I please,” she huffed, turning back to him and placing her free hand on her hip with a challenging glare. 

“You… said you couldn’t sleep at your place,” he said, squinting up at her, “You need your sleep. Seriously, Ladybug. I’ll go. You take the bed.”

“And I thought I was perfectly clear that you already got dibs on the bed and are way too sleepy to leave!” she huffed, and his tired grip finally loosened enough for her to pull away and cross her arms over her chest. “And no. We’re still not sharing the bed.”

“Fine,” he sighed, “Then I’ll take the cou—”

“No, I’ll take the couch!” she declared, thankful that he had reminded her of it, and turned on her heel. She marched to the other room, which thankfully wasn’t separated by a wall (she didn’t feel like palming around in search of a doorknob), and waltzed around the back of the couch before collapsing into it and settling down into its soft cushions. “Good! Night!”

Squeezing her eyes tight, she shifted over onto her side and placed her hands under her head. She felt a little silly that she hadn’t grabbed a blanket from the closet or something first, but other than that, there really was nothing keeping her from falling asleep like thi—

A metal rod wedged itself between her waist and the back of the couch, and suddenly it was prying her off of the cushions and throwing her to the floor with a thud and an ‘ oof ’.

“Hey!” she spat, propping herself up from where she had face-planted on the ground to shoot a glare up at Chat Noir’s silhouette. He stood behind the couch and put his baton away before leaping over the back of the couch and setting down on its cushions, swinging one leg over the other and placing his hands behind the back of his head.

“Aahhhh,” he crooned, his tail flicking beneath him, “Comfy! Get me a blanket, wouldya, buginette?”

“Get off!” She hissed, pulling herself up onto her feet, “I got dibs on the couch!”

“I said it first,” he said, and she could just hear the shitty little smirk on his face. “You just piggybacked off my idea. The dibs is all mine.”

“You can’t have dibs on both the bed and the couch,” she scoffed, “That’s not fair.”

“Lucky for you, I wholeheartedly re…lin…quish…” he started, a deep yawn interrupting him before he continued, “... my dibs on the bed. Have at it.”

The yawn was infectious, and soon Ladybug was stifling one of her own. This was getting to be ridiculous, and she realized then that they were never going to get anywhere like this. If they kept arguing, the next thing they knew it would already be sunrise and neither of them would have gotten any sleep. The only way to stop the cycle was to stop perpetuating it herself, and she let out a long, frustrated, and stubborn groan at the thought.

“Fine. Fine.” She growled, stomping over to the stupid hotel room’s stupid closet and swinging it open, patting around until she found a folded up blanket. She chucked it at him, and he fumbled to catch it. “You win this round, Chat Noir, but only because I’m too tired to put up with you any longer.”

“If it makes you feel any better, bedbug,” he cooed, “You can have the couch next time!”

“There’s not going to be a ‘next time’!” 

Chat Noir gave a satisfied little hum in response, and she huffed and headed back over to her Loser’s Bed of Shame™, crawling in under the covers and closing her eyes.

It was a really nice bed. It was soft like a cloud, and the blankets were warm and heavy, and soon her thoughts were going hazy…

“... Don’t forget to detransform, Chaton,” she drawled out, tired and blearily blinking her eyes open as she looked to the back of the couch. She was thankful that the layout of the rooms kept the two from being able to see each other. “You don’t want to… to…” she yawned, “... wear your kwami out…”

Silence hung between them for a long moment, and she wondered if she was going to have to drag herself back out of bed and shake him awake. Before she could, though, she could just barely catch the sound of him murmuring something, and a flash of green light emanating from the couch.

“... Spots off,” she muttered herself, closing her eyes and settling into the cloud-like comfort as the magic washed out of her. She pulled the sheets further over her, settling deeper into the softness before she managed out a “... Sweet dreams, mon Chaton.”

She stayed like that for a long moment, listening in wait for him to return the sentiment, but soon she heard the gentle sound of snoring coming from the couch, and she couldn’t help the smile that spread on her face.

Of course he was a snorer.

Chapter Text

“Did you know you snore?”

Ladybug gasped, launching back into a flip and dodging the magical spray of vinegar that had been shot her way. She chucked her yoyo and caught it onto a parked car, swinging the vehicle towards Hawkmoth’s latest pickle-themed akuma victim. The villain dodged it successfully, but it bought Ladybug enough time to make her retreat, swinging up onto a rooftop with Chat Noir in tow as the two booked it. “I do not!”

“Yeah, you do!” Chat Noir sang out, running at her side and shooting her one of his stupider grins, “Ahh, with a voice like an angel!”

Ladybug leapt over a chimney, landing down into a crouch as she surveyed the area to see if they’d been followed. Chat Noir landed right beside her, and once the coast seemed clear, she turned back to him, rising to her feet, “Actually, you were the one snoring, if I recall correctly.”

“Moi?” he gasped, placing his hand over his chest as he stared up at her in mock shock, “I assure you, I did nothing of the sort!”

“Made it hard to fall asleep,” she lied, “Hmm, what did it sound like again?” she mused, sticking her hip out as she tapped at her bottom lip in mock-thought, “Ooohh, that’s right… ahh… snoo… ahh… snoo… ahh— ”

“Surely you misheard,” he snorted, standing up straight, his tail swishing amusedly behind him, “Or maybe you couldn’t hear me quite right over your own sounds. I have to say, My Lady, you make a wonderful morning alarm! Sounded like…” Chat Noir threw his head back, breathing in one of the throatiest, loudest, awful snoring sounds she’d ever heard.

She gasped and punched him in the arm, and he let out a laugh as she huffed, “I did not sound like that!”

“How would you know?” he purred, leaning in close with a smirk, “You were asleep! You think I’d ever lie to you, bedbug?”

“Stop calling me bedbug,” she scoffed, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

“I’m awfully sorry for disappearing before you woke up, by the way,” he teased, leaning back and grinning at her, “I would’ve left you my number, but well… I had somewhere to be.”

“Oh please, I was delighted,” she lied, recalling the inexplicable disappointment that she’d felt when she’d woken up and Tikki informed her that Chat Noir had already left. She’d kind of liked his stupid little snores. “Besides, it was always going to be a one-night thing. No need to pretend it wasn’t.”

Chat Noir opened his mouth to respond, but before he could speak a truck flew through the air before them, pushed forward by the force of a spray of brine.

“Ah, almost forgot about the little pickle we were in,” Chat Noir said, and Ladybug rolled her eyes and snatched her yoyo back off her hip.

******

Marinette lasted another couple weeks before she found herself tossing and turning all night, the exhaustion from her akuma-related piss-poor sleep the week prior not enough to carry her to unconsciousness.

She loved being the guardian, she really did. Or, well, maybe she didn’t love it, but she respected the responsibility that was granted to her, and she was determined to see it through and be the best she could be.

But, boy, the kwamis could be a lot.

She groaned, rolling onto her side and squinting at the smelly concoction in the corner of her room. The kwamis had been experimenting with some foods, pouring barbeque sauce and chocolate syrup on a mash of ingredients that Marinette didn’t even recognize. She did know, though, that it smelled disgusting.

“Oooh, what if we cook it?” Trixx whispered.

Marinette held her breath, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing her pillows futilely against her ears again. She never really learned her lesson.

“We should put it in the microwave!” Orikko chirped up.

“For how long?” Pollen asked.

“I don’t know,” Stompp said, “An hour? What do you think, Fluff?”

“No,” Marinette groaned out, “You guys are prohibited from using the microwave. Ever.”

The kwamis all whined out in dismay, and Marinette took a deep breath. They seemed to settle down, aware of her poor mood and the fact that she wasn’t asleep like they probably thought she was. But even though they were quiet, she could still smell the awful thing, and she was aware of all the eyes on her, and she just—

“I’m heading out,” Marinette sighed, scooting off the bed as Tikki knowingly fluttered to her, “Do whatever you want, just… don’t use the microwave. Or the oven. Or any technology. Okay?”

“Of course,” Longg spoke up, and the other kwamis nodded along.

Marinette called upon her transformation, and soon Ladybug was swinging through the rooftops of Paris back to Le Grand Paris. The chances of her bumping into Chat Noir in the hotel room was already next to zero, so she felt pretty certain that the chances of bumping into him twice were essentially impossible.

She landed down beside the bed, tucking her yoyo back onto her hip as she blinked blearily at the sheets. She couldn’t see a thing, not unlike last time, but this time she at least had the sense to lean forward and gently pat at the mattress.

No bodies.

A relieved sigh escaped her lips, and she found herself smiling as she crawled into the sheets and settled down at the edge of the bed. Soft like a cloud, just as she remembered it. 

“Spots off,” she whispered, cuddling into the blankets and finally being welcomed by sleep.

******

“Adrien…” Marinette whispered, taking a single step forward and brushing her fingertips across his knuckles. He looked to her, beautiful as he always was, and stole her breath just as he always did. “There’s something I… I’ve always wanted to tell you.”

“I know,” he said, raising a careful hand and brushing his knuckles against her cheek. She gasped, melting into his touch as the distance between them only closed further.

“You’re so important to me,” she whispered, opening her mouth to continue—

“La… Ladybug…”

She was thankful that he’d said that. She hadn’t even realized that she was transformed, but she didn’t care, and she wondered if she’d said anything already that endangered her identity, but she didn’t care about that either. “I get so sad when I can’t see you, because I… I…”

“Ladybug…”

Suddenly, they were in an embrace, and she wondered how long they had been like that. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping onto him like he’d disappear if she let go. His blond hair tickled her forehead, and she continued, “Please, let me finish, I need you to know that I—”

“Ladybug!” 

“Shut it, hot stuff,” she slurred out, tired of his interruptions and burying her face further into his chest, which she was realizing now felt a lot more like a shoulder blade, and also that they were horizontal, and they were buried in some sheets, and he had stilled and stopped talking but her mouth was dry and this wasn’t a dream and—

She froze.

Her eyes were snapped open now, but she couldn’t see anything as her face was buried against Adrien, and she couldn’t hear anything beyond the pounding of her heart in her ears, and her brain fumbled to recall how she possibly could have ended up in this situation and—

She was in the hotel room.

That wasn’t Adrien.

That was Chat Noir.

And she was spooning him.

Marinette yelped out in horror, jumping back and covering her eyes as she tangled into the sheets and fell off the side of the mattress, the back of her head thumping against the leg of the nightstand as she crumpled to the ground, her legs trapped in the fabric. “ Ow—! ”

“Plagg, claws out,” the stranger said, transforming into somebody who wasn’t a stranger to her at all, and she realized that she ought to do that too.

“Tikki, spots on,” she hissed out, and as the magic washed over her, so too did a flare of rage. She grabbed at the sheets around her legs, tearing them off of her before she leapt up to her feet and yelled, “What did I say!?”

Chat Noir stood at the opposite end of the bed, looking at her with a flash of fear in his eyes like he thought that he was in trouble— which he was. He let out a sheepish little laugh, giving her his usual Chat Noir Brand ‘I’m scared but I’m trying to deflect with humor’ Look™ and said, “I believe you called me ‘ hot stu—”

“No. No!” She spat, slamming her fist down on the nightstand. She jabbed an accusatory finger in his direction, her face aflame both from embarrassment and anger, “I told you, I wasn’t comfortable sharing a bed with y—”

“And how is that my fault?” he defended with a scoff, placing his hands on his hips as his stupid belt tail flicked behind him. 

“You’re kidding, right?” she hissed, “How did you end up in the bed, Chat Noir?”

“How did you end up in the bed?” he hissed right back.

“I got here last night, obviously—”

“Well— so did I!”

“Well,” she yelled, “You weren’t in the bed when I got here!”

“You weren’t in the bed when I got here!” he countered, “I didn’t know you were here until I— until I woke up in your arms! Honest!”

She huffed, confusion beginning to overshadow her anger. Chat Noir could annoy her a lot, sure, and he had a tendency to test her boundaries, but he was never so crude as to blatantly cross them, either. She crossed her arms tight over her chest, brow furrowed in thought as she drummed her fingers against her arm.

“Ladybug,” he said, uncharacteristically serious as he leaned forward and placed a hand over his heart, “I promise. ”

And, dammit, she couldn’t help but believe him. She sighed, her anger dissipating, “Well… How did this happen, then?”

“I don’t know. Maybe you didn’t see me,” he hummed, clasping his hands behind his back as he looked to the ceiling thoughtfully. Then he turned to her, eyes half-lidded and a smirk on his face, “... Or you’re just too embarrassed to admit that you wanted to cudd—”

“Or maybe you jumped in without a second thought,” she huffed, “Would be pretty typical of you.”

“What time did you get here last night?” he asked, cocking his head and looking at her with a little twinkle in his eye.

She pouted, tapping her fingers against her arm again, “... What time did you get here?”

“‘Bout… eleven?” 

Dammit.

Ladybug groaned aloud, tossing her head back and burying the heels of her palms into her eye-sockets. 

It had been a bit past one in the morning when she’d arrived. 

“But I— But I checked!” she whined out, “You weren’t there!”

She heard him snort, and she resisted the urge to chuck him out the window when he said, “Weren’t very thorough, apparently.”

“But what are— What were the chances?” she groaned, stepping back and leaning against the wall in her exasperation. “Why were you here again?”

“I can ask you the same ques—”

“A gaggle of kwamis were making a mess in your room?” she sneered, shooting him a look.

“Hmm… Just one, but sure,” he snickered, “But he always does that.”

She’d met Plagg before and, well, she didn’t doubt it. “And yet, you brought him with you, so forgive me if I think there’s more to it than that.”

“Can’t cats have their secrets?” he teased, a grin on his face as he made his way around the bed and towards the window. “Anyways, sorry, bedbug, you know I’d love to stay and be your little spoon—”

“Stop calling me bedbug,” she huffed with a roll of her eyes.

“—But I’ve got somewhere to be,” he said with a wink, pulling out his baton. “You know what they say, ‘early cat catches the bird.’”

She clicked her tongue and pulled out her yoyo, briefly checking the time, “... Oh my god. It’s only five?”

“Feel free to go back to sleep,” he practically purred, “Continue that dream you had about me—”

“It wasn’t about you,” she scoffed, “But you know what? Maybe I will.”

“I warmed the bed for you,” he said with a stupid grin, “Just like last time. Hope you don’t miss me too much—” 

“I thought you had somewhere to be, Chaton?” she teased, shooting him a smirk of her own, “Aren’t you going to be late?”

He bowed, taking her hand in his and pressing an unnecessary kiss to her knuckles that made her eyes roll. “Sweet dreams, My Lady.”

“Uh huh,” she said, watching as he leapt out the window and vaulted away.

******

Ladybug landed into a crouch atop a rooftop, surveying the area affected by the akuma.

Everything was floating. Everything. Street lamps were unrooted from the ground, hovering above the ground as slabs of concrete levitated beside them, cars and buses floated a few meters above the streets, their horns honking as frightened citizens were trapped inside of them, and even the buildings had been torn at their foundation. The rooftop Ladybug was standing on began to drift gently through the air. 

The all too familiar sound of boots hitting roof tiles came from behind her, and she didn’t need to turn to know who it was.

“This is great,” Chat Noir sang out, “I needed a pick-me-up.” 

“Seems like you’re out of luck,” she said, rising to attention and gesturing towards the scene before them, “You notice how no people are floating? Seems the strange gravity is only affecting objects.”

He stepped beside her, humming in thought as he looked across the sea of floating things. “This’ll be a cinch, then. Any sight of the akuma?” 

“Not yet.”

“Well,” he said, whipping out his baton and grinning at her, “Need a lift, My Lady?” 

“Sorry, Chaton, but my ride’s far superior,” she said, shooting him a smirk as she tossed out her yoyo and hooked it around a floating traffic light. All the floating objects actually gave her impeccable mobility— a fact Hawkmoth had clearly overlooked. “Keep up if you can!”

After soaring and vaulting through the sky, struggling to find the supervillain, the two eventually decided to take a more grounded approach. They walked through the stripped streets, stepping over torn foundations and broken pipelines, searching under every stupid concrete slab in hopes of finding whoever it was that was causing this mess.

Alas, no luck.

“Hey, My Lady, you wanna see some interpretive art?” Chat Noir called out from behind her.

“Not now, Chaton,” Ladybug sighed, but turned around to face him nonetheless.

He was standing beneath a floating café table, a bowl of spilled, suspended soup dangling above him. He reached up, swiping some utensils out of the air, and she cocked a brow.

Rifling through the utensils, he smiled and pulled out two spoons. Slotting them against each other, he held up the pair to her and grinned. “I call it… ‘The Heroes of Paris’... or maybe just ‘Us’, if I want to sound vague and profound. What do you think?”

“Hmm…” she hummed, tapping her cheek in mock thought, “Do you take constructive criticism?”

“Absolutely not,” he said with a smile.

“How about a collaboration?”

“Hmm…” he hummed, “Well… I suppose.”

She stepped forward and took the pair of spoons from his grip. She looked down at them, flipping them over and pretending to appraise them without severing their connection. “Want to see a magic trick, Chaton?”

She didn’t wait for his answer. She pulled the two spoons apart—

“Hey!”

—and let go of the ‘big’ spoon, allowing it to float in the air beside her as she used her two newly-freed hands to easily bend the ‘little’ spoon—

“Nooo!”

—into a completely warped, spiral-like shape.

She smirked at him, reveling in his stupid pout as she waved the destroyed spoon at him. “I call it…. ‘Chat Noir in Five Minutes if We Don’t Find That Stupid Akuma’.”

“Do you take constructive criticism?” he asked, “Because that title’s way too lon—”

“No, I don’t,” she smiled, gripping both hands onto the utensil again and testing it, “But I’m considering making a sequel piece. Ever seen a spoon snap in half?” 

He opened his mouth to respond, but then she saw his pupils shrink and his eyes lock onto something behind her.

“Ladybug, look out!”

Chapter Text

Red.

Pools of red.

“I want you dead,” her last words to him had been, not literally, but in every way that mattered, “I’ll be the one to kill you.”

How stupid, she’d been, to assume that all the villain was capable of was some silly gravity-manipulation. 

Not full-blown telekinesis. 

The horrid iron fence, adorned with spades sharper than ever necessary and curled into a spiral of deadly, awful spikes, shot through the air at break-neck speeds.

At her.

But instead, she saw red.

Red, dripping down his black suit and pooling at the ground as he was pinned to the wall of a building that she hadn’t even noticed drop, iron bars jutting out of his stomach.

Red, splattering from his lips as he gasped for air, an awful sound, his hands shaking and grasping at those awful, horrible bars—

Red, her hands, as she tried to pry the bars out of him in blind, stupid panic, forgoing all first-aid training in favor of delusion. Red, her hands, as she gave up and grasped at his face, shouting useless words to him that she couldn’t even recall, as she watched the light fade from his eyes.

Red, the Lucky Charm that she’d called for in desperation, the first of many that fight, a horrible, awful paper bag, that she had to place over his head as his magic suit gave way, because miraculouses only worked if you were aliv—

Marinette gasped out for air, choking as she scrambled upright and tore desperately at the cloth around her neck, suffocating her, tears spilling down her cheeks and she was drowning, falling, and she didn’t know where she was.

“...aurdian…”

A light flicked on in her room, and she shielded her eyes through her sobs, shaking, as she felt what seemed like hundreds of tiny little hands on her, and she rasped out for breath and—

“...arinette…”

She took his miraculous. Why did she take his miraculous? Hadn’t she always promised, time and time again, that she would never do that? But she did. She had. She broke her promise, and she tore it right off his finger, and how awful a thing that was to do, but she had to, because he wasn’t there anymore, and he was a corpse, and a corpse was defenseless, but Plagg had promised that he was going to return it back to him, but why would he promise to return the miraculous back to somebody who didn’t exis—

Something cold and wet pressed against her shoulder, and she recoiled from its touch, blinking through the light to see what it was, and—

“...ive things you can see?” Tikki’s voice rang out, calmly, softly, and Marinette had been on this rodeo enough times to know what she was asking.

“Water,” Marinette croaked out, eyes still locked onto the glass of water being held out to her by “Sass… a-and Barkk…” She looked around the room, “... My… lamp. The door.”

“Four things you can feel,” Longg said.

Her shaking hands took the glass from them, the cool condensation wetting her fingers as she gripped onto it like a lifeline, “... Water,” she said again, swallowing at her dry throat, “... dry. I mean— my throat, which is dry. My sheets. T…Tikki, on my shoulder.”

“Three things you can hear,” Wayzz said.

“Wayzz,” Marinette breathed out, and she heard some kwamis making silly mouth noises in the corner, as if trying to aid her in her endeavors. She couldn’t help the small, breathy laugh that escaped her as she said, “... Roaar and Daizzi, being silly.”

“Two things you can smell,” Pollen said, and Marinette sniffed the air.

“Sardines and…” she wrinkled her nose in disgust, “... Popcorn? What are you guys makin— wait a second, did you use the microwave like I told you not t—”

“One thing you can taste,” Ziggy interrupted, and Marinette scoffed and took a sip of her water.

“Water,” she said for the third time, and the kwamis cheered.

After chugging down some more of her drink and setting it aside, Marinette groaned and collapsed back onto her bed. She stared up, wiping away some sweat from her brow as she tried to count each individual little spot or divot on the ceilin—

“What do you think she was dreaming about?” Fluff asked quietly.

“Chat Noir, obviously!” Trixx scoffed.

“Oh yeah, because he died, right?” Orikko asked.

“Where have you fools been?” Kaalki huffed, “She said his name in her sleep about five tim—”

“Plagg hasn’t come back, right?” Marinette croaked out, and the kwamis ceased their chatter.

“Of course he hasn’t, Marinette,” Tikki whispered, “He’s with Chat Noir.”

“And…” Marinette took a deep, shaking breath, “... and Chat Noir is… he’s… the magical ladybugs definitely…”

“Healed him, yes,” Tikki finished for her, “He’s fine.”

Marinette blinked rapidly, feeling her eyes grow hot, “And there’s never… It’s… There can’t be, like… a small fluke in the— in the magic? Where… where sometimes it doesn’t— it doesn’t work because…”

“I’m almost certain that he would have been heal—”

“Almost,” Marinette gasped, scrambling back up into a sitting position, “Almost— Almost!?”

“I am certain!” Tikki gasped, “Marinette, I’m certain! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that—”

“But you did!” Marinette croaked, “You— There’s a chance, isn’t there?”

“There’sss a chanccce for nearly anything,” Sass said kindly, “But that doesss not mean that the chancesss are not infintesssimal.” 

“I just— God, I need to see him!” Marinette choked out, reaching up to squeeze her hair and tug at her scalp, “I— God! The last— The last thing I’ve seen of him was him— him—” dying, not for the first time, but in the most real and gruesome way she’d ever witnessed, “—and that’s all I see whenever I close my eyes!”

But she couldn’t see him. She couldn’t, because she didn’t have his number, or even know his name, and there was no way for her to contact him right now, especially when he was probably asleep somewhere and—

Marinette gasped.

Once was improbable. Twice was nigh impossible. But thrice?

There was a chance for nearly anything, after all.

“Tikki, spots on!” She spat as she threw the sheets off of herself, launching herself out the window without a second thought to the startled gasps of kwamis. 

She tore through the rooftops of Paris, pumping her legs faster than Ladybug ever had, the adrenaline pumping in her ears as her mind raced.

What if he wasn’t there?

What if he was?

Why would he be?

Maybe the last two times weren’t as coincidental as she’d thought and he was actually there more often than she’d ever imagined, or maybe he’d know that she’d need to see him tonight, because he knew her well, and because she cared about him so damn much and—

She leapt into the bedroom, landing in a crouch as she took panting breaths, surveying the pitch-black room futilely for the sight of a person she could not see.

She didn’t know what she’d do if he wasn’t there. Have another panic attack? Certainly. Have multiple more panic attacks? Probably. Cry herself to sleep? If she was lucky. 

She rose to her feet hesitantly, staring blankly at the inky black darkness and wondering what her next move should be.

“... Hello?” she called out towards the bed.

Silence.

“... Chat Noir?” she continued, trying to keep her voice steady as she wrung her hands together, “... If you’re here, say something!”

Silence.

“W-Wake up,” she croaked out, blinking her moistening eyes as the futility of the situation dawned on her, “Please. Come on—”

She heard a small, sleepy groan and the sound of something shifting against the sheets.

She sucked in a sharp breath, warmth blooming in her chest—

“La…” his voice yawned out, “... Ladyb—”

She pounced him.

He yelped out as they bounced together against the mattress from the force of her plummet, and she grasped desperately at his shoulders as she buried her face into the crook of his neck, and he was there, and she didn’t have to keep hoping that he was alive because he was and she was with him and—

“I—I’m here!” Chat Noir gasped out, and yes, he was, it was great that he was acknowledging that, “I’m— the bed’s not clear!”

She pulled back, not caring that she was practically straddling him as she patted blindly for his face, poking his nostril and eyes by accident before grasping both his cheeks, holding his face steady and there as she leaned in and pressed a big kiss to his forehead—

“Oh,” he gasped out, “I see. This is that dream I always have.”

“Shut up,” she hissed, before gasping, “I mean— don’t! Keep talking. Just— Just— Shut up, too, okay?”

“Um,” he croaked out, and she pulled away so she could scoot herself under the covers too, because she knew that there was nowhere else she’d be able to sleep tonight. She reached over and patted blindly at his face again, accidentally tapping his teeth before her hand settled over his eyes.

“Spots off,” she whispered, letting the magic fall off as the room briefly flashed in a pink light. Once the light was gone, she removed her hand from his eyes and scooted in close to him, wrapping her arms around his neck.

She felt him roll over to face her, his hesitant hands reaching out and touching her back, scared to pull her in closer. She sighed and yanked him in, closing the gap herself.

“For the record,” she whispered as she placed her chin atop his shoulder, squeezing her eyes shut and enjoying his presence, “... This really is not a dream. So don’t try anything weird.”

“Ah yes, the ‘this is not a dream’ line…” he muttered, his voice still laden with sleep, “Classic dreambug.” 

She shook her head and brushed her hand down his side, feeling for the hem of his shirt and slipping her fingers up beneath it. He sucked in a sharp breath. She scoffed and gave him a nasty pinch.

“Ow!” he yelped, his leg kicking hers in reflex as she let out a little laugh, “Alright, that one’s new.”

“See? I’m the real deal,” she said, turning her head and allowing herself to brush her nose against his jawline, “And it’ll only get worse the more jokes you make about it, so beware.”

“Hm, I dunno,” he hummed, “There are worse ways to die.”

Silence.

She didn’t know what to say to that, so instead she shook her head, willing herself not to start crying again, willing herself to not picture the red through her closed eyes, and pulled back away from the embrace despite his weak efforts to keep her where she was.

She pressed her palms flat against his chest and pushed him back against the mattress, opting to return to her previous position of straddling him. She took a deep breath, running her hands down his abdomen—

“You’re…” he choked out, “... really, really not convincing me that this isn’t a dream.”

—and down to his stomach. His flat, normal stomach, that had absolutely zero iron protrusions.

Her senses long-since abandoned, she grabbed at the hem of his shirt with her left hand and pulled it up, ignoring the stupid way he gasped as her right hand brushed over his bare, unscarred skin and—

She gasped. “You have a belly button.”

“... Um,” he rasped out, “Y… yes?"

“You…” she started to say before she suddenly lost herself, her eyes welling up with tears and her voice quivering, “... You’re… like… a person.”

“What?” 

“Y-You’re just… a… a guy,” she choked out, “A… a p-person, a real, h-human person—”

“Are you…” he gasped, and soon his hands were awkwardly bumping her face, pushing up her nose and poking at her lashes before his palms finally found and settled on her cheeks, his thumbs starting to brush away her tears, “... You’re crying.”

“Y-Yeah,” she choked out, stupidly, because she wasn’t sure what else to say to that, and grasped at his wrists, “So what?”

“What’s wrong?” he whispered, his voice so full of concern and sickeningly sweet and caring that she almost, almost wanted to kiss him, a fact that she quickly willed herself to ignore.

“You…” she sniffled, taking a pause before continuing, “You’re… joking, right? Th-that’s a joke? I know… I know you act stupid, Chaton, b-but you’re not… you’re not actually stupid.”

He didn’t have anything to say to that. Instead, he pulled a hand back from her face, grasping instead at her fingers and pulling her hand down to his lips, where he brushed them against her knuckles in that stupid way that he always did, and her stupid heart stuttered even more than it usually did. “... I’m here, bug. I’m okay.”

“I didn’t mean what I said,” she choked out, gripping tightly at the wrist of his hand that was still at her cheek, “I… I didn’t mean it one bit.” 

There was a beat of silence, where the only sound between them was her stuttering breaths, before he whispered, “... Didn’t mean what?” 

“Th-that I’d… I’d…” she sniffled, trying to find a way to word the stupid thoughts tumbling around in her brain, “... The spoon thing.”

“The spoon thing?”

“I’m sorry that I— that I r-ruined your cute little spoon art. And I’m sorry that I bent spoon-you,” she choked out, aware of how ridiculous she sounded but needing to say it all the same, “I’m… I’m s-sorry that I… I threatened to— to snap little s-spoon-you in two—”

“Oh, My Lady…” he breathed out in what was almost a laugh, his thumb brushing just beneath her lashes, “It was a wonderful magic trick.”

“N-No,” she said, mirroring his breathy little almost-laugh, “It really sucked. I suck at magic.”

“You’re great at magic,” he whispered, “That’s why I’m here right now.” 

And, as if she hadn’t already cried enough that day, she wailed out, her shoulders shaking as she sobbed and sobbed, and soon he was grasping at her, grabbing ahold of her shoulders and pulling her down against him, and she let him, crumpling onto him and crying.

He held her close as she wailed, rubbing her back and pressing a kiss to the top of her head. She grasped for him like a lifeline, wrapping her arms as tightly around him as her sore muscles could manage, before her cries eventually began to calm.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, raising a hand to comb his fingers through her hair, “I’m here.”

“It— It was s-so awful,” she sobbed, burying her face into his chest and not caring about all the tears and snot she was getting in the fabric.

“I know,” he whispered, “... I know.”

“I-I—” she gasped for breath, shifting herself aimlessly in a vain attempt to feel closer, “I had to… I had t-to put a… a bag over y-your he-head.”

“A bag?” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

She nodded against him, “B-Because I— I ha-had to… to hide your f-face…”

“Ah.”

“L-Like I w-was…” she choked, “I-It felt like I-I was— I was d-desecrating y-your… your corpse—”

“You weren’t,” he muttered against her scalp, “You were protecting me. Thank you.”

“Don’t…” she sniffled, “... Don’t thank me.”

“Thank you,” he repeated, “You protected me. You saved me. You did everything ri—”

“I let you die,” she spat.

“No, you didn’t. I’m right here. Aren’t I?”

“You may not be dead,” she grumbled, “But you still died. Do you remember any of it?”

Everything was silent and still for a moment, and then she felt him shake his head.

“... You hesitated,” she said, “Don’t lie to me.”

“Does it matter?” he asked, and she almost wanted to laugh at how twisted it was.

“Does it… Does it matter?” she sputtered, aghast, “You know what it’s like to be— be— oh my god, you know what it’s like to die!”

“I don’t,” he said, “I don’t remember dying. I just remember the pain, and then waking up feeling bette—”

“You remember the pain,” she hissed, “The pain of— of being impaled. By a thousand iron spears—”

“It was definitely less than thirty,” he scoffed.

“— and bleeding out , and you— you think that doesn’t matter?” 

He was silent for a moment. “... I can take it.”

“You can take it,” she spat back at him, “The thing that killed you, you mean? You can take it? You can handle the thing that literally killed—”

He shook his head, “That’s not what I meant.” 

“Enlighten me.”

“I meant, I…” he hesitated, “... I don’t… I don’t want you to… worry about me. About me remembering it.” 

“You don’t get a choice in whether or not I worry about you,” she scoffed.

Everything was silent for a moment, and she gripped tightly at the fabric of his shirt.

“... You know how…” he finally whispered, “You know how they say… that you see your life flash before your eyes?”

She bit her lip. “... Yeah?”

“I didn’t,” he muttered, “... At least, I don’t remember if I did. I kinda— I kinda wish I had. I… I always thought that sounded kind of… nice.”

She didn’t say anything to that. Instead, she rested her cheek against his chest and closed her eyes, listening and waiting for him to continue. 

“Instead, I just thought that…” he breathed out, and his voice started to quiver, “... That I really, really wanted those th-things out of me.” 

She nodded, taking in a steady breath and listening to the beating of his heart. 

“And that it… hurt… really, really bad,” he choked out and let out what was almost a laugh, “And that I… I couldn’t… I wanted to breathe, but I… couldn’t.” 

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“... And I… I know you were there,” he sniffled, “And I… I think you said something to me, b-but I… couldn’t hear it, or couldn’t pay attention to it, s-so I’m… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t remember what I said, either,” she whispered, “It’s okay. I-it… it was probably nonsense, anyway.” 

“Okay.”

“What… what happened after you woke up?” she whispered.

“I…” he breathed, “... I opened my eyes and I was… sitting on the sidewalk outside some café. And I… felt sick, so I…” He paused. “Actually, you don’t need to know that part.”

“No,” she whispered, “Tell me.”

“I threw up,” he mumbled, as if he were embarrassed.

“Okay,” she said, brushing her hand down his arm, “I think… I think that’s fair.”

“And I… I realized I didn’t have my ring,” he muttered.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I get it,” he whispered, “But it— it freaked me out, in the moment, because I… I didn’t know why. But then I… I had to… go to work, actually.”

She sucked in a breath at that. “I… I think you could’ve called in sick. I think death warrants that.”

“No, I…” he sighed, “I couldn’t. But… Plagg intercepted me on my way there so… that was good.”

She nodded against him. Hearing him recount everything that happened after he’d been revived was really nice, actually. It made it feel more real to her, let it sink in that he really did wake up, and that he really was okay.

“But work sucked,” he sighed, “I… I had this… sharp, stabbing… pain in my gut all day—”

“What?” she gasped, pulling back to look at him despite the fact that she couldn’t see him at all, “You— You were still in pain!?”

“I—”

“I thought I healed you!” she cried out, pulling back to grasp at the hem of his shirt again to check—

“You did!” he said, grasping at her shoulders and trying to pull her back down against him, “You did! It was a— you know… psychosomatic!”

“You had psychosomatic pain?” she choked out, but allowed him to pull her back down, “That’s…. that’s awful!”

“It’s fine,” he muttered.

“Do you… do you have it right now?”

He swallowed. “... No.”

“Are you lying?”

“No. I’m not.”

“You know I…” she sighed, resting against him, “... I read somewhere that cats… hide their pain.”

“Oh, just casually reading up on cats, huh?” he chuckled, “Taking an interest?”

“Shut up.”

“Nah,” he cooed, brushing another strand of hair behind her ear, “You love the sound of my voice, bedbug. Don’t pretend you don’t.”

“You know the most common way that cats hide their pain?” she snorted, “Humor.”

“Can I get a source on that?”

“Yeah, it was the number one source of cat knowledge in the world,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck, “Ladybug.”

“That’s bogus,” he snorted, “I heard from the actual number one source of cat knowledge in the world, Chat Noir, that cats never lie. He’s literally a cat, who could know more than him?”

“Claiming to never lie is exactly the type of thing a liar would say,” she said with a roll of her eyes that he unfortunately couldn’t see.

“Speaking of lying,” he snickered, “Didn’t you say we were never going to share a bed? I was joking at the time, but something tells me maybe last time you really were just too embarrassed to admit you wanted to cudd—”

“That was a complete accident,” she scoffed, reaching to pull the covers further atop them, “Also, I changed my mind. So what? That doesn’t make me a liar. Just means I’m adaptable.”

“You’re one of the most stubborn people I’ve ever met,” he said with affection, “And you just changed your mind like that? Decided you wanted to crawl in bed with me?”

“Yeahuh,” she sighed, closing her eyes and snuggling against his chest. Maybe she’d feel embarrassed about all of this in the morning, but right now she couldn’t care less. She yawned. “Guess I did. You have a problem with that?”

“No,” he breathed out, “No problem. Not at all.”

“Just don’t get used to it,” she murmured, feeling herself begin to succumb to her exhaustion as she focused on the sound of his heart beating, “... This isn’t going to become a regular thing.”

Chapter Text

It became a regular thing.

The heroes of Paris needed their sleep, after all, and there came a certain point where Marinette had to begrudgingly accept the fact that she simply slept better in the stupid hotel room than she ever had in her own bedroom, and she assumed that it was the same for him. It was quiet (comparatively, anyway, but Chat Noir’s cute little snores weren’t much of an issue), the mattress was impeccable, and she always found herself calming down from a nightmare much quicker when Chat Noir was right at her side. (She wondered if it was the same for him, when she’d sometimes wake up in the middle of the night to his stuttering breaths and his hand reaching out to her, but she may have been imagining that.)

Besides, even if they found themselves regularly sleeping next to each other, it wasn’t like they’d cuddle or anything. No, they simply shared a bed, completely platonically, keeping to their respective sides like total professionals.

At least— they didn’t fall asleep cuddling, but any position that they woke up in was out of their control. It wasn’t their fault if they woke up spooning, or snuggled in a close embrace, or with her completely draped over him, drooling buckets onto his stupidly soft pajama shirt.

They’d outfitted the room with the essentials. Spare clothes lined the dressers, personal essentials beyond the small and complimentary filled the bathroom, the mini-fridge was chock full of the strangest, grossest cheeses that Marinette didn’t even recognize, and she always ensured that a plate of cookies was out and available for Tikki (and Chat Noir, Tikki snitched to her, who apparently made a habit of swiping some on his way out). They always kept the thickest curtains draped over the windows and balcony, completely blocking out any light that could seep in and ruin their dark, anonymous sanctuary.

Though it was a small price to pay for how much more well-rested she felt during the day, waking up in pitch black darkness only to learn that it was morning already was something Marinette didn’t particularly enjoy. That and, to her dismay, the fact that Chat Noir of all people was an early riser.

She hated the sound of his stupid phone chime, a little melody that echoed off the walls and woke her from her slumber. She hated the way he’d shuffle (wherever he was, be it in her arms, or with his arms around her, or both, or under her, or on top of her, or worst of all, a respectable distance from her) and slip out of bed. She hated it, obviously, because it woke her up, and she needed her sleep, and she didn’t need to wake up at the buttcrack of dawn like he apparently did. 

Until one day, where he had actually decided to sleep in. When she heard him turn off his wake-up chime and snuggle right back into the sheets, right back into her arms, she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips as she drifted back off into sleep…

“Wow, Marinette, thank you so much for having brunch with me,” Adrien said, grinning at her with his radiant smile.

“You’re so welcome, my sweet buttercup,” she said with a smile, gesturing to the towered wedding cake between them as they sat at a table in a small café. The two ignored the police car that tore through the streets behind them, its alarm blaring. “I made it myself!”

“...edbug…”

“That’s incredible,” he sighed dreamily, as two fire trucks rang out their sirens behind him, “You’re so incredible, Marinette. I’m so lucky to have a friend like you.”

“...My Lady…”

“It’s funny you should mention that, Adrien,” she said, an ambulance crashing through the café wall, “Because I wanted to tell you tha—”

“LADYBUG!” Chat Noir’s voice shouted, and her eyes snapped open, and she was awake, and he was shaking her and—

“What, Chat Noir?” she hissed, pushing him off of her, “What was so important that you had to wake me u—”

“Your alarm!” he yelled, and she could just barely make out the silhouette of him covering his ears as she realized that her stupid alarm was blaring.

“Ugh!” she groaned, tossing herself over and reaching for her phone on the nightstand. She checked the time, letting out a relieved sigh as she turned the alarm off. “... It’s fine. That was just the first one—”

“First one?” he repeated back, aghast.

“Yeah?” she huffed, tossing herself back into the mattress and snuggling down into the sheets, “I have, like, seven alarms set. I don’t technically have to get up until the last one—”

“You have seven alarms set,” he repeated back, “Do they— do they all sound like that?”

“What?” she snorted, “You don’t like it?”

She felt him shudder beside her. “That was the worst sound I’ve ever heard in my life.”

“Did it hurt your poor little sensitive ears?” she teased, reaching for him blindly and nearly poking his eye out before she found and tugged playfully at his ear. His human ear, unfortunately, because he wasn’t wearing the cat ones at the moment.

He batted her hand away. “Actually? Yes. It did. It’s called proper cat care, My Lady. Is that seriously how you wake up every day? How can you stand that?”

She shrugged. “It’s the only thing that can wake me up.”

“But it didn’t!”

“Well, that’s why I have seven set,” she sighed, closing her eyes and snuggling back into the sheets. “Anyways, I’m going back to slee—”

“You’re going to let the other alarms go off?” he whined, and she groaned, “You sure you don’t want to just… get up for the day? And turn them off?”

“You’re a big baby!” she scoffed.

“Kitten,” he corrected with a snort, and she groaned.

“Fine,” she spat, because his stupid chatter had woken her up enough anyway. She threw the blankets off of her, scooting to the side of the bed and miscalculating how much space she had as she plummeted to the floor with an ‘oof’.

“Ladybug!” he gasped, and she groaned out as she heard him shuffling towards her, “Are you—”

“I’m fine,” she grumbled, rolling over and pulling herself blindly back to her feet. “It’s just… so dark in here…”

He snorted. “Observant as always, buginette.” 

“Shut up,” she huffed, holding her hands out as she blindly began to make her way around the bed, stubbing her toe on the stupid cushion-bench thing in front of the mattress and letting out a cry, “OW!”

“Ladybug!” he said, somehow sounding concerned despite his laugh, “Let’s just transform, I can turn the lights on—”

“No!” she huffed, patting blindly at the furniture as she inched towards the bathroom door. His transformation came with night-vision, so he couldn’t transform until she did. “I want to— I want to take a shower. I’m not transforming just to walk to the bathroom.”

He snorted. “Fine.”

She patted at the wall, scooting down its length before she felt the door and, eventually, the doorknob. She sighed and stepped inside, shutting the door behind her and flicking the light on. 

Tikki phased in through the door, and Marinette shot her a little smile before discarding her clothes to the floor and stepping inside the fancy shower.

She hadn’t actually taken a shower there before, but she’d overheard Chat Noir use it a few times and it seemed like a good idea. She was going to see Adrien in just a few hours, after all, and she wanted to seem as well put together as she possibly could.

The hot water felt really nice, but she chewed the inside of her cheek as she inspected all the products at her disposal. They mostly consisted of brands that she’d never even heard of, aside from a Gabriel brand shampoo that she didn’t even know they sold. She scratched her head, wondering if these were some really extravagant complimentary items, or if Chat Noir actually bought all of the—

“Laaadyyybuuuuuuuuuuug!” his voice cried out from behind the door, along with the blaring of her second alarm, which she’d apparently forgotten to turn off.

“AUGH!” She shouted over the sound of running water, “Turn it off yourse—”

Wait. That was a bad idea. What if he saw her lockscreen? It was a picture of her and Alya, their faces in full view—

“NEVERMIND! HOLD ON!” she yelled, stumbling out of the shower and calling for her transformation so she wouldn’t be butt-ass naked as she scrambled out. The lights were on, and Chat Noir sat hunched at the end of the bed, cringing and pulling his stupid cat ears down in his dismay. Ladybug jogged over to her nightstand, flicking the alarm off and depositing the phone into her yoyo for safe keeping.

“That alarm sucks,” he spat, and she couldn’t help bark out a laugh.

“Aaww, I’m sorry, minou,” she teased, waltzing over to him to flick his bell, “Did the big bad alarm scare the poor little kitten?”

“I’m not scared of anything, buginette,” he cooed, quickly swapping his dismayed demeanor for his regular stupid smirk, “I just have good taste.” 

“Apparently,” she snorted, thinking back to the products in the shower, which she could still hear running. She turned around and made her way back towards it. “Anyway, I’m going back to my shower. Behave! Don’t break any furniture.”

“That was one time!” he groaned, and she grabbed a hold of the bathroom doorknob.

She stilled, hesitating before turning to look at him, “... Can I… use the stuff in there? It looked kind of expensi—”

“It’s all yours,” he said, gesturing his hand out as he gave her an unnecessary bow and a stupid smile, “Use whatever you’d like.”

She gave a curt nod and stepped back into the bathroom, calling off her transformation and finishing the rest of her shower. The products smelled really nice, and her hair felt softer than it ever had before as she combed her fingers through it. There were a few bottles that she had to leave untouched, though, because she wasn’t even sure what they were used for.

She hummed as she dried her hair in a towel in front of the mirror, eyeing all the bottles on the counter that she’d never bothered to look at before. Usually the most she used the bathroom for was the toilet and to brush her teeth, so she’d never bothered to actually look at all the weird stuff he’d brought, but… well…

She wanted to seem nice and presentable today, and Chat Noir told her that she could use whatever she wanted. The first thing she noticed was what looked like concealer of all things, which she almost convinced herself he bought for her as some veiled insult until she swatched it on her hand and realized that it was closer to his shade than hers, not to mention well-used. She wasn’t sure what to make of that, so she set it aside and picked up a couple other bottles instead, eyeing them suspiciously before a little laugh escaped her. Oh. Oh. She could have fun with this.

Not wanting to be seen with her face bare (and in only a bathrobe), she called upon her transformation once more and poked her head out of the bathroom. Thankfully, he was still there, lounging back against the bed and engrossed in something on his baton.

“Hey, Chaton…” she called out, and he perked up to look at her, “You know Adrien Agreste?” 

The shock on Chat Noir’s face was enough of an answer, and she couldn’t help but laugh at how stupidly startled he was about such a simple question. 

“... I may have heard of him,” he said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and eyeing her warily, “... Why do you ask?” 

“Come here,” she snorted, beckoning for him, and he complied, standing up and shuffling over to her. She kicked her discarded pajamas to the side and yanked him into the bathroom with her, grabbing a hold of some bottles and holding them out to him. “... Ring any bells?”

He clicked his tongue, squinting down at the bottles like they were the enemy. “... What do these have to do with Adrien Agreste?”

“They’re all part of his very specific daily skincare routine,” she pointed out with a satisfied smirk, amused as he reeled back as if he’d been struck. Ha. “You a big fan, minou? Or do you think using the same products as him will magically get you all the girls?”

He barked out a laugh at that, clearly an attempt to mask his embarrassment, and man, she loved seeing him flounder like this. “Oh, please, My Lady! I don’t need to be like Adrien Agreste to get all the girls,” he smirked to her and motioned to his entire self, “The suit does that well enough.” 

“A leather catsuit and Adrien’s skincare routine…” she sighed, “Don’t you think you’re trying a bit too hard?”

“I’ve told you a thousand times, My Lady,” he said with a roll of his eyes, “It’s not leather. It’s boyfriend materi—”

“I can just imagine the awful pick-up lines,” she mused, tapping her cheek in mock thought, “You hold your hand out to all the pretty ladies at the bar and say ‘Want to hold my hand? It’s just as soft as Adrien Agreste’s!’”

“Something tells me it’d work on you,” he teased with a big stupid grin, tapping a claw to her collarbone, “How do you know so much about his skincare routine, huh?”

She scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest and turning her nose up in a pout, “I read it in a magazine once.”

“Oh sure,” he practically purred, “And then you memorized it?”

“I happen to have impeccable memory!” she lied, grabbing ahold of his shoulders and turning him back to the door, “Anyway! I’m done teasing you now, I need to finish my own routine—”

“I’d tell you how to use all that stuff,” he snorted as she pushed him out, “But I bet you read that in the magazine too, huh?”

“Yes,” she huffed, turning her attention back towards the counter, a particular bottle catching her eye, “As a matter of fact, I di—”

She burst out into laughter, letting go of Chat Noir as he stilled in the doorframe and looked at her as if she’d grown a second head. She snatched the perfume bottle off the counter and held it out to him.

He flushed. “It—It’s the only thing that masks the camemb—”

“Adrien: The Fragrance!?” she guffawed, waving it in front of his unamused face as long as she could before she had to buckle over in her laughter. She’d thought that he smelled a lot like Adrien, but she didn’t actually think—

“It doesn’t even smell good,” he grumbled with a shake of his head, and she laughed harder.

******

“You look tired,” Alya noted to Nino, who yawned over his sandwich. The four friends were seated at a small table in a nice café, enjoying a quick brunch before they’d eventually have to part ways for the rest of their days. Nino and Alya sat across from Adrien and Marinette, and Marinette tried to stifle the urge to either scoot closer to him, or far, far away. 

“I am,” Nino grumbled, grasping at his mug of coffee. Adrien shifted beside Marinette, presumably to reach for his own drink, but Marinette kept her eyes on her food. She wondered why she’d put so much thought into her appearance when he wasn’t even looking at her. “My mattress’s springs have started to poke through. I was being stabbed all night long. I’m going to die of tetanus.” 

“You need to get a new one,” Alya snorted, as Adrien’s elbow gently brushed against Marinette’s side. She held her breath. 

“I ordered one, but there’s been some shipping problem and it might not come for another month,” Nino groaned, “I think I’m just gonna start sleeping on the couch.”

“You have a key to my apartment, right?” Adrien spoke up, “You can sleep in my bed.”

“Oh sure, thanks, babe. Should I bring flowers, too?” Nino snorted, and the girls laughed.

“I’m serious,” Adrien said, leaning back in his seat, “It’s a good bed, but I don’t use it anymore. Have at it.”

The other three were silent for a moment, and Marinette assumed that Alya and Nino were just as confused as she was. She willed herself to look at him and spoke up, “What do you mean?” 

“Yeah,” Alya said, raising a brow, “Where do you sleep, then?”

Adrien hesitated, taking a sip of his coffee as he seemed to consider the question, and Marinette felt a strange nervousness pooling in her gut. He finally set his mug down and said, “Um… at a… coworker’s place.”

The three gaped at him, and the awful feeling in Marinette’s gut only swirled, and suddenly she felt like her heart was dangling by a thread. She decided she didn’t want to know any more, but before she could try to change the subject, Nino interjected with a “Can you… elaborate on that, dude?”

“Uh…” Adrien breathed out, and Marinette couldn’t keep herself from staring at him, and she saw the way he rubbed at the back of his neck and his cheeks pinken and she’d always loved the sight of him blushing but right now it only made her feel sick. “I, uh… I always had trouble sleeping at my place, because it felt so… empty and lonely, I guess? But now I’m, well, sleeping with a coworker so I’m—”

“You’re sleeping with a coworker,” Nino repeated back, aghast, and Marinette reeled, feeling like she’d been stabbed in the heart, and the knife was already being twisted, and it had a thousand serrations and—

“She’s also a friend!” Adrien quickly supplied, “A good friend!”

“You’re sleeping with a friend,” Alya repeated back, equally as aghast as Nino. 

“Yes,” Adrien huffed out, face red and brow furrowed in a pout that Marinette would have thought was so cute if the conversation were literally anything else, “I am! So what?”

“Who is it?” Nino asked, leaning forward in interest, and Marinette did not want to know the answer to that. She debated on excusing herself to the restroom.

“You don’t know her,” he said, “And she… well, she wouldn’t like it if I told you. I already said too much—”

“Adrien,” Alya said, voice low and full of the same loving concern it always had when she was talking Marinette out of doing something stupid, “You can do whatever you want, we’re not judging you. But… sleeping with a friend, especially a coworker, is… that kind of stuff gets really messy.”

“Messy,” Adrien repeated back to her, confused.

“Someone could catch feelings,” Nino supplied, Alya nodding beside him, and Marinette took a sip of her coffee in a vain attempt to distract herself from the stinging in the back of her eyes. 

Adrien barked out a laugh at that, and Marinette startled. The three stared at him. 

“I can’t catch what I already have!”

No, Marinette realized, it wasn’t a serrated knife in her heart. It was a chainsaw.

“Adrien!” Alya gasped, simultaneous with Nino’s pained “Dude.”  

Marinette wondered what this mystery woman was like. She wondered if she knew how lucky she was, if she really appreciated how sweet and wonderful Adrien was, if she was gentle with him the way he deserved. She wondered if she cared about him on the bad days just as much as the good, if she understood the depth and sadness hidden behind his polite smiles, or the genuine warmth and love for humanity at his core.

“Does… Adrien, does she know that?” Alya asked, alarmed.

“Yeah,” Adrien murmured with a shrug, raising his coffee to his lips and taking a bitter sip. “... I’ve told her before.”

“And she… didn’t return it?” Nino asked, and Adrien shook his head, and suddenly Marinette felt the pieces of her shredded heart light up in a blaze, shooting righteous fire through her arteries. 

“So she knows that you like her,” Marinette snapped, and the three startled at her, “And she— she— she’s taking advantage of that!? Of you!?”

Adrien gaped at her, and she saw Alya’s hand reaching out to her in the corner of her eye, but she didn’t care. He defended, “What? No, it’s not like tha—”

“Doesn’t it hurt!?” she spat out, face hot as she kicked her chair back and rose her feet, towering over his shocked form, “To— To see her all the time and know that you love her, and know that she doesn’t return it, and to have to pretend like it’s okay when it’s not—”

“Marinette!” Alya gasped, scrambling up to her feet and rushing to her side, grasping Marinette’s arm, “Oh my gosh! We left the stove on this morning, didn’t we!?”

“You’re worth so much, Adrien!” Marinette choked out, and he just continued to gape at her, “You deserve somebody who LOVES you! You shouldn’t have to put up with— with— You’re worth so much more than— more than your beautiful bod—”

“Our apartment could be on fire!” Alya wailed.

“You should definitely go check on that!” Nino shouted.

“O-Okay,” Marinette sputtered out, hanging her head in shame and feeling tears drop from her eyes as Alya pulled her away from the table, leaving their food and drinks behind.

They didn’t get very far, Marinette sniffling and stumbling as Alya led her into a small park. She pulled the two of them under the shade of a tree, her hands grasping at Marinette’s and giving her some reassuring squeezes.

“Marinette,” Alya spoke gently, her voice full of so much care that Marinette couldn’t help but let out a little sob, “I’m so sorry, I know that really, really sucked, and you have every right to be upset, but you have to calm down. If you get akumatized—”

“Maybe I should!” Marinette spat, finally snapping her head up, “Then maybe I can— I can find that bitch and wring her ne—”

“Whoa now!” Alya said, placing her hands on Marinette’s shoulders and squeezing them, “This is what I’m talking about! Calm down!”

“I am calm!” Marinette spat.

“She’s right, Marinette,” Tikki said, poking her head out from her purse, “You can’t let your emotions control you like this!”

“Adrien’s an adult, Marinette, he can make his own decisio—” Alya began.

“But she’s hurting him!” she hissed, “She’s— She’s— Oh my god, what is he to her, a slab of meat!?”

“Marine—”

“He’s so sweet! So naive!” she choked, “He’s— god, what is she doing to him? God, what kind of stuff do they do—”

“Nothing that’s our business!” 

“I can’t believe she— she’s— defiling him!” Marinette cried out, “Deflowering him!”

“Oh my god, Marinette—”

“Soiling his innocence!” she wailed out, choking on her sobs and crumpling against her as Alya reached up to help wipe away her tears. “Doesn’t she— doesn’t she kn-know how w-wonderful he is…”

“We don’t know their relationship,” Alya said softly, holding Marinette close and stroking her hair, “He’s a big boy, Marinette.”

Marinette whimpered in her hold, feeling Tikki fly up and nuzzle into her collar. 

“... If it makes you feel better,” Alya whispered, “He’s still, technically, single.”

Marinette gave her an unamused huff, but she relaxed a little all the same.

“... And if he’s really being taken advantage of like you say,” she continued, “Then he’ll realize it some day. And I’m sure he’ll realize, too, how amazing you are and how much you care about him.”

Marinette sniffled and nodded against her, but she wasn’t sure she believed any of that.

******

Ladybug hummed, lounging back in the bed and drumming her fingers against her stomach as she glared out aimlessly at the hotel room. Chat Noir was in the bathroom, still brushing his teeth or whatever, and she resisted the urge to kick up onto her feet and start pacing.

The two had arrived back at the room together after a patrol that lasted a little longer than usual due to an attempted bank robbery, and she was almost thankful for the excuse it gave her to expel some of her angry energy. It’d been a few days since she’d first learned of Adrien’s ‘coworker.’ The first day was spent crying in Alya’s arms, the next was spent recovering from how sick she felt from the copious amounts of ice cream she’d consumed the day before, and the next few were spent convincing herself that she was totally, completely over it.

Thankfully, Chat Noir hadn’t picked up on her sour mood. She was very good at hiding it, after all, especially when Chat Noir was so stupidly distracting, with his boisterous energy and over-the-top dramatics during battle.

Chat Noir finally exited the bathroom and crawled into his side of the bed. She turned, reaching for the lamp to click off the light and turn in for the night, when he startled her with a “You wanna talk about it?” 

She reeled, turning to him in shock, “... Talk about what?”

He was on his side, propping his head up in his hand as he stared at her, and she almost had to look down and make sure that she was still transformed, because suddenly she felt very exposed. “I dunno. You tell me.”

“You’re not making any sense,” she huffed, feeling defensive, “As usual—”

“You and me against the world,” he said, smiling at her, and she felt her cheeks heat up, “Right?”

She squinted at him. “... Right. So?”

“You’ve just seemed like something’s been bothering you…” he muttered, his eyes falling down as he traced little shapes into the sheets with his claw, “I know we don’t talk about personal stuff, but you know I’m always here to listen and if you can be vague about it—”

“There’s nothing to be vague about, because nothing’s wrong. Maybe your ‘animal instincts’ aren’t as good as you think they are,” she huffed, flicking her lamp off, “Good night.”

“Man, even after I resisted the urge to say ‘something’s been bugging you’?” he sighed, flicking his own lamp off, and she rolled her eyes. “I thought for sure that’d win you over.”

Once the room had fallen into darkness, the two called out their detransformation phrases and fell into silence. She turned away from him, burying herself in the sheets, and she couldn’t help but feel a little guilty about snapping at him. 

She closed her eyes tight, trying not to think about it as her brain wracked in the silence. She tried not to think about how she’d waited too long with Adrien, how she’d ruined her chances, and most of all, how he was being hurt, and taken advantage of, and being used and thrown out like some wet towel, and—

“What would you do if somebody was hurting someone you cared about?” she blurted out before she could think twice about it.

“Ah, so there is something to be vague about,” his voice sang out, and she rolled her eyes.

“Nevermind.”

“No, wait—” he said, and she felt him shifting around in the sheets beside her, presumably because he had turned to face her again, “What I mean is— Can you elaborate, My Lady?”

She sighed, closing her eyes and rolling over to lay flat on her back. She’d talked this over with Alya so many times, and Alya had told her time and time again that there wasn’t anything she could do, but she needed someone to tell her that she could do something, that it was fixable. “Imagine that, um…” she murmured, "... You have a friend…”

“I can picture it now.”

“And you care about them a lot…” She picked at her fingernails, thinking of the best way to word it, “And this friend of yours… is in love wi—” she swallowed, shaking her head. Why was she assuming that? “... or, well, has a crush on someone, at least…” 

He hummed in acknowledgement.

“But this… crush of theirs…” she said, a bitter taste on her tongue as she spoke of the woman, “... Well, they know that your friend has a crush on them, they’re completely aware, but they don’t return it. And yet, despite that…”

He was patiently silent as she tried to will herself to speak it.

“... They’re sleeping together,” she finally said, resting her head back on the pillow. She’d said her piece, and now it was his turn to give her his advice.

But he didn’t. Instead she waited, albeit impatiently, for him to come up with whatever response he had. After a few moments too long, she wondered if he had somehow fallen asleep, and turned her head to him to say “Cha—”

“Is this…” he spoke up, and she shut her mouth, “... Is this that thing people do, where they say they’re talking about a friend, but they’re really talking about themselves—”

“Wh— What?” she sputtered, baffled by the accusation, “No! What makes you say that?”

“You’re joking, right?” he let out a nervous laugh, and she stared blindly in his direction, “That’s… that’s what we’re doing.”

“Wh—” she gaped, “No… No! It’s not! Literally nothing about what I just said applies to us—”

“What do you mean?” he asked, sounding so genuinely confused that she couldn’t even convince herself that this was one of his stupid jokes. “We were literally just about to sleep togeth—”

“Oh my god!” she groaned, slapping her palm to her forehead, “Okay, first of all, neither of us are in love with each other. You got over me a long time ago—”

“Oh,” he whispered.

“— And most importantly,” she continued, “We’re sleeping together, Chat Noir, we’re not sleeping together!”

“Sleeping together, not sleeping together?” he repeated back to her, not sounding particularly amused.

“You know what I mean,” she scoffed. There was no way that he wasn’t messing with her right now. “Come on, Monsieur Word Play, surely you know the double meaning of that.”

“The double meani—” he began, before cutting himself off with an “Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh.’”

“You mean—”

“Sex.” 

“— Yeah,” he muttered, clearing his throat, “Okay. I get you.”

“We don’t have sex, Chat Noir.”

“Oh, we don’t?” he laughed, “Thanks for informing me.”

“You’re welcome,” she snickered, “Because, somehow, you seemed confused.”

“Sorry, must’ve gotten you mixed up with dreambug agai—” 

She launched one of the extra pillows in the direction that she supposed his face was, shutting him up.

“Anyways,” she scoffed, leaning further back against the cushions as he tossed the pillow away, “To reiterate, then— you have a close friend who is really into someone, into them romantically, and that person is aware but isn’t interested the same way, yet they are having sex. How do you respond?”

He hummed, seemingly in thought.

“I mean, that’s got to hurt, right?” she continued, crossing her arms tightly over her chest as she glared up at the darkness, “To… be so physically close with someone, someone you lo— like , but… knowing they don’t return your feelings and never will? That’s… that’s got to be painful, right? Unbearable!”

“... Yeah,” he croaked out, “I… I suppose.” 

“And she knows that she’s doing that to him!” she spat, finding herself unable to contain the suppressed anger that was now boiling back to the surface, “She knows it, she has to, but she apparently doesn’t care, because she’s a motherfucki—”

“Whooaa!” he called out, nearly laughing, “Ladybug! Language!”

“So I— Okay, here’s what I’m thinking,” she said, rolling over and scooting closer to him conspiratorially, “I find out who this playgirl is, and I start anonymously sending information about him to her—”

“What?”  

“I tell her about how sensitive, and sweet, and wonderful he is,” she whispered, “And then—”

“She’ll fall in love with him?”

“Wh… What? No—” she gasped, “I-I mean… yeah… I guess that could happen? Yeah. A-And that’d be good too, of course, but I meant more like… like it’d make her feel bad and she’d leave him alon— why are you laughing?”

The sheets shook with his quiet laughter, “Ladybug… I don’t think… I don’t think it’s really your busine—”

“No!” she groaned, “That’s what A— my other friend said! You’re supposed to agree with me, not her!”

Their faces were so close now. She could feel the way he shook his head against the sheets, his breath tickling her face as he chuckled, and she scrunched her nose at it. “You got a hero complex, My Lady?”

“It’s— It’s not a complex!” she scoffed, “I’m literally a superhero. It’s my job!”

“I think this is outside the job description,” he spoke fondly, “I, for one, have never tried to break up the sexual relationship between two consenting adults just because I’m Chat No—”

“Well!” she huffed, “Maybe you should!”

“Ladybug,” he chuckled, “I think it’s very sweet how much you care about this friend of yours—”

“Thank you!” 

“Buuuuut…” he hummed, “I think all you can really do is… tell him you’re there for him? Express your concerns? But as far as actually doing something…”

She groaned.

“... You probably should sit this one out,” he said.

“You’re plagiarizing my other friend,” she scoffed, “Practically verbatim.”

“Great minds think alike!” 

“Great buzzkills think alike,” she corrected, rolling back over and supposing that there was no more point in talking to him if he was just going to tell her all the things she didn’t want to hear. She knew he and Alya were right, and she supposed she’d begrudgingly follow their advice, but she didn’t have to be happy about it.

“Who knows, My Lady,” he sighed, “Maybe she’ll catch feelings too, and everything will work out.”

She gripped the sheets, thinking that maybe she wanted to bury herself in them and never leave.

“... Yeah…” she muttered, “Maybe.”

Chapter Text

“....edbug, bedbug, wake your sleepy head,” his voice sang out.

“Unnghh…” she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut as she felt him vibrate beneath her as he sang out. She gripped at the cloth of his shirt that was already bunched in her fist, “.... Please… No…”

He was singing along to the melody of her alarm, the sound of which she’d changed for no particular reason at all, and she’d found that it was an effective, if not annoying, new quirk of his to get her out of bed. But it wasn’t the first time she’d woken up to it that night, and she hoped that this wasn’t her final alar—

“I believe that’s your final alarm,” he said, and dammit.

“It’s a Saturday…” she slurred out, squeezing her eyes tight and shifting against him. They’d fought a particularly nasty akuma the night before, the second that day, so she was pretty sure she deserved this rest.

“You made me promise not to let you sleep in too late,” he snickered, and she groaned, because yesterday-her was an asshole. 

“I’m a changed… a changed woman now…” she yawned, “I… I can’t be… …” she didn’t know where she was going with that, actually, and she didn’t care either, so she stopped talking. She just wanted to sleep.

“Very insightful, My Lady, just as always,” he snickered, shifting beneath her obnoxiously. “But still, I’m just gonna keep singing if you don’t turn it off… I was thinking of revising the lyrics, actually. How about,” he began to sing again, “ Meow meow meow, meow meow! Meow meow… ”

“Auughh…” she groaned, and though she kind of liked his stupid singing, she didn’t want to admit it no matter how tired she was. His ego was big enough as it was. She pulled off of him, reaching back to turn off her alarm before returning back to where she’d been and— “Hey…” she groaned, patting blindly at the empty sheets, “.... Where’d you go?”

“I need to use the bathroom,” his voice rang out from across the room, and she decided she’d never forgive him for being so far away, “You were holding me hostage!”

She stuck her tongue out at him, forgetting that he couldn’t see it.

“You should transform, by the way,” he said, and she heard the bathroom door click open. “If you don’t, I’m gonna come out all transformed and see your pretty little face—”

“Ugh… fine,” she groaned, “Tikki, spots on.”

The magic washed over her, but it didn’t wake her up. She settled into the sheets again and heard the bathroom door click closed.

She groaned, tossing and turning a little, trying to find a nice, comfortable position, until she found herself lying perpendicular to the bed, spread out and face planted in the cloudy mattress, which was perfect, and everything started to… melt… away…

…

…

Ring ring ring…

Augh. She squeezed her eyes tight.

Ring ring ring…

Why did the universe conspire to torture her?

She huffed, reaching up and patting at the nightstand until she felt the stupid phone in her hand. She rolled over onto her back, holding the phone up to her face and blinking blearly at the light of the screen as she looked to who was calling her.

Incoming call — Father

She didn’t know why her dad would be calling her right now, but it was probably important. She reached to answer the call, finger hovering just in front of the button when it dawned on her.

She did not have her dad as ‘Father’ in her contacts.

She furrowed her brow, a strange nervousness setting in, because she didn’t have anyone in her contacts listed as ‘Father’ and she never would, which meant that something wasn’t right here, because this—

This wasn’t her phone.

She shrieked, chucking the phone to the edge of the mattress and scrambling to flick the light on.

Ring ring ring…

“Uhh… Chat Noir?” she called out nervously to the now-illuminated bathroom door.

“Yeah?” his voice called back.

“Your… Uh…” her gaze flicked between the still-ringing phone and the door, “Father is calling you!”

There was a beat of silence, and she wondered if maybe he didn’t hear her. She opened her mouth to repeat herself, when a green light flashed through the cracks of the door and Chat Noir came tumbling out of the room, startling her and practically tripping over himself in a panic as he rushed to the bed, “What!?”

She reeled back as he snatched the phone off the sheets, analyzing the screen for a second as if to double-check her claim. He gaped at it (how weird was it for his dad to call him?) and swiped to accept the call.

“Hello, Father,” Chat Noir said, voice suddenly schooled as if he weren’t just screeching. He turned around and stepped away from the bed, and she couldn’t help but stare at his back. “... Yes, my apologies for not answering sooner.”

Well. This was weird. Ladybug sat on her knees, knowing full well that she was intruding on his privacy by listening, but she was also just so baffled and still recovering from sleep, and hearing Chat Noir talk like… like that was so, so foreign.

He sounded so… respectable.

She heard the vague, muffled sound of an older man speaking through his phone and saying things she couldn’t make out at all, and Chat Noir seemed to almost shrink in on himself. His cat ears pinned back as his free hand gripped nervously at his belt tail, and she’d realized then that she’d never seen him look so… small.

“... Yes, Father,” he murmured, and the voice of the man on the other end resumed speaking again.

She’d never known Chat Noir to have a respect for authority— if anything, she’d known him for quite the opposite, and she realized then that that was why the name ‘Father’ in his contacts had seemed so strange to her. ‘Father’ implied authority, it demanded respect, and she couldn’t imagine Chat Noir ever calling his dad that.

“... Yes, Father,” he said again.

She wondered, briefly, if maybe a priest was calling him, not his father but a Father. She hadn’t thought Chat Noir was particularly religious, but she also recognized that she’d have no way of knowing if he was. Maybe religious figures were the only people he did show respect to. It was an interesting thought.

“... I’m sorry. There was an akuma attack down the block, and I thought it’d be best to get to cover just in case an—” he began, an excuse that she knew well herself by heart, and she wondered what sort of important thing he had to miss, but the man on the other end cut him off before he could finish.  

She had always thought to herself, time and time again, that she’d like to see Chat Noir get knocked down a peg. She’d always thought it’d be an amusing sight to see his inflated ego deflate a bit, because he could be so arrogant, so over-the-top, that she sometimes thought that he deserved it.

“... I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.” he repeated softly, visibly deflating, and she was wrong. She was so, so wrong, because this wasn’t fun at all, and she never wanted to see him like this again, and he didn’t deserve this, and she realized that she liked his stupid ego, because he deserved to think so highly of himself because he was wonderful and—

“Wait—” he gasped, finally standing upright, “Before you hang up, I’d… I’d like to ask you something, if that’s alright.” 

He seemed so nervous. Why did he seem so nervous?

“... Well, ah… I was wondering if you got my email about… Mother’s birthday,” he said.

Mother. He probably was talking to his dad then, she supposed, but that only brought up more questions. There was something that just seemed kind of odd to her about ‘emailing’ a parent about something like that, but she supposed Chat Noir’s dad might have just been bad with technology.

“... Oh, well, it was just me asking if—” he began, before being cut off again, and she wondered why his stupid dad kept cutting him off. 

She realized why it felt so weird for her to hear him talking to his dad, supposedly discussing his mom, and it was because she’d never before considered what Chat Noir’s family was like. She always knew he must have had one, vaguely, in the same sense that she generally assumed that everyone had a family, and yet assuming he had parents and knowing he had parents felt like two different things. It only made him seem more human, more real, like an actual person with a life that she knew nothing about and not just her silly superhero partner, and she wasn’t sure how to feel about it. 

“... Oh… Yes, of course,” he muttered, “... Goodbye, Father. Sorry agai—” he was cut off by the sound of the call hanging up, and he pulled the phone back to look at it. As if his shoulders weren’t drooped enough already, they fell further, and he stared down at his phone for a long, painful, agonizing moment, before turning back around to her and—

“AH!” he screeched, flinching back, “Ladybug! I forgot you were— are you okay?”

She realized, then, that she wasn’t staring anymore. She was scowling. How long had she been doing that?

“Haha, I’m sorry,” he said, his voice suddenly carrying the same jovial tone it always had, and he smiled at her like he always did, his tail flicking behind him. She felt like she had whiplash at the sudden demeanor change, like a completely different man was speaking to her. He pocketed his phone, “You uh, didn’t hear anything too revealing, right?”

She blinked. And then blinked again. Because this felt so weird, but he was waiting for her to say something, so she finally said, “No, it’s fine. Uh… was that your dad?”

“Yeah?” he responded, looking at her like she asked an obvious question, which, considering she’d been the one to tell him his father was calling, was probably a fair reaction. “Why?”

“Um…” she said, looking around the room, unsure of what she should say right now, “... Are you… okay?”

“... Yeah? Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked, and a shiver ran down her spine.

“It just, uh… didn’t seem like a very pleasant conversation,” she said honestly.

“Ah… Sorry, didn’t mean to make you listen to all that,” he let out a nervous little laugh, and that wasn’t what she’d meant, and she realized she never wanted to hear him apologize again.

“I mean, I get it,” she said awkwardly, “It sucks always having to disappear for akuma attacks and come up with excuses. I got grounded so many times…” 

“Hah… yeah…” he chuckled awkwardly, and the two hung there in uncomfortable silence for a few beats too long, and she realized how rare that was for them. He finally spoke up, his usual stupid smirk on his face and voice teasing, “But, for future reference, buginette? You probably shouldn’t look at my phone.”

“I was half-asleep! I thought it was mine!” she groaned, “I almost answered it—”

“What?” he gasped, horrified.

“What, would that embarrass you or something?” she snorted, allowing herself to lean into the banter, because that’s what they were good at, “A sleepy girl who didn’t even know your name answering your phone and talking to your dad for you—”

“You know that I don’t get embarrassed, bedbug,” he said, a satisfied little smirk on his face, “You, on the other hand? Wouldn’t want you to get any redder than you already are—”

“Oh, please,” she said, “You think I’d be intimidated? I bet I could take him on.”

He chuckled, “I’m sure you could.”

******

“Where are you going?”

Marinette gasped, the magical light still enveloping her as she whipped around to face the doorway. There Alya stood, staring at her with her hand on the lightswitch, and Ladybug was left floundering for an explanation. 

“Just, uhh… On a little nightly run!” Ladybug lied, marching in place to punctuate her point, and Alya simply raised a brow at her as Trixx settled down on her shoulder.

“Uh huh,” Alya said, crossing her arms over her chest and appraising her, “... Every night?”

“Every ni—” she gaped, “Wh— How did you—”

“Us foxes are very keen,” Trixx said with a grin.

“Trixx told me,” Alya said, “Also, you’re never in your room in the mornings anymore, and when I pass by your door on the way to the bathroom in the middle of the night I can hear the kwamis all chattering like you’re not there, and I don’t hear your loud snores like usual. Also, you’re a bad liar.”

“I do not snore,” she huffed, not sure how to address the other claims.

“Yes you do,” she said with a fond smile, “... But you still haven’t answered my question. Where do you go?”

“I’m just… training the kwamis to be more independent!” Ladybug lied, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Sure. But that still doesn’t tell me where you’re going,” she eyed her, “... Look, Marinette, don’t act like you’re in trouble. I just thought we weren’t keeping secrets anymore, and I’m kind of worried that you’ve been disappearing every night.”

Ladybug let out a groan, because Alya was right, as always. She let her hands drop to her sides and looked to her, “... I’m sorry. I just— I promise it’s not anything weird or bad. I just… I just know you’ll tease me about it!”

“Tease you about it?” she laughed a little, the unease in her posture loosening, “Well, now I gotta know!”

“Ugh,” Ladybug groaned, “... I’ve just been sleeping somewhere else, okay? In a different bed.”

“Gonna have to be more specific.”

“At a…” she began, hesitating before continuing, “... At a hotel.”

“What? You can’t afford to buy a hotel room every ni—” Alya gasped, “Wait!” Ladybug groaned. “Are you sleeping in that room the mayor gave you and Chat Noir? The one you swore to never ever go to again because it was, and I quote, ‘the tackiest insult in all of Pari —”

“The bed’s really soft!” she whined out, and Alya laughed, “It’s— It’s like a fluffy cloud! And it’s nice to have some actual—” she glanced around at their kwami audience, “No offense,” she turned back to Alya, “—peace and quiet! And the temperature’s always perfect, and the sheets are really warm, and it’s nice to see Chat Noi—”

“Wait,” Alya gasped, “Chat Noir is there, too?”

Ladybug flushed and shut her trap. 

“You…” Alya stared at her, eyes wide. “You told me it only had one bed.”

“I…” Ladybug sputtered, placing her hands on her hips in an act of faux confidence, hoping that she didn’t look as embarrassed as she felt, “Yes, okay! You got me! I’m sleeping with Chat Noir, so wha—”

“You’re sleeping with Chat Noir!?”  

“I’m—” she gasped, “No! NO! I mean, we both sleep! Next to each other! So we are sleeping! And we are together! At the same time! That’s what I meant! We only sleep!”

“In the same bed?” Alya pressed, gaping, but her eyes sparkled with so much amusement that Ladybug just about leapt out of the window right there.

“We keep a completely professional distance between the two of us,” Ladybug crossed her arms and pouted, “We each have our sides of the mattress, and we respect that—”

“Oh, that’s just too cute,” Alya laughed, and Ladybug scoffed. She teased, “So you don’t cuddle at all?”

“Of course not!” Ladybug scoffed, and Alya gave a hum of disappointment, “We’re professionals, Alya! We don’t cuddle until we’re already aslee—”

“Wait—” Alya interrupted her, “So you do cuddle?”

“I cannot be held accountable for where my arms end up in my slee— stop laughing!”

“Hahaha, oh, oh Marinette…” Alya laughed, swiping a tear out from her eye, “You’re… You’re too much.”

“I’m the perfect amount,” she huffed indignantly. 

“Aww, don’t be embarrassed! I think it’s cute,” she said, “You and Chat Noir sleeping next to each other, every night, and waking up in each other’s arms? That’s something straight out of a novel.”

“Yeah, a novel about superheroes who are incredibly professional,” she sneered.

“Well, you have my blessing,” Alya teased, eyeing her up and down, “Sorry to keep you, then. Wouldn’t want to keep your cat waiting for his milk.”

“Ew! Don’t say it like that,” she scoffed, snatching her yoyo off her hip, “Good night!”

“Good night,” Alya said with a snicker, waving as Ladybug swung out the window.

Chapter Text

The weeks went by without any irregular hitches and everything seemed pretty normal. Hawkmoth was still a nuisance, the kwamis were still loveable little menaces, Adrien was still painfully out of reach, her internship was still stressful, and Chat Noir was still the same jovial dork he always was.

… At least, he was, until a certain Sunday rolled around.

The first sign that something was off with Chat Noir was during the first akuma attack of the day. He was still acting like himself, of course, and he told a few poorly timed jokes that made her want to throw him into the Seine, but she realized, after the half-hour mark of the battle, that he was actually growing just as impatient with the akuma as she was. He was so rushed, even, that when they finally defeated the akuma, he forgot to pound it before he fled. She tried not to take it personally.

The second sign that something was off with Chat Noir was during the second akuma attack of the day. Multiple akumas in one day was an awful thing, of course, but nothing particularly unusual— it had happened plenty of times before, and Chat Noir had always been pretty easy going about it. But that day, he didn’t seem so casual. He tried to hide it, but she realized that his huffs of annoyance were actual, real frustration instead of his usual performative anger, his tail was flicking wildly, she would catch him scowling when he thought she wasn’t looking, and he told little to no puns. He didn’t forget to pound it, at least, but it was a pretty pathetic fist bump. 

The third sign that something was off with Chat Noir was, of course, during the third akuma attack of the day. Three akumas in one day actually was quite rare, and Chat Noir was nearly completely silent during the whole battle. Other heroes had to be enlisted due to the nature of the villain’s power, and she found herself reeling when Chat Noir snapped at Roi Singe for telling a dubiously timed joke. That’s when Ladybug really started to feel worried.

When a fourth akuma showed up, Ladybug actually wondered if Hawkmoth was picking up on Chat Noir’s poor mood and conspiring to upset him enough to akumatize him. She hated the thought of that, and after Chat Noir slammed his foot down on M. Pigeon’s birdcall much harder than was strictly necessary to break it, and then continued to stomp on it after it was already shattered, she realized she needed to check in with him.

As Chat Noir whipped out his baton and got ready to flee the scene (forgetting the pound it once again), she reached forward and grabbed his shoulder to stop him. “Wait!”

He turned to her and raised a silent brow. “... Oh. Right.” He said after a moment, turning his whole body to her and holding his fist out, “Pound—”

“Pound it,” she said hastily, bumping her fist half heartedly against his, “Actually, I wanted to ask, uh… how about… we skip patrol tonight?”

He stared at her, expression completely unreadable, and she suddenly felt strangely nervous.

“... Because, I was thinking,” she supplied, trying a smile, “We, uh… worked really hard today. Lots of akumas, huh? I thought maybe we could just… go straight to the hotel room instead. Head in early. Maybe watch a movie and just… hang out for a bit?”

“... Oh,” he said, and then he smiled at her, and she realized how silly it was to feel nervous around him, “... That sounds nice, actually. In an hour?”

“Yeah,” she said, “An hour. I’ll meet you there. I’ll bring some pizza?”

He nodded at her, and she let him take off after that, relieved that he didn’t seem to be in any sort of akumatizable state.

She returned back to her apartment and spent the rest of the hour finishing off some of her designs. When it was almost time to go, however, Marinette was derailed by a bit of a microwave situation. She and Alya were screaming and shouting, fanning out the smoke and temporarily removing the batteries of the smoke alarms after the kwamis had decided to microwave some things that should never be microwaved for longer than anything should ever be microwaved. It was once that disaster was cleared, then, that she realized she was already late.

And she’d forgotten about the pizza.

She sat anxiously at a table outside the pizzeria, tapping her foot rapidly, waiting with bated breath as she idled on her phone for her stupid pizza to be done. She’d offered to pay extra for them to make it faster, but that apparently wasn’t a thing, but she didn’t want Chat Noir to think she stood him up, and she couldn’t just order a pizza because nobody was supposed to know which room they were staying in, and what would a delivery person say if Ladybug or Chat Noir answered the door, and she’d said she was going to bring a pizza, not that she was going to order one, and she didn’t want to seem like a liar and—

An employee approached her and handed her the pizza box, and she snatched it from their hands with a rushed out “Thank you!” and barreled down the street, down an alley, and transformed and swung her way to the hotel room as fast as she could.

She landed on the balcony of the hotel room, taking a deep breath as she steeled herself and checked the time. She was over an hour late, and if he wasn’t there, she wasn’t sure what she was going to do. The balcony doors were made of glass, but the light-blocking curtains were closed as they always were, so she held her breath as she pushed the door open and stepped through the curtains and—

He was there.

The lights were on and Chat Noir was lying on the couch, his cheek smooshed against its arm and a blanket draped over him as he stared blankly at the TV. The chatter of some characters from whatever movie he must have been watching rang out from the speakers, and she let out the breath she was holding.

“Hey!” she greeted awkwardly, closing the door behind her. He didn’t even blink. “Haha… sorry I’m late… you know how it is… guardian stuff and all that!”

No response.

“... You know how kwamis are,” she let out a forced laugh, her mind begging her to stop talking, “Um… bad with technology! Can’t tell a microwave from an oven from a… from a phone… haha…”

No response.

“... You like pepperoni?”

No response.

The movie characters continued talking, and she realized then that it was the same dialogue she heard before, like it was on a short loop. She looked to the screen and realized that he wasn’t watching a movie at all. It was one of the ten second previews that the streaming service would play for whatever movie was currently selected.

“Is…” she swallowed, turning back to him, “... Is that what you want to watch?”

No response.

“... Um. Okay.”

Her feet felt very rooted to the ground, but she willed herself to force a step forward, and then another one, and then another one, and soon she was setting the pizza box down on the coffee table. She turned back to the couch, hoping to sit next to him, but…

There was no space for her. He was taking it all up.

“... Can you, um…” she let out a nervous little chuckle, “... Scoot over a bit?”

No response.

Maybe sitting on the floor wouldn’t be so bad. 

She began to turn around, ready to just accept her fate and plop herself down on the carpet, when suddenly he began to move. He sat up and scooted to the far side of the couch, keeping the blanket draped over him, and she let out a sigh of relief.

“... Thanks,” she said, and sat down on the other edge of the couch in her shame, allowing the space between them.

The characters repeated the same dialogue. She chewed her lip.

“... What do you want to watch?” she asked, turning to look at him. He was leaning his cheek against his hand, elbow propped on the arm of the couch, still just staring at the screen.

No response, yet again, and there was no way she was going to be able to keep this up.

“... I’m really sorry, Chaton,” she said gently, opting to look down at her hands. Chat Noir and her had had arguments before, and he’d been upset with her before, but he’d never given her such a strong silent treatment like this. She tried to remind herself that he’d seemed to be having a really bad day. “I am. I’m… I’m not trying to make excuses, but you deserve to know why I was late. The kwamis almost started a fire in my apartme— well, they did start a fire, but it was fairly small, but there was still a lot of smoke that I had to deal with and then the pizza took longer than I expected and—”

“‘ts fine,” he uttered, barely audible but startling her all the same. She turned to stare at him, but he hadn’t moved from his nearly catatonic state, “... ‘least you came.”

“O-Of course I came,” she said, continuing to stare at him. She patted her knees anxiously for a moment, before deciding to test the waters and scoot a little closer to him. He didn’t protest, so she scooted a lot closer to him, and soon she was right beside him, and he still didn’t say or do anything.

She leaned forward and opened the pizza box. “... Are you hungry?”

For a moment, she thought it was going to be another ‘no response’, until she caught his head moving just barely in what could be considered a shake.

“... Oh. You already ate?”

He shook his head again.

“Well, then you’re hungry,” she said stubbornly, grabbing a slice of the pizza and holding it out to him. He made no move, so she decided to do what she usually did in awkward situations like these: ramble. “This pizza’s really good! I think you’ll really like it, assuming you’re not a vegetarian or anything, which would be weird. Cats are supposed to eat meat, after all. It’s from my favorite place— and it’s my grandma’s favorite, too, and she’s Italian, actually, so that probably means something, but she also has a lot of favorite places because she loves a lot of things, so maybe it also doesn’t mean a whole lot, but, um, you’d probably like her, because she rides a motorcycle and—”

Chat Noir took the slice from her, and she decided to shut her stupid trap. 

“Okay… good!” she let out an awkward little laugh and went to grab a slice for herself, taking a big bite out of it as some grease dripped down onto her leg. She swallowed. “Ha… ha… probably would’ve been smart for me to bring plates, huh? Oops!”

She looked back at him, and he hadn’t taken a bite out of his slice. He still looked the same as he did before, except now he was awkwardly holding a greasy pizza slice in one hand. 

As always, she found herself in a disaster. 

She was running out of options here. “... You seemed kind of stressed today. And… um… now.”

No response.

“Do you…” she began, interrupted by the stupid ten-second loop on the TV. She grabbed the remote from the coffee table and moved the cursor to a menu, not shutting it off, but making sure no more previews would play, either. “... Do you want to talk about it? I’m, um… I was kind of worried about you. Am, I mean. I’m a little worried.”

“... ‘m fine,” he muttered, and it was such an obvious lie.

“No, you’re not,” she pointed out.

No response.

He was really giving her nothing to work with here.

“Okay, well… fine!” she huffed, placing her barely-eaten slice back down in the box because she had nowhere else to place it, “If you don’t want to tell me about your day then I guess I’ll just… I’ll tell you about mine! How about that?”

No response.

She leaned back against the cushions, thumping her feet up on the coffee table. “... So, I woke up this morning to the sound of that silly melody— you know the one, the one you’re always singing along with? But you were already gone, so there was no one there to sing over it and make it better, and uh, I kind of ended up just… putting it on snooze, even though it was my seventh alarm, so I ended up sleeping in too late…”

He still said nothing, and she kept her gaze down at her feet as she continued, “... But then, finally, Tikki woke me up, because my akuma alert was going off on my phone and— well, I was sleeping through it somehow, because you know me. And, well, you know how that akuma went, but then I was late for a brunch that I had promised with a friend, and she understood why I was late, but it still kind of sucked because we were both really hungry by the time it happened, and I ordered a turkey sandwich but they gave me a chicken sandwich instead and I just put up with it because it wasn’t that big of a deal, and I like chicken just fine too, and then after that I was working on some, well, art, but it just wasn’t turning out the way I wanted it to, and then the second akuma happened, and you know how that went, and then I had to make some phone calls because my card got frozen because one of the kwamis, and I’m not sure which one, but also I definitely know it was Trixx, made some really weird purchases on my account, and then I tried to go back to my art and another stupid akuma attacked, and it was all really frustrating, because all day my cat was acting really weird and—”

“You have a cat?” he asked, startling her out of her skin. She turned to look at him, and he was looking at her, actually really looking at her like he was interested in what she was saying, with his eyes wide like he was hanging on her word, and she felt her heart bloom in relief.

“... Yeah,” she said, and she couldn’t help the stupid grin on her face, “I do. Have I never told you that? He’s a big sweetheart. Really cuddly, really friendly, really talkative. Loves to strut around like he owns the place. Classic cat, you know?”

He didn’t respond, not technically, but he was staring at her like he wanted her to continue, and that was more than enough.

“... Or, well, that’s how he usually is, but he was acting really weird today,” she said again, watching him, “I was really worried about him, actually. He was acting kind of… distant, and standoffish, and he wasn’t eating—”

“Did you take him to the vet?” he asked, and she sucked in a breath and had to use all of her willpower to not laugh and break character.

“... No,” she croaked out, trying to suppress her big smile to keep this going as long as she could, “I don’t… I don’t think he’d like that—”

“It doesn’t matter what he’d like,” he said, and she nodded along, “He could be sick. You should take him to the vet.”

She kept nodding, much more than was necessary. “Mm…. Mhmm. Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Maybe I will!”

“What kind of cat is he?” he asked.

“A black cat, of course,” she said, and his eyes widened. “With big, dorky green eyes and... blond hair.” He sucked in a breath as she reached forward to flick at his bell, “And a stupid little bell around his nec—”

“I take back what I said,” he said with a snort, and he was smiling , really smiling, and it’d been too damn long since she’d seen that on his face, “It absolutely matters what he’d like. Please, do not take him to the vet.”

“Hmm, I don’t know…” she teased, leaning in close, “I think you were onto something… I should probably schedule a neutering while I’m at it—”

“You wouldn’t!” 

“Maybe I would,” she said, bumping her hip against his as she scooted in closer, “But… Maybe I’d change my mind on the whole vet trip if he’d at least eat something…”

He rolled his eyes, but brought the pizza slice up to his mouth and took a bite. Success.

She re-grabbed her own discarded slice and leaned back against the cushions, placing an arm around his shoulders and leaning in before she could think twice about it. “Do you like it?”

He swallowed it down. “Mm… It’s pretty good,” he said, before giving her a little side-glance, “... But it’d be better with a plate.” 

“Shut up,” she groaned, and he chuckled and took a second bite, and she took a bite of her own slice, too.

The two finished off their slices in a silence that, for once that night, was actually fairly comfortable.

She swallowed her final bite, “... So… you wanna watch the live-action Disaster Robinsons movie?”

He swallowed his, too. “... … The what?”

She stared at him. “Um. The movie… that you were watching that preview for?” 

He blinked at her. “... Oh. Um. No.”

“... Okay.” She furrowed her brow, “Did you, uh… watch anything else while you were waiting for me? Or do anything? You know, other than… the previews.”

“... No.”

“Oh,” she breathed out, “... I’m sorry. You could’ve watched something while you were waiting. I wouldn’t have been mad.”

“... I know.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, hesitating, “... Are you mad at me?” 

“No.”

“But, you…” she swallowed, “You were giving me the silent treatment, earlier.”

“... Oh,” he said, turning his attention towards the TV, which was still just on some menus, “No, I... I just… didn’t feel like talking.”

“Oh,” she breathed out.

“... Well, I was a little mad that you were late,” he admitted, and she nodded, “But… you said there was a fire?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, then…” he said, “... That’s a good reason. I forgive you.”

“Okay,” she said, finding herself relaxing a little at that, “... I’m sorry you had a bad day, Chaton.”

“... Who said I had a bad day?” he asked, and she shook her head.

“Like I said,” she whispered, “I was worried about my cat all day. He was acting off.”

He didn’t say anything to that, so she reached up to brush her fingers through his hair, no longer afraid that he was too angry with her. He sighed into the touch, and she kept brushing his hair, and after a few moments, he rested his head against her shoulder.

“... Do you want to talk about it?” she whispered, resting her head against his as she continued to pet him, “... I’d like to hear about it, if you do.”

He shrugged against her, and they sat like that in silence for a few moments. She supposed that that meant he didn’t want to tell her, but then he spoke up, “It’s my mom’s birthday.”

“... Oh,” she breathed out, not sure how that could play into this. She hesitated, “... Do you… not have a good relationship with her?” 

“... No,” he whispered, “I love her. A lot.”

She couldn’t help but smile a little at that. “Yeah, that checks out. You definitely have mama’s boy energy.”

He let out a breathy little laugh at that, “... Yeah. That’s me. The mama’s boy.”

“Ohhh,” she said, the realization dawning on her, “That sucks! Four akumas on your mom’s birthday? You were probably trying to spend time with her!”

“... Yeah,” he muttered, “Something like that.”

“Did you get to see her at all?”

He was silent for a moment. “... I visited her.”

“Did you get her a gift?”

He nodded against her, “... Flowers.”

“That’s really sweet,” she said, because it was, and Chat Noir being the type of person to get flowers for his mom on her birthday was something that didn’t surprise her at all. It was really cute, actually. “Did she like them?” 

“... I don’t know.”

She furrowed her brow a little, confused at that. “How do you not know? Did she not say?”

“Well… she probably would’ve liked them. They were her favorite.”

“... … Oh my god, your mom’s dead!” she blurted out, and he raised his head from her shoulder, and she scrambled back and slapped her hands over her stupid mouth and gaped at him, “Oh my god, I’m sorry!”

He simply blinked at her. “It’s oka—”

“No it’s not—” she said, “I— That was— That was too blunt! And— And— Oh my god, four akumas on your dead mom’s birthday!?”

His eyes darkened. “... Yeah.”

“Oh my god,” she hissed out, because she couldn’t even imagine what that would be like, “I… I’m going to kill Hawkmoth.”

He nodded, “Yeah.”

“That’s— That’s low, even for him— I mean, not that he probably knew it, but still!” she huffed, “That’s… oh my god. No wonder you seemed so upset, Chat Noir, anybody would in that situa—”

“That’s not all.”

She stilled. “What?”

“That’s not even what I was upset about,” he muttered, turning his attention to his hands in his lap, “... I mean, it was, but not all of it. It’s… my… my father.”

She blinked. “... Your father?” She already had a sour opinion of the man from that one phone call a couple weeks ago, but she had a feeling her sour opinion was going to turn rotten real fast.

“I thought… maybe he and I could… I don’t know, do something together today,” he said, “I didn’t really care what, if we’d… visit her together, or just go out to eat, or even just briefly chat or just— just— I don’t know, literally anything!” he hissed, turning to face her, a fire in his eyes, “That’s not too much to ask for, right?”

She shook her head, eyes wide. “What? No! Not at all.”

“So I sent him a goddamn email over a month ago!” he said, clenching his fists, “Asking if he’d like to have brunch at this— at this restaurant that she used to really like, or if he’d like to do something else instead, and I had to send him a stupid email about it, because he’s always sooooo busy that I can’t contact him any other way, because he doesn’t answer my calls, and he doesn’t like it when I text him directly, and the only way we ever talk is when he decides we will, like when he decides to— to— call me out of the blue, for the first time in months, to scold me like a child!”

She gaped.

“And I kept— I tried to get into contact with him, to ask him to just respond to my stupid email, or even have Na— someone else respond for him, just so I could get some kind of answer about whether or not he’d want to do something, but all I would ever get was that he was going to ‘get back to me later’ ,” he said, a mocking tone in his voice as he punctuated his father’s ‘voice’ with air-quotes, “And then the day rolls around, and guess what?”

She opened her mouth to hazard her guess—

“He never got back to me!” he shouted, “So I— I— I waited outside that stupid restaurant, all fucking day—”

She gasped, covering her mouth, “No…”

“And all these— these stupid akumas kept popping up left and right all day ,” he ranted, “And then finally, I finally get a text from N— a friend of his, telling me that he wasn’t going to make it, and then the fourth akuma pops up and—”

“Oh, Chaton…” she rasped out into her hands.

A dam seemed to break, because suddenly tears were spilling out of his eyes, and she felt her heart shatter as he choked out, “And I— I knew he wasn’t going to come, I knew it, I n-never, not even for a second thought he actually would, but I still— I still waited, f-for ten hours, because I’m stubborn and felt l-like proving some stupid point to nobody but myself, and I’m a fucking idiot, and—”

“You’re not an idiot,” she gasped, scooting toward him and grasping at his shoulders, and his hands flew up to his face, covering his eyes as he crumpled into her arms. She pulled him in close as his shoulders shook with quiet sobs, squeezing him tight and willing herself to focus on him, and how much he was hurting, and not the burning rage in her veins that told her to hunt his awful dad down and wire-cut him in half. “Chat Noir, you have every right to be angry and hurt right now! Have you… Have you talked to anyone else about this? Like, your friends?”

His head shook against her, and she sucked in a breath. 

“Why not?” she asked gently.

“I— I don’t—” he choked out, sniffling and clearly trying to calm his quivering voice before continuing, “... I don’t like bothering them.”

“Bothering them!” she gasped, “Wh— Chat Noir! You would not be bothering anyone—”

“I’m pathetic,” he choked out.

“Okay, no,” she said, pushing at his shoulders, “Look at me.”

“... No.”

“Yes,” she huffed, pushing at him, “Look at me!”

She held his shoulders back at arm’s length, but his hands were still covering his eyes, so she shook at him until they dropped. He looked up at her, his pupils blown wide and his eyes wet, tears streaming down his mask and cheeks, and he looked so sad, and she blinked her eyes, using all of her willpower to not just start crying along with him.

She raised a hand to his face, gently brushing away some of his tears, and whispered, “Mon pauvre Chaton… You’re not an idiot, and you’re not pathetic. What happened to that ego of yours? You love to compliment yourself.”

He sniffled. “... I can be a pathetic idiot and also super sexy and hilarious at the same time.”

She couldn’t help but snort at that, and he let out a little chuckle. She brushed away some more of his tears and leaned forward, pressing a kiss between his eyes before pulling away. “... Uh huh. Okay, minou, but I still don’t agree with that first part.”

“But you agree with the second part?” he smiled at her, and there was still a sadness in his eyes, but she would take what she could get.

“Sure,” she said, smiling at him and moving her hand to brush through his blond locks, “Whatever you say. You’re super sexy and hilarious.”

“Can I get that in writing? No, wait—” he reached back and pulled out his baton, opening up the screen and tapping a few buttons before holding it out to her like a microphone, “Okay. Say it again, please?”

She rolled her eyes, the smile not leaving her lips, “Tch. Okay. Fine.” She leaned in towards the microphone, “Chat Noir is the most hilarious and sexiest cat and/or person alive, and his skin is definitely much softer than Adrien Agreste’s, and he probably smells a lot better, too.” 

He laughed, “Oh, keep going.”

She hummed, “And, um… his bell is really cute, actually, and definitely not stupid at all.”

He nodded encouragingly.

“... And being a superhero is really hard, but he… he somehow manages to make it seem not so bad, because he always somehow manages to make me smile even on my worst days… because he’s the best partner I ever could have asked for, and I can’t… can’t imagine doing any of this without him, because he’s not just my partner, but my best friend too, and I care about him… so much, that um… … um… yeah,” she said, flubbing the ending a bit, and the room suddenly felt very hot as she looked back up at him and saw him gaping at her.

“Oh,” he said, eyes and voice both wet as he pressed a button on his baton, presumably ending the recording, “... Th-That’s enough. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, still feeling very hot and not knowing what else to say.

He scooted over and suddenly he was lying down, resting his head in her lap and sighing, and she smiled to herself as she reached down and brushed her fingers through his hair. 

“Watch out,” she whispered fondly, “You might get some pizza grease in your hair.”

“... Everything you said…” he whispered, and she felt him rumbling against her, and she realized he was purring. She forgot he could do that when he was transformed. “... R-right back… Right back at ya.”

It was funny. Chat Noir was usually so much better at saying sentimental things like that than she was, but she couldn’t blame him for being a little bit off his game today. It was an interesting change of pace.

“You don’t think my bell is stupid?” she whispered fondly, scratching him behind a cat ear.

“Not at all, My Lady,” he sniffled, purring all the same, “Your bell is wonderful.”

They stayed like that for a while, her petting him and him relaxing into her touch, until they eventually put on a movie and finished the rest of the pizza. He ate most of it, by far, because she realized that he hadn’t eaten anything else that day and struck a bargain with him: if he ate more pizza, they could cuddle that night before they fell asleep for once (it was a trick, of course, because she would have cuddled him either way. He fell for it).

And in the darkness of that night, as they were buried under the sheets and his forehead bumped against her chin and his nose brushed against her collar, and she pushed her fingers through his soft hair, she decided that maybe she never cared for the ‘professional’ distance between them, anyway.

Chapter Text

“Why’s your hair so short?”

She didn’t know why she’d asked it, but the words had fallen from her mouth before she could think twice about them. She pushed her fingers through his locks, snuggled up against him and relaxing in the feeling of his arms wrapped around her.

He was so warm, she couldn’t help but gravitate to him. She wondered, briefly, why she’d ever convinced herself that it would be better to save the cuddles for after they were already asleep. In the weeks since the rule was foregone, she found that she drifted away much easier when she was enveloped in his arms, or he hers. She’d never slept so well.

She’d been noticing that a lot, lately, that the rules put in place to keep a ‘professional’ distance from him were nothing more than silly hurdles. Hurdles in the way of what, she couldn’t say.

“Is it?” he said, voice laden with sleep, and soon she felt his hand brushing through her hair as well. “What, you want me to grow it out, My Lady?”

“I didn’t say that,” she said, moving a finger to brush against the short hair before his ear. Chat Noir’s human ears were always hidden beneath wild blond locks, but when they were in the darkness like this, they didn’t feel so covered. “... It’s just different. You change your hair when you transform, minou?”

“Am I allowed to answer that?” he snickered, but he didn’t have to. She’d run her fingers through his hair enough times both in and out of their suits to know that he had. She wondered what other parts of him would be unrecognizable to her.

“It’s still blond, right?” she asked, because she wasn’t sure she’d be able to reconcile it if it wasn’t.

“I can dye it whatever color you want, buginette.”

She hummed. Surely it was still blond. Right? It would be a strange choice to change your hair to a lighter color in order to match a black cat aesthetic. Surely it was his natural color. That was, assuming he hadn’t changed it to match his stupid golden bell…

She knew she shouldn’t, but she often found herself nowadays wondering what he’d look like if she turned the light on. His hair color, of course, but other factors as well. She wondered how much his black mask distorted her perception of the shape of his face, what kind of clothes he wore, what his eyes looked like without the feline pupils or green sclera…

His eyes better still be green. 

Why did she care? When she eventually did see him, would she be able to see Chat Noir in him at all? Would it be a complete stranger standing before her?

“I, for one,” he said, grasping her hair gently into his fist to make a pigtail, “Am baffled that your hair can even go down. You’re telling me you weren’t born in pigtails?”

She chuckled against him. “Sorry to shatter the illusion, minou.”

******

Great.

Just great.

Because her day hadn’t been going miserably enough. Because she wasn’t already in a sour mood. Because she wasn’t already a failure, messing things up at every possible moment—

She took a deep, agonizing breath, hunching over the counter and avoiding looking at herself in the mirror.

“I’ll make it up to you,” Marinette muttered, “All the macarons you want, whatever flavor. I promise. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Marinette,” Tikki said kindly, and god, Marinette didn’t want to exhaust her, but she didn’t know what else to do, and her stomach felt sick for a variety of reasons, and she just wanted to lie down…

She sucked in a sharp breath and called upon her transformation, letting Tikki’s magic wash over her as she flicked the bathroom light off and stepped out into the pitch black room. She took careful steps, holding her hands blindly out in front of her as she patted around and managed to only nearly-trip twice before she found her way around to her side of the mattress.

She slipped into the sheets, finally, and lay down flat on her back. She didn’t particularly feel like cuddling right now, but they’d already foregone their stupid ‘professional’ boundaries a while ago, so she didn’t have an argument when she felt him scoot up next to her and wrap his arms around her.

She may not have felt like cuddling, but she supposed she didn’t mind it, either.

She laid there, still and silent with her eyes closed, trying to will herself to sleep as she felt his chin brush up against her shoulder and his nose brush against the side of her head. She felt his hand brush against her side, and she ignored it as she chanted the mantra of sleep, sleep, sleep in her brain and—

“You’re transformed,” he whispered, his breath tickling her skin.

“Yeah,” she said, squeezing her eyes shut, hoping he would stop talking so she could just fall asleep—

He nudged her, and she hated that. She nudged him right back, harder, trying to push him away, because maybe she did mind cuddling right now, actually, and—

“You’re gonna wear your kwami out,” he said, and did he think she didn’t know that?

“I know,” she hissed.

“Then… why are—”

“You want me to bleed all over the sheets?” she spat, feeling him suddenly still. “Mind your business.”

That seemed to shut him up, so she rested further into the stupid mattress, squeezing her eyes shut, and—

“Plagg, claws out,” he said, and she let out a frustrated groan as she saw the lights flicker on through her eyelids.

“You’re bleeding?” he asked, and she simply squeezed her eyes shut tighter, hoping that maybe if she ignored him enough, he’d stop existing. But the mattress was still dipping under his weight, so apparently not.

“It’s none of your business,” she growled, “Turn the light back off!”

“None of my— It’s my business if you’re injured!”

She groaned, grabbing one of the extra pillows and pulling it over her face, because this was stupid, and he was stupid, and she didn’t want to have to explain herself, and she wasn’t in the mood for him to tease her or gag at her, and she just wanted to go to sleep and ignore the discomfort in her gut—

“Are you in pain?” he asked, and she felt his clawed hand grasp at her arm, and she lost her resolve.

“Yeah, I’m in pain!” she spat, chucking the pillow back off her head and slapping his hand away from her, “Don’t touch me!”

“How bad is—”

“I’m not injured, Chat Noir,” she hissed, scowling at him, and she knew he wasn’t doing anything wrong. He was just concerned because of how vague she was being, and she didn’t actually blame him, but right now she didn’t care. “I’m fine—”

“How can you say you’re not injured when you just told me you’re bleeding and in pain!?” he hissed at her, and he sounded angry, but he also looked so genuinely concerned for her that she almost wanted to laugh.

“My period!” she barked at him, and his eyes widened, “I’m on my period, okay? And I know it’s TMI, so laugh all you want, but I was an idiot and I forgot we ran out of tampons in the bathroom but I’m too crampy to run to the store to get more and I don’t want to bleed all over the stupid fucking sheets so I—”

“Oh,” he said, blinking at her, “Ladybug, why didn’t you say so?”

Suddenly, he was rolling off of the mattress and onto his feet, marching around the bed and towards the window, and—

“Where are you going?” she rasped out, genuinely confused, because she’d expected him to make fun of her, or be grossed out, and she wasn’t exactly sure which of those this was.

“You have a problem with a very simple solution, My Lady,” he said, turning to smile at her as he pulled out his baton, “This cat always comes back, so don’t miss me too much!”

She gaped at him as he vaulted out the window. 

He couldn’t be serious.

She huffed and rested back on the mattress, realizing then that she stupid cat hadn’t even turned the light back off for her, and she felt too immobile to crawl over and turn it off. She draped her arm over her eyes and tried, futily, to will herself to sleep.

Was he actually coming back? She felt like she was being pranked right now. 

She waited for what felt like many long agonizing hours, but was probably only about half of one, before she heard the sound of his boots thumping down against the carpet, and she removed her arm from her eyes just enough to peek at him.

He was carrying two full plastic shopping bags, probably from some 24 hour store, and now she was sure that she was being pranked, because a simple box of tampons did not warrant that many purchases.

“Chat Noir…” she grumbled as he stepped up to the bed. He placed one of the bags down at the foot of the mattress, pulling open the other and removing a small box.

A box of tampons, thankfully. He at least had enough sense to get that along with whatever other gag purchases he’d made.  She let out a small breath and reached out to take it as he handed it out to her. But then he reached back into the bag, and pulled out a second box, which was also tampons, and then a third, and then a fourth, and then a box of pads, and then a menstrual cup of all things, and she gaped as he turned the bag upside down and multiple more boxes spilled out onto the sheets.

Ah, so that was the joke. Okay, she could admit that it was kind of funny—

“I didn’t know what kind you like,” he said genuinely, smiling at her without a hint of mockery, “And, I know you said tampons, but I thought it couldn’t hurt to get the other stuff, too.”

She gaped at him. “... Oh. Um… Thanks…”

“Oh, but look at this!” he said, suddenly lighting up in excitement and he grabbed at the other bag, rifling his hand in until he pulled out a different, bigger type of box, presenting it to her and tapping at the image on its packaging. She leaned in, squinting at it, and she realized what it was. “It has little ladybugs on it! Ha!”

“You…” she breathed out, staring at it, “... You bought me a heating pad?” 

“Yeah! It’s electric. There’s an outlet by your side, right?” he said, placing the box down on her nightstand, and a heating pad sounded so nice right about now. And then he rifled through the bag some more and pulled out some bottles of various types of painkillers, placing them down right beside the box, and she thought she was going to cry. “You said you were in pain.”

“Oh,” she croaked out, because she didn’t know what else to say, and he was still pulling things out.

“... And chocolates!” he sang out, beaming at her and he held up a box of gourmet chocolates.

He was so sweet. She’d always known he was sweet, really, but suddenly she realized that she’d underestimated his sweetness, because he was staring at her with that saccharine look on his face, and she felt like her teeth were going to rot, and it wasn’t because of the chocolates.

“Chaton, you…” she breathed out, steadying herself, “You really didn’t have to get all of this—”

“I wanted to,” he said simply, still smiling, and she grabbed the thought in the back of her mind that wanted to kiss him and shoved it down, far down, into the abyss where she kept all the other strange thoughts she’d had about him lately.

She shifted over, willing her uncomfortable self to sit up and scoot off the bed. She stood to her feet, placing all the various menstrual products and painkillers into the empty bag for easy transport. 

“... Thank you,” she said, because she honestly was grateful, and she looked to him, and he looked so kind as he smiled at her, “Um… I guess I’ll just… use the bathroom then.” 

“I’ll set the heating pad up!” he said, snatching the box off the nightstand, “And I’ll leave the light on, so you can find your way back to bed and not trip on the wire. I’ll just hide under the sheets or something. Sound good?”

She breathed out. “... Yeah. That sounds good.”

She headed into the bathroom, detransformed, and took care of her business. Once that was done, she poured herself a glass of water from the sink and downed some of the painkillers. 

“That was very kind of Chat Noir,” Tikki chirped up.

“Yeah,” she breathed, setting the empty glass down, “He’s a good cat.” 

Marinette grabbed a hold of the doorknob, pushing it open and calling out, “I’m coming out now!”

She poked her head out of the bathroom, and the room was illuminated by only her bedside lamp. She glanced cautiously at the bed, and sure enough, there was a big ol’ human-sized lump at Chat Noir’s end, buried under the sheets. She actually caught a glimpse of Plagg for the first time in what felt like ages, cuddled up beside the lump, and she smiled and clicked the door shut behind her. She walked carefully over to her bedside without a single stumble and settled in under the sheets.

He had set up the heating pad, just like he’d said, and she placed it atop her abdomen and turned it on to its medium setting. She rested back against the sheets and turned over to flick her bedside light off, only to catch sight of the box of chocolates on her nightstand, open and tempting.

There were a couple chocolates missing, but he’d more than earned them. She let out a little snort and grabbed one, popping it in her mouth and hitting the switch. She spoke through her full mouth, “Good night, mon Chaton.”

She heard him shift beside her, likely poking his head out of the sheets now that the darkness had returned. “Sweet dreams, My Lady.”

Chapter Text

No, that wouldn’t work.

Rip.

Maybe if she tried something with a longer skirt.

Rip.

Too busy.

Rip.

Too simple.

Rip.

Nothing was coming out right.

Rip.

Maybe if she…

Marinette groaned, realizing that she’d reached the end of her sketchbook. The pages were all torn out now, many of which were crumpled up into balls, with the rest stacked haphazardly when she’d realized that she didn’t want to have to carry a thousand crumpled balls with her.

She wasn’t going to win this contest, she knew, but she’d at least hoped that she wouldn’t embarrass herself completely, either. Or that she’d at least come up with something to submit. 

“Don’t worry, Marinette! I’m sure you’ll come up with something,” Tikki said kindly, but Marinette wasn’t sure she believed her.

“Yeah… maybe,” she said.

She sighed, packing up her torn apart sketchbook and collecting the various pieces of paper in her arms. She stood from the bench and hung her head in her shame as she made her way through the park. Time to find a recycling can, go home, pull out a new sketchbook, and see if she could come up with something at least semi-presentable, because she should already be sewing by now, and she was running out of time and—

“Oof!”

Marinette stumbled back from the body she’d run into, the sheets and balls of paper flying everywhere. Her foot slipped on a page, and she felt herself falling back when a hand gripped her wrist.

“Ah— I’m sorry! Haha!” She forced a laugh, holding onto the person’s steady hand like a lifeline as she righted herself, “I’m so clums—”

“It’s alright, Marinette,” Adrien said, stealing the air from her lungs as he smiled at her in that usual kind way of his, his green eyes crinkling with affection, “Are you okay?”

“Oh!” she gasped, hoping the sudden burning of her cheeks wasn’t visible, “Yes! I’m— I’m— Th-thank you, Adrien!”

His gaze tore away from her, granting her a chance to breathe for air. He looked down and said, “Oh no! Your designs!”

“Oh,” she said, watching as he quickly knelt down to help pick them up, and she bent down to gather some pages herself, “No, no, don’t worry about it!”

“Marinette…” he said, looking down at some of the pages he’d saved from a puddle, and she felt her veins run cold, “These designs are—”

“Scraps!” she said, snatching the pages from his hands. Adrien worked in the industry, he knew fashion, and she knew the designs were bad, and she didn’t need him to tell her that. “They’re just— they’re just warm-up sketches! Not— Not representative of my work at all, haha! I was actually just about to toss them!”

“... Oh. Really?” he said with a frown, picking up a few more pages and glancing at them. She snatched them as well. “But—”

“Actually,” she said, hoping to change the subject. She stood up straight, hugging the sheets of paper to her abdomen now that they’d all been collected. He grabbed a few of the crumpled balls before he rose to his feet himself, but thankfully didn’t open them up and view their contents. “I wanted to talk to you about something!”

It wasn’t a lie. She did want to talk to him. She’d thought about it a lot, and she’d written many unsent texts, but she’d wanted to tell him in person. But he was so busy, and it’d been so long since they’d last seen each other, and she worried that she wouldn’t get another chance like this for a while.

“Oh? What is it?” he asked, and he looked so beautiful, and he was looking at her and waiting for her to continue, and she hated how much his simple gaze could still make her heart stutter.

“I just, uh… wanted to say…” she started, heart racing and gaze darting everywhere but his eyes. She shut her eyes and took a deep breath, and he waited patiently as she took a moment to steel herself. She had to do this. For him. Once she felt her resolve in place, she snapped her eyes open and furrowed her brow, staring directly at him with determination, “I’m worried about you.”

He looked shocked. “Huh? Why—”

“Are you still…” she briefly hesitated. How was she supposed to say it? She didn’t want to be crude. “... Do you still not sleep in your own bed, Adrien?”

His eyes widened, and he seemed to understand her line of questioning, because his cheeks pinkened a little. “... Well, uh…”

“I know it’s not my business,” she said, voice hard and posture stick-straight, “You don’t have to tell me anything, and I’m not judging you, and you can make your own decisions. But I just wanted you to know that I care about you. A lot. And I don’t want to see you hurt.”

His eyes softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “... Thank you, Marinette. That means a lot.”

“You’re a very… a very good and important friend of mine,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. He was a very important friend of hers, and she wouldn’t allow herself to be upset by that fact. She would take what she could get. “And I want to see you happy.”

“You’re a very good and important friend of mine, too,” he said, and he told her that often, and she’d never not believed him, but the affectionate way he was looking at her only made her believe him more, “And I really appreciate that. I want to see you happy, too.”

She gave a curt nod, not allowing the warmth in her chest to melt her steel. “And I’m sure your… your ‘friend’ is a lovely person,” she lied, “But if she does anything to hurt you, Adrien, I’ll… I’ll… … I do not promise a peaceful resolution.”

Suddenly, he barked out a laugh.. “Marinette, you wouldn’t!”

“I bet I could take her,” she said, her lip twitching into a smile. Of course, she wasn’t serious. Probably. But she definitely could take her if it came to it. 

He snickered, “I don’t know, I think an altercation between you two could level half the city.”

“Paris is a small price to pay,” she giggled, her resolve melting at the beautiful sound of a snort as he laughed.

******

“Oof, get off! I can’t breathe like this!”

“Aw bedbug, beggars can’t be choosers,” he practically purred out, but pulled off of her a bit nonetheless.

“I’m not a beggar,” she snorted, thankful that she was no longer being crushed under his weight, “I didn’t ask for you to lie on top of me.”

He shifted around and rested against her, face pressed against her collarbone with an arm and a leg draped atop her. She spat out some of his hair. “You said you were cold!”

“That’s what the blankets are for,” she said, but her body betrayed her words as her arms wrapped around his shoulders. 

He hummed against her, and she closed her eyes and rested against the soft mattress, allowing herself to soak in the warmth of her Chaton and sheets. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to fall asleep just yet, but she was going to have to try. 

“... By the way,” she whispered, and he hummed again, “Can you make sure I get up? At, um… I guess whenever you do?”

“Always assigning me the herculean tasks,” he sighed dramatically, and she rolled her eyes, “I may be your best and most favorite miraculous-wielder, guardian, but even I can’t work miracles.”

“Shut up,” she huffed out a little laugh, “I need to get up early tomorrow. For real. Please?”

“Any specific time?” he asked with a yawn.

“No, not really…” she sighed, “I just.. I need to work on a project of mine. I’m already behind on it, so I’d like to get back to it as soon as possible. I’ll make it up to you.”

“Ooooo, a project,” he said with interest, “Of the art variety?”

“Mhmm,” she said, realizing that she’d been subconsciously brushing her fingers through his hair, “Hopefully, anyway. So far I think it’d be an insult to artists everywhere to call what I’ve been making ‘art’ .”

He scoffed, “My Lady! I’m sure your art is as wonderful as you. ”

“Oh please, you haven’t even seen it,” she snorted, “Your compliments are about as meaningful as my parents pinning my scribbles on the fridge when I was like three.”

“I’m sure your scribbles had excellent composition and color choice.”

“Sure,” she said, “But I must have lost my edge since then.”

“Nooo…” He shifted against her. “... Tikki!”

“Yes?” Tikki’s voice chirped up from across the room. She groaned.

“You’ve seen My Lady’s art, right?” he asked, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it? Awe-inspiring?”

“Yes, of course!” Tikki agreed, “Her art is wonderful!”

“See?” he snickered, resting back against her, “I knew it. You’re just too hard on yourself.”

“Your guys’ opinions mean nothing! You have to say that stuff! I’ll have you know I tore through an entire sketchbook and not a single sketch was usable,” she huffed out. He didn’t respond for a moment, and she felt him begin to shake against her for some reas— oh. “Oh, yeah, laugh all you want!”

“You artists,” he laughed, “You’re just like a friend of mine.”

“A friend of yours?”

He nodded against her, “Mhmm. She’s an artist of sorts, like you, and she’s really, really talented. Her work is incredible. Everyone who knows her is just kind of… waiting for the day she makes it big. Could happen any day.”

Uh… She didn’t know what to say to that. She stilled, chewing her lip and furrowing her brow, and she wondered why what he was saying made her feel so weird.

“But she churns out these… amazing pieces,” he continued, and now she just felt like he was rambling, and why did he sound so fond? “And then she just… throws them away. It’s almost sad. Her trash could probably fill a museum. I’d certainly pay to enter. I bet you’re the same.” 

“I’m sure she and I are very different,” she huffed, turning her nose up for a reason she couldn’t explain.

“Not really,” he chuckled, and she was definitely ready to go to bed now. Weren’t they supposed to be sleeping? “You guys remind me of each other all the time. You’re both so creative. And intelligent. And stubborn. And kind. With big moral compasses, and you care about things so much, and…”

“She sounds like a real piece of work,” she hissed through her teeth before she could stop herself.

“She is,” he sighed, almost dreamily, and she rolled her eyes as loudly as she could. She almost wondered if he was trying to upset her on purpose, but he sounded so genuine and sleepy that she wasn’t sure he was. She also wasn’t sure why it was upsetting her at all. “She always has… such a big presence. It’s impossible to not notice when she’s there. She always lights up a room, and she’s just about the funniest person I kno—”

“You seem to like her a lot,” she sneered.

“I do,” he said, not even hesitating for a second, and it made her feel sick. “... You’d like her too, if you got to know her. I bet you’d make good friends. … Either that, or you’d butt heads—”

“Probably the latter,” she said without thinking.

“No,” he chuckled, shaking his head lightly against her, “You wouldn’t want to get on her bad side. Trust me.”

“I think I could handle your little civilian friend,” she huffed.

“Mmmh… I wouldn’t underestimate her, if I were you.”

She tsked. She was Ladybug, she could definitely take on Chat Noir’s little friend. Not that she’d ever actually fight her, of course. Probably. She didn’t know why she felt so strangely threatened by this girl, anyway. She was the one holding him in her arms right now, and he was her Chaton, so she clearly had the advantage. … Advantage in what, she couldn’t say.

“... You know how I didn’t tell any of my friends about my mother’s birthday?” he asked, and she stilled, taken aback by the mention, “... Well, if she found out about that?” he let out a little chuckle, “I think she’d march over to my father’s place and tear him apart herself. She’s done it before.”

She sucked in a breath. “... I’d do that, too. If I… If I knew who you were.”

And suddenly, she felt her arrogance pop. Because what was she doing, thinking that she was any more special to this man than the girl he was discussing was? She had no advantage over her. She didn’t know the first thing about his regular life, apart from the strange, out-of-context glimpses she got. She didn’t even know his name. But this girl did.  

“I don’t doubt that,” he chuckled.

She wondered what this friend of his thought of him, what she knew about him. She wondered if she knew all of the things that Ladybug always wondered about. If she knew all the parts of him that Ladybug always wished she had.

Chat Noir may be here with her right now, in her arms, but this was always going to be a temporary thing, wasn’t it? What they were doing wasn’t sustainable. They couldn’t spend the rest of their lives snuggled in each other’s arms, because eventually their real lives would kick in, and eventually he’d probably find himself falling in love, and he wasn’t going to holding Ladybug in his arms every night when he was dating someone else, or when he was married, or when he probably eventually had kids and a family that she could possibly never even meet if they never stopped Hawkmoth and—

“I wish we were closer,” he whispered.

“Huh?” she gasped, feeling her whole body grow hot. She didn’t know why she was so shocked at the admission, he always seemed to find a way to read her thoughts. She opened her mouth to return the sentimen—

“My friend and I,” he said, and her warmth turned to ice, because he wasn’t talking about her, he was still talking about her, “... I don’t get to see her as often as I’d like.”

“Oh,” she tried to say, but her vocal chords suddenly weren’t working, because no sound came out.

“Sometimes I worry that I intimidate her a little,” he admitted.

“What?” Chat Noir, intimidating? She almost wanted to bark out a laugh, and probably would have if she didn’t already feel so miserable. He was just about the least intimidating person she’d ever met, and suddenly she was doubting all his claims about this girl’s supposed bravery. If Chat Noir intimidated her, then surely Ladybug could no proble— 

“Yeah,” he murmured against her, like he was seconds from drifting away, “She always gets so… … red in the face when she sees me…”

Oh.

She lay there, eyes wide open but seeing nothing in the darkness, as his breathing steadied out and eventually turned to snores. But despite how numb she felt, how impossible it seemed for her to move even a muscle, she gripped tighter at him, like he’d disappear if she ever let him go.

Chapter Text

She could do this. 

She was Ladybug.

She tapped her foot wildly, staring intently down at the enemy. She could win this battle. She could—

Snap!

“Blech!” Marinette spat.

“Oh my god,” Alya snorted out. She was standing at the counter, helping to feed the restless kwamis as Marinette attempted to sketch at the dining table. “Marinette, that’s the second pencil you’ve eaten today.”

Marinette made a sound that would have been a ‘shut up’ if she hadn’t been trying to get the shards of wood from her mouth. She grabbed a napkin and spat into it, before tossing it into the bin and grabbing a different pencil. It looked like she was going with a 2H today.

It could use a belt, she thought, drawing one in.

She’d promised herself that she’d start sewing something days ago, and she still was stuck on the sketch portion. She was considering just dropping out of the contest at this point, because for some reason she kept getting so distracted, and she couldn’t focus no matter where she was.

Maybe black would look good. Black always looked good.

She filled in the bodice of the jacket, the graphite much lighter than it would be if she hadn’t eaten her 3B, and accentuated the line of the zipper.

Something was missing. Maybe if…

A bell.

“Augh!” Marinette groaned, pushing back from the table, “Alya, you watched the akuma coverage today, right?”

“And blogged about it,” Alya said, tossing a piece of tofu to Sass and turning to face her, “Why?”

“Did anything seem…” she patted her hands against the table, glancing around before leaning in conspiratorially, “... Weird to you?”

“Any weirder than usual?” she snorted, “No. What do you mean?”

Marinette leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms over her chest and chewing the inside of her cheek. She wasn’t surprised that Alya hadn’t noticed; after all, she only had an outside perspective. “Like… you didn’t happen to think that Chat Noir was acting a bit… off. Did you?”

“Was he?” Alya asked, her eyes widening. “He seemed pretty normal to me—”

“He was just in such a rush to get it over with!” she huffed, drumming her fingers against her arm, “He always enjoys fighting battles with me, but for some reason, he really wanted that particular battle to end—”

“It was M. Pigeon,” Alya pointed out with a snort, and Marinette pouted. “He always hates M. Pigeon, and you two always rush it. Besides, isn’t he allergic to feath—”

“That’s not all!” she countered, and Alya shut her trap, “He’s… Alya, he didn’t call me ‘My Lady’ once that entire battle.”

“You mean…” Alya began, looking at Marinette like she’d grown a second head, “... The battle that lasted three whole minutes? That battle?”

“Yes, that battle!” she spat, “And he didn’t call me ‘buginette’ or ‘bedbug’ eithe—”

“He calls you ‘bedbug’ now?” Alya laughed, and Marinette flushed. “That’s cute.”

“The point, Alya,” Marinette said, leaning forward and pressing her finger down against the table to punctuate, “Is that something was off.”

“The only thing that seems off is you,” Alya chucked, and Marinette glared at her, “I mean, I wasn’t there, Marinette, but nothing that I’ve seen or heard about it seemed very strange to m—”

“It wasn’t just today!” she said, “It’s been— the past week! He’s been acting weird.”

“The past week,” Alya repeated back to her and hummed, “... Ah. Is that why you’ve been so weird all week? Because you’ve been thinking about Chat Noir—”

“It’s not weird for me to think about Chat Noir!” Marinette hissed, “He’s my friend!”

“When did I say it was weird to think about him?” she laughed, and Marinette groaned. “You’re the one being weird about it!”

“I am not being weird about it!” 

“Marinette, you haven’t told me what’s wrong,” Alya said, “I can tell you’re worried, but all you’ve told me is that he was very efficient fighting M. Pigeo—”

“Who said anything was wrong?” she said, “I didn’t say anything was wrong!”

Alya blinked at her. “What?”

“I’m happy for him!” Marinette shouted, very truthfully, because it was definitely the truth. The truthiest truth that she ever did truth.

“Okay, Marinette, you’re really not making any sense to me right now,” Alya said, and Marinette scoffed, “Something tells me you’re not telling me everything.”

“Okay, well, let me see if I can make this clearer,” she said, pulling out a second dining chair and propping her feet up on it to get comfortable. Alya leaned back against the counter in wait. Marinette held up a finger, “One: he was in a rush today,” she held up a second finger, “Two: that battle, he didn’t call me any of his cute nicknames—”

“I thought you hated his nicknames,” Alya said, raising an amused brow.

“I never said I hated ‘My Lady’,” she sneered, ignoring Alya’s little snicker and holding up another finger, “Three: a couple days ago, he didn’t get to the hotel room until like 2 am—”

“Is that unusual for him?” Alya asked, “I mean, you stay up that late all the time—”

“Well, I, he—” Marinette sputtered, “It’s a little less common for him!”

“So it’s not unusual for him,” Alya said, and Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Four,” Marinette held up another finger, “Yesterday, he didn’t try to cuddle me at all, and I had to be the one to initia—”

“Wait!” Alya shouted, “I thought you said you don’t cuddle on purpose!”

Marinette flushed. “W-well! I— I— Things change! Okay?”

“Mari -nette!” Alya sang out in laughter, and suddenly the room felt very hot, “What is the nature of your relationship with Chat Noir!?”

“Platonic friends who cuddle platonically!” Marinette hissed, “And very professionally! It doesn’t matter! What matters is that it’s weird that he didn’t initiate firs—”

“Did he push you away?”

“Of course not, but—” 

“Maybe he was just tired.”

Marinette shook her head, holding up a fifth finger, “Five: he’s always acting like, after akuma attacks, he has somewhere to be…”

“Like…” Alya squinted at her, “... A job? Or a… get together with friends—”

“Or a date!” Marinette shouted, swinging her legs off the extra chair and slamming her fists on the table in emphasis.

“Oh… oh… oooooooooooohhh,” Alya said, laughing like she suddenly understood, but she didn’t understand.

“I know what you’re gonna say!” Marinette said, jutting a finger at her, “You’re going to say that I’m jealous—”

“You said it, not me,” Alya snickered, giving Trixx a stupid little fistbump.

“—But I’m not! I told you, I’m happy for him!”

“Why are you assuming he’s seeing someone? That seems like a bit of a stretch—”

“I never said he’s seeing her, I just said they might have been on a date,” Marinette hissed, “Obviously she’s not his girlfriend, because if she was, he wouldn’t be sharing a bed with me—”

“She,” Alya repeated back to her, “Who’s ‘she’ ?”

“His girlf— His friend!” Marinette huffed, leaning back in her chair and crossing her arms, “His… His lovely, perfect little friend.”

“Ah… Now it’s coming together,” Alya chuckled, “Tell me more about this ‘friend’ of his.”

“He was telling me about her the other week,” Marinette scoffed, “Rambling on and on about her, going on about how ‘talented’ and ‘kind’ and ‘intelligent’ she is, how he always notices her because she ‘lights up a room’,” she said, mimicking his voice and punctuating it with air-quotes, “How he ‘wants to be closer’ with her, how he ‘likes her a lot’ , how she’s ‘soooo funny’—”

“Man, he said a lot, huh?”

“—and then he told me that she has a big ol’ crush on him!” she hissed.

Alya gaped. “He did? Wait, did he say it was mutual?”

“No! He didn’t even realize she liked him!” she said, “He went on about how brave she was, and then told me that she was inexplicably ‘intimidated’ by him and ‘red in the face’ every time she sees him!”

“... Ah,” Alya said, and Marinette felt a churning in her gut that even Alya didn’t seem to disagree with her assessment. 

Marinette slumped back in her chair, letting out a long sigh, “... I just think… it’s weird. That’s all. And it’s only a matter of time before he realizes she likes him, or she confesses to him, or he confesses to her, and then…”

“And then?” Alya asked, tone gentle.

Marinette shrugged, hugging herself tight. “... I guess I’ll have to get a new bedtime routine? Ha…”

“Oh, Marinette…” Alya said, approaching her with a sympathetic look in her eyes, “I can see how that can hurt—”

“Hurt?” she gasped, whipping her head to her, “You think she’d hurt him?”

“Wh—” Alya reeled back. “What? That’s not what I—”

“I’m glad you said that, Alya,” she said, pulling out of her chair and hopping up onto her feet, beginning to pace in thought, “Because I didn’t think I had enough evidence to say it, but I was thinking it too—”

“Wait—”

“—because Chat Noir is such a wonderful guy, and he deserves to be happy, and if anyone is going to hurt him, it’s my duty as the guardian and his partner—”

“Marinette—”

“—to protect him from people who may be taking advantage of him!”

“Oh my god,” Alya said, “This is just like with Adrien.”

Marinette blinked, turning to Alya, “What?”

“This is exactly what you did when you learned about Adrien’s ‘friend’,” she said, shaking her head, “And I agreed with the sentiment then, but—”

“So you agree!” Marinette said, “Just like Adrien, Chat Noir is going to end up hurt—”

“We have no reason to think Chat Noir is going to end up hurt!” Alya pointed out, “It sounds like this girl actually likes him back! Marinette, you’re the only one who’s going to end up hurt if—”

“Why would I be hurt?” Marinette asked, quirking a brow at her.

“Because, clearly, you have some unresolved feelings for Chat No—”

Marinette barked out a laugh, “ Pffft— Whaaat? I— I do not! He’s like— like— my best friend! Other than you—”

“Some repressed feelings for Chat N—”

“I do not have any feelings for Chat Noir!” Marinette spat, “I mean— unless you count extreme professionalism and platonic fondness as ‘feelings’!”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed about it!” Alya said, “I mean, it’s always been kind of obvious—”

“What’s been obvious!?” Marinette spat.

“That you like him! Non-platonically!” Alya said, “Marinette, the two of you are constantly flirting and have become cuddle buddies—”

“Oh my god,” Marinette groaned, stepping away from Alya, “You’re wrong! Maybe I’ll be a little sad if he gets a girlfriend, because it means he’ll spend less time with me, and he’s a friend so I like spending time with him, as a friend, but that doesn’t mean—”

“Oh, Marinette…” Alya sighed, looking at her with a pity in her eyes that made Marinette want to tear her hair out.

“You know what?” Marinette huffed, snatching her stupid sketchbook off the table, not caring as the remaining pencils rolled off and clattered on the floor, “I’m done talking! I still have to finish my sketches!”

“I didn’t mean to upset you—”

“You didn’t!” Marinette scoffed, turning on her heel and stomping to her room, “I’m fine!”

******

She couldn’t keep her eyes off of him.

Chat Noir ran and vaulted over the rooftops of Paris, and Ladybug found herself trudging behind, following him, never running beside him or overtaking him like she usually did on patrol.

Because she was watching him.

He was so over the top, doing unnecessary, mesmerizing flips as he leapt and twirling his baton with cute, unnecessary flair, and she wondered if he always did that, or if he only did it when he knew that she was watching.

He stopped on a building, slipping his baton back behind his waist and surveying the park below. She landed behind him, maintaining a few meters’ distance as she gave him a once over.

‘You like him! Non-platonically!’ Alya’s words rang in her head, and she squinted her eyes as she appraised him.

Well, okay. Maybe she was attracted to him, at least a little bit, but that didn’t mean much. Everybody was attracted to Chat Noir. He was objectively beautiful, with a cute, entrancing charm to him and an insanely handsome, stupid cat face, but she’d realized that long ago. He wore an all-black leather catsuit that left little to the imagination, after all, and she knew now just how much effort he put into his appearance even as a civilian (the same amount as Adrien Agreste, literal supermodel, apparently). But that didn’t mean Ladybug was into him, just that she wasn’t blind.

And just because her eyes drifted up and down his body, chewing her lip and committing every curve and edge to memory, it didn’t mean that Alya was right.

“Are you okay?” Chat Noir asked, turning to her and just about startling Ladybug out of her suit, and she briefly wondered if she’d been caught. 

“Ha… What?” Ladybug pushed out a little laugh, feeling her face grow hot as she stared into his stupid, gorgeous eyes, and her heart swelled strangely at the concern he was showing.

“You’re lagging behind,” he said, seemingly appraising her for a moment. She froze, holding her breath as he looked her up and down, and it wasn’t summer right now, but she thought she might be sweating. Suddenly he leaned forward, a mischievous little glint in his eye as he gave her a smirk. “What? You like what you see?”

It was a joke. She knew him well, and he was joking, the same way he always did, and she was pretty sure she’d heard him tell this joke a thousand times before in a variety of stupid situations, but it was actually true this time, and she wondered if he’d even realized that.

“Sorry, minou,” she cooed out, reaching forward and flicking his bell, and she wondered if conversations like these were what Alya had referred to as ‘flirting’. But it wasn’t. It was just their usual banter, and so what if she enjoyed the way his smile grew and his cheeks pinkened every time she flicked his bell? She lied, “You’re not as interesting as you think you are.”

“So, what is it, then?” he asked, leaning back and placing his fingers appraisingly at his chin, staring at her with his stupid, cocky, half-lidded eyes, “Tired already? Can’t wait to cuddle, bedbug?”

… But what if it was flirting? She knew they’d have to stop sharing a bed, probably, but would they have to stop all their banter too, if he got a girlfriend? Would he still make jokes like these and call her nicknames? Would he still have the time to putz around on rooftops in the evening with her at all?

She didn’t want to let any of that go, but she felt like she was on a timer. She was going to have to appreciate these moments with him as much as she could, because that girl could ask him out any day now, and then everything would end.

All the tension they had between them, that’d been building up for years, would just… fizzle out… and end. With no resolution.

Tension. Since when did she think they had tension? She wasn’t sure she’d ever heard of ‘platonic tension’.

Alya’s voice rang in her head, but she ignored it.

“I suppose I’ve had a long day,” she hummed, shifting her hips and maintaining just a tad more eye-contact than was probably necessary, but she didn’t want to look away from him, “But something tells me you’re just as excited to crawl into bed together as I am.”

Yeah. There was definitely some kind of tension there.

He laughed, leaning back and looking at her with a big, stupid grin on his face, and he was blushing, and she didn’t want that to have to stop either, and she realized she wanted to make him blush more. “I take back what I said, My Lady. You seem in a better mood than usual.”

Good. He was still calling her that, which meant that Alya probably had a point about a three-minute long battle being a poor sampling size. She didn’t know what she’d do when or if he actually stopped calling her that. She had to enjoy this as long as she could.

“Oh, yeah?” she asked, stepping closer to him until their bodies were nearly brushing together and she could feel the warmth radiating off of his body. His eyes widened, but he didn’t step back, and she could feel his breath on her skin as she leaned in, “What about you? What kind of mood are you in?”

He hesitated, and man, she loved seeing him flustered like this. She looked down with strange interest as he licked his lips, and she resisted the urge to do the same. He swallowed, and she looked back up into his eyes, and his thoughts seemed to have caught up to him, because he smirked down at her and leaned in until their faces were only a hair away, his eyes half-lidded. “What can I say? Your good moods always rub off on me.”

Okay, maybe the tension between them wasn’t exactly platonic. She didn’t know what it was, though.

“So you agree with me, then?” she whispered, staring intently into his eyes as she brushed a hand up his torso, reveling in the stupid breath he sucked in, to grip at and idly play with his bell. She’d always wondered if it really worked like a zipper. Maybe that was just another thing she’d have to figure out before it was all too late. “You want to head to bed, minou?”

“Whatever you wish, My Lady,” he purred out.

“Don’t leave me waiting,” she cooed, snatching her yoyo off her hip and swinging away from him before he had time to react. 

She swung through the streets, knowing that Chat Noir wasn’t far behind. She landed down into the dark room and hurried over to flick on a single bedside light, and her heart was racing, and was she panting?

She heard his boots thump down on the carpet behind her, and she whirled around to look at him. He was staring at her, his eyes wide and cheeks still red, his stupid cat pupils blown out, and he was just standing there, not making any move beyond placing his baton away, and he was so cute, her heart only pounded harder, and—

Okay. Maybe Alya was right. Because the tension between her and Chat Noir was more than platonic. 

But that didn’t mean it was romantic.  

She smiled at him, waltzing around him until she was between him and the window, and placed her hands flat against his chest. She pushed back at him, and he let her, stepping back until he was sitting on the edge of the bed, and he was still staring at her with those big gorgeous eyes of his, and she loved it.

“M… My Lady,” he rasped out, “... I’m… gonna be honest, I can’t tell how serious you are—”

She climbed into his lap, straddling him, and he shut his mouth. She draped her arms around his neck, leaning in and brushing her nose against his cheek, reveling in how warm he was.

If things were going to have to stop between them, if the tension between them was going to end, they might as well go out with a bang.

“Do you want me to be serious, Chaton?” she whispered against his cheek, and he let out a stuttered breath, “Or do you only like that from your dreambug?”

“Oh…” he swallowed, and she proudly wondered if that other girl would ever be able to make him as flustered as this. He placed his hands on her hips, and she felt a jolt of electricity shoot up her spine, and suddenly he was smiling up at her, “Nothing’s better than the real thing, My Lady.”

She took that as answer enough and mashed her lips against his, grasping at his cheeks to hold his face steady as his hands only gripped tighter at her hips.

She’d kissed him before, technically, but that had been years ago, and they’d never both remembered it. This though, this was a real kiss, and they were both going to remember it, and it wasn’t just a peck, it was passionate. She kissed him hungrily and reveled in the taste of his mouth and the way that he desperately kissed her back for as long as she could handle, but she had never been a particularly patient person.

She pulled back for air and pushed him back until he was lying flat on the mattress, and she took a moment to soak up how good he looked kiss-drunk, staring up at her with his face red, mouth agape, and pupils blown. 

That girl could have him. But Ladybug was going to have him first.

She wanted to tease him, to see how much redder she could make him, but she figured that it’d torture her just as much as him. She crawled over him, and he tilted his head up for her and soon she was crashing her lips back down on his.

She loved his sighs and little sounds as they kissed, but as she felt him run his hands up her sides, she decided she wanted more, and took the opportunity to run her hands up his chest, grasping for his bell and tugging and—

Dammit. It wasn’t a real zipper. She wasn’t going to forgive him for that.

She pulled back from the kiss, ignoring the cute way he whined out as she pulled away from him to flick the light off.

“Detransform,” she said, because she couldn’t until he did first. She returned to her position on top of him, brushing her hands up his sides and waiting for the stupid leather to disappear so she could feel his skin.

“Claws in,” he rasped out, and she closed her eyes as the green flash of light enveloped the room. Once it was gone, she mashed her lips back down against his, kissing him hungrily as she went to brush her hands up his shirt and—

Right. She was still transformed, and her stupid suit was getting between them. She pulled back from his lips just enough to speak, opening her mouth to say her detransf—

“I love you.”

She froze. “... What?” 

“I love you,” he repeated, his breath tickling her lips, and she could still taste him, because she was still on top of him, and they were nearly still kissing, and she didn’t know why he was saying this, why he was lying, because it couldn’t be true. It had to be the endorphins, or the start of a stupid two-part joke, because it didn’t make sense. He had to have meant it platonically. He had to— “I’m in love with you.”

She was frozen in place. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t think. Her heart was pounding in her ears, but now it didn’t feel like such a good thing, and she thought maybe she was going to cry, because this was getting really confusing really fast and she didn’t know what she was supposed to say to tha—

“I never stopped,” he choked out, and she felt like she’d just been socked in the gut. She reeled back, pulling away from his mouth, because his words were sticking to her skin and she couldn’t handle that. She felt him reach up for her, his hands brushing against her arms. “Ever since the day we met, I’ve always—”

“You’re not serious,” she rasped, because it was the only explanation, and the room already felt hot, but now it was suffocatingly hot. She knew he had a big crush on her when they were younger, but that was years ago, and she was so sure that he’d gotten over that, and it didn’t make sense—

“I am,” he said, and his voice was laden with so much emotion she almost wondered if he was crying. She thought maybe she was about to, too. “I’m so completely, utterly in love with y—”

“Stop!” she choked out, scrambling off of him and off of the mattress, onto her feet, and she was so thankful that she’d turned the light off, because she didn’t want to see him right now, and she didn’t want him to see her, either. She backed away until her back hit the wall, hearing the shifting of sheets like he was moving, and she hoped he wasn’t moving towards her. “D-Don’t.”

“Ladybug—”

She snatched her yoyo off of her hip and leapt out the window.

Chapter Text

Disaster.

Disaster, disaster, disaster.

Marinette and disaster were like two opposite poles of a magnet, and no matter how hard she tried to resist the pull, no matter how hard she tried to avoid it, they always ended up colliding.

Disasters like spilling coffee on Adrien, dropping her sketchbook into a puddle, spraining her leg after a nasty fall down the stairs, disappointing her friends with some akuma-related tardiness, and the literal end of the world, to name a few.

This disaster, though, felt like a whole new level.

She had to admit, trying to sleep with Chat Noir hadn’t been her best idea. Sleeping with him every day for months hadn’t been a very good idea, either, honestly, but sleeping with him and sleeping with him were two very different bad ideas, and one was much, much worse than the other.

Because he was in love with her. 

It had been a couple weeks, and she hadn’t gone back to that stupid hotel room since. She never would again, probably, even though she had stuff there, like her favorite set of pajamas, because she could never be absolutely certain that he wasn’t also going to be there, and she was too ashamed to face him again.

She hadn’t talked to him at all since it happened.

… Well, at least, not in any way that mattered. Patrols were easy to skip, but akuma battles were still inevitable, and though she’d briefly considered giving her earrings to Alya to avoid it, she didn’t want to have to explain why, and she was certain that Alya would refuse if she knew the reason.

Instead, she decided that the more heroes on the team, the better. No matter the akuma, no matter the problem, she’d hand out as many miraculouses as she could before heading into battle, because she didn’t know what she’d do if she was alone with him. The extra heroes acted as a buffer, preventing any private conversations from being able to take place, and it seemed to work, because Chat Noir didn’t make any moves to talk to her, either. She avoided eye contact, and beyond some instructions on where to place his cataclysm, she didn’t have to speak a single word to him.

Unfortunately, she worried that people were starting to pick up on it. After all, she felt a little embarrassed handing out five miraculouses for a M. Pigeon battle that ended up lasting a whopping two minutes, and when later Nino vehemently refused to accept his bracelet, looking at her with anger like he knew that she was doing something wrong, she felt like maybe it wasn’t as subtle of a method as she had hoped. And if Nino had somehow picked up on it, that meant that Alya had definitely—

“What happened between you and Chat Noir?”

Marinette yelped as a needle punctured her finger.

“Wh-What makes you think something happened?” she asked, popping the finger in her mouth to ease the pain. She was almost done sewing up her stupid design at least, finally, because she always worked best under stress, and she was more stressed out than ever. That, and she had plenty of time now that she wasn’t sleeping at all.

“I mean… it’s been pretty obvious that something’s up,” Alya said, staring at her, “I was waiting for you to come to me about it first, but now even commenters on the Ladyblog are pointing out that something’s fishy, so I think we’re kind of past that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Marinette said softly, turning her attention back to her project.

“Well, first of all, you two keep avoiding each other in battle,” she said, and Marinette cringed as she pushed the needle through the fabric, “Second of all, you’re calling out way more heroes than necessary. Third of all, you haven’t gone back to the hotel room.”

“How would you know?” she muttered.

“I’ve been hearing you snore through the walls.”

“I don’t snore,” she huffed.

“Okay,” Alya said, walking over to her and sitting down right beside her on the couch, “... Are you okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be—”

“Sorry, let me rephrase,” Alya said, and Marinette looked up at her, and she was looking at her with so much concern that Marinette didn’t deserve at all, “I know you’re not okay. And I’m worried about you. … Is it because of that girl?”

“... Girl?” Marinette repeated back to her, confused.

“The girl Chat Noir seemed to like?” Alya clarified, and Marinette felt her heart drop. 

Marinette wished that it were that simple. She wished that the problem was that Chat Noir had found love in someone else, because the girl that he’d described sounded so amazing, and seemed to care for him so much, and he deserved someone like that. He deserved someone who loved him with their whole heart, because he was an incredible, amazing, wonderful person, and he deserved someone who would actually protect him, who wouldn’t hurt him, who wouldn’t take advantage of him. 

But instead, he loved her instead. 

“... I guess you could say that,” she said, turning her attention back down to the fabric in her lap.

“Oh, Marinette…” Alya said, placing an arm affectionately around her, and Marinette didn’t deserve any of this sympathy, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay… I just…” she chewed her lip, “... I don’t want to talk about it. Okay?”

“Okay,” Alya said, and Marinette settled further into the couch, finishing up some more of her stitches.

The two sat in silence like that for a moment, and Marinette was so close to being done with her piece, which was a terrible thing, actually. She wasn’t sure what she was going to do with her hands once she was done, and she needed the distraction now more than ever.

“... Did you hear about Adrien?”

“What?” Marinette asked, turning her attention back to Alya and furrowing her brow, “What about him?”

“We were right,” Alya said, a sad smile on her face.

Marinette gaped. “... R-right about what?”

“About him getting hurt,” she said, and Marinette’s heart plummeted, “He’s been crashing on Nino’s couch—”

“How bad was it?” she gasped, “H-How… How hurt is he? What happened?”

Alya shrugged. “I don’t know what happened. I only know what Nino’s willing to tell me, that apparently that coworker thing fell through somehow and he’s not doing well—”

“That’s terrible!” Marinette choked out, feeling her eyes well up, because it was terrible. It was terrible, and it was awful, and she wanted to wonder how somebody could do something like that, how somebody could hurt someone so wonderful, somebody who only ever loved them in return, but she didn’t have the right to wonder that, because she hurt someone wonderful too. “H-He deserves so much better than that!”

“I know,” Alya said sadly, “Apparently Adrien’s schedule is free tomorrow, so Nino and I were actually thinking about having a game night, all four of us. It’s been too long, and Nino thinks it’d really cheer Adrien up, and I think maybe it’d cheer you up, too.”

Marinette blinked, staring at Alya. She didn’t think she deserved to be cheered up right now, but… “You really think it’ll make him feel better?”

“Of course! I mean, Nino thinks so, and… it couldn’t hurt, right? Adrien loves hanging out with us.”

Marinette nodded, looking back down at her project. If it would make Adrien feel better, Marinette would be there. For him.

She hoped Chat Noir had someone there for him, too.

******

Adrien didn’t seem to be doing well.

When Nino and Adrien arrived at Marinette and Alya’s apartment for their little get together, Adrien was very quiet. He gave them all polite smiles when he noticed they were looking at him, but the moment eye-contact broke, his face would fall and he’d go quiet. He seemed so small, practically disappearing in the background, and if they weren’t all doing this to cheer him up, maybe they would have forgotten he was there. 

The first thing they did was watch a movie, passing snacks and popcorn around, and Marinette noted that Adrien didn’t take a single bite of anything. It reminded her, briefly, of that time that Chat Noir had been upset and didn’t want to eat, and she hated that thought. She hated it, because thinking about Chat Noir made her feel awful and terrible, and she wondered how well he was eating, and because Adrien needed her right now, and she shouldn’t have been thinking of someone else.

After the movie, Adrien at least seemed to have relaxed a bit. He didn’t seem happy, exactly, but he seemed less depressed, and he actually chuckled at a few jokes.

They decided they all were ready for dinner, and Nino insisted on getting food from this one particular restaurant that he really wanted them all to try. They realized, though, that the restaurant didn’t offer delivery, so the four of them wrote down their respective orders, and Alya and Nino headed out to go pick up their food.

Which left Marinette and Adrien, alone, on the couch.

Marinette wasn’t sure what to do. Adrien was sitting there, staring semi-blankly at the wall, and she felt like she was supposed to do something. Or say something. Because he was there, and he was hurting, and she wanted to be there for him.

She should just. Say. Something.

“You have bags under your eyes,” she said, because she was an idiot. It sounded like an insult, and it was such a hypocritical insult at that, because she herself had barely slept in the past few weeks.

“Oh,” Adrien said, blinking and reaching to brush his fingers under his eyes, before turning to look at her, “... Sorry. I forgot concealer—”

“Huh? No! That’s not what I meant,” she said quickly, hating that he was apologizing to her for such a thing, “I just meant, um… … how have you been sleeping?”

He gave her a shrug, shooting her a nervous, awkward little sad smile, and she felt her heart break.

Chat Noir probably wasn’t sleeping well, either.

She scooted closer to Adrien, and thankfully he didn’t seem opposed to that at all.

“I’m… I’m so sorry, Adrien,” she said softly, “I’m sorry that you got hurt.”

“It’s okay,” he said, quietly, and it wasn’t okay, “You guys warned me. … I was the idiot.”

“You’re not an idiot!” she gasped, reaching forward and placing her hand atop his, and his eyes widened, “You’re not! She’s the one who— who took advantage of you, and did a terrible, awful thing, and hurt you, a-and…”

His mouth hardened, and he glanced away from her, uncomfortable.

She swallowed. “What… happened?”

“Uh…” he began, but hesitated, like he wasn’t sure that he wanted to tell her. Which she supposed was fair— it wasn’t really her business.

“You don’t have to tell me,” she whispered, looking down at her hands, “It’s okay—”

“I told her I loved her,” he said, startling her, “... And she ran away.”

Of course.

She despised this woman, this ‘coworker’ of his. She hated her, because she hurt Adrien, but she despised her because she was just like Marinette herself, apparently. A coward.

“O-oh…” Marinette blinked, trying to will herself to not start tearing up. “A-And that… that was bad… huh? That…” She glanced back to him, “... That hurt?” 

His expression fell. “... Yeah. It hurt.”

“H-How bad did it hurt?” she asked, her eyes darting nervously from her hands to his face, and it was such a stupid question, and she already knew the answer, but she felt like she needed to ask anyway.

She had been avoiding Chat Noir so much, she didn’t even know how badly she hurt him. She assumed that she had, and that it was probably pretty bad, but she didn’t know. She was acting as if avoiding knowing how much she’d hurt him would make him not hurt at all, but she knew that wasn’t true. 

“A lot,” he said darkly, and she felt her eyes well up.

“O-Oh. Yeah.” she nodded, staring down and wringing her hands together, “And… how… how do you think she’d… how could she ever possibly make things better, d-do you think?”

He was silent for a moment, and she willed herself to look up at him, afraid that her line of questioning was only hurting him further. Instead, he was staring at her with a mix of concern and confusion on his face.

“Marinette?” he said, and she sucked in a breath, “Are you okay?”

“Huh?” she blinked, feeling a stray tear fall down her cheek.

“You’re crying,” he said, concerned, and scooted closer to her. She sucked in a breath as he reached forward, wiping the stray tear from her cheek.

“I-I’m sorry, Adrien,” she choked out, “I’m— I’m trying to cheer you up, and here I am—”

“It’s okay. What’s wrong?” he asked gently, and his gaze was so soft that she couldn’t help but answer him.

“I think I hurt someone,” she whispered, squeezing her eyes shut and raising her hand to wipe away the tears. She needed to steel herself— she didn’t want sympathy right now “... S-Someone that I… I really care about.”

“Why do you think that?”

“... I did the same thing,” she sniffled, allowing herself to admit it. She needed to get it off her chest, and if anyone was going to have the perspective she needed on this situation, it was Adrien. “... I… I kissed him… and he told me he loved me. And I… I left…” 

He didn’t respond for a moment, and she wondered if maybe he hated her for it. She wouldn’t blame him. She deserved to be hated. But then she looked at him, and he was staring at her with the same soft eyes as he was before. He asked gently, “Why’d you do that?”

“It startled me,” she muttered, hugging her arms around herself, “I-I wasn’t… I wasn’t expecting it. And I… I didn’t know what to say so I… I panicked and left.”

“Why’d you kiss him?” he asked, and she felt herself flush.

“U-Um…” she swallowed, “... I… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

She shook her head. “... I wanted to. I don’t know.”

“... You said you care about him? A lot?” he asked, and she nodded, “How close are you?”

“Very. He’s… He’s one of the most important people in the world to me,” Marinette admitted, squeezing her arms tighter around herself, “He’s my… my best friend, and I care about him s-so much, I… W-We have something that I— that I think is s-so rare, and he gets me in ways that I think… I think some other people don’t… If that makes sense.”

He nodded. “He sounds very special.”

“He is!” Marinette choked out, turning her whole body towards Adrien and pulling her legs up to sit on her knees, the words tumbling out of her mouth, “He’s so amazing, Adrien, and wonderful! He’s such a… such a big dork, and he has the goofiest smiles and he can be so… so over the top! But it’s okay, b-because he’s funny, and he always makes me smile, no matter what, and he loves himself and he should because he’s so loveable and he loves other people j-just as much, because he’s so full of compassion for others, especially— especially me, and he’s so kind to me, and he’s always there, and I— I would… I do trust him with my life, completely, wholeheartedly, e-every day…”

“I think I can tell why you wanted to kiss him,” Adrien said, a smile tugging at his lips.

“Yea— I mean, no!” Marinette gasped, holding her hands up in her defense, “No! It wasn’t like that! I just— the kiss was— it was completely unrelated to any of that! The kiss was— it was purely a… a… a physical thing! It’s not like I… I don’t think… I know that I don’t have any romantic feelings for him! I know what being in love is like, and it’s not like that!”

There was no way Adrien would buy that. It didn’t sound believable, so unbelievable even that Marinette wasn’t sure she believed it herself, which must have been because she was bad at wording things. Adrien seemed to chew on that for a second. “How are you so sure?”

“Because I’m in love with you!”

They both reeled back, equally struck by her words. Marinette gasped in horror, slamming her hands down over her mouth, and Adrien was gaping at her, his eyes wider than she’d ever seen them, and this wasn’t the time, this was just about the worst time imaginable, and she didn’t want to hear his response to that, because she couldn’t handle a rejection right now, but she also wasn’t in any place to hear him return it either—

“Mar—”

“Did I use present tense!?” Marinette barked out in a forced laugh, whipping her hands off of her lips as she gestured wildly, “I meant it in past! Haha! Silly me! You know how I’m so bad with words! I— I was in love with you, Adrien, in the past, because obviously I’m not currently—”

“Wh—” Adrien blinked, and she realized now how pink his cheeks were, and how unbearably hot hers felt as well, “When did…?”

“Collège!” Marinette yelped out, “A-and… And lycée, too, but— haha! That was so long ago at this point!”

Marinette had always wondered, deep down, if Adrien had always known. If he could tell how much she loved him but chose to keep it to himself, because he was so polite. She wondered if he only pretended like he was unaware because he was waiting for her to make her move, to tell him herself, or because he was too kind to turn her down.

The pure, unadulterated shock on Adrien’s face kind of threw that theory out the window, though.

“Y… You…” he began, before swallowing and continuing, “You were… in love with me?”

“Years ago!” 

“You…” he blinked, dazed, “You never told m—”

“Of course I didn’t!” she gasped, “B-But! Anyway! That’s not the point, we’re not talking about that right now!”

“Um… Okay…” he reluctantly agreed, still staring at her like he wanted to talk about it, “Wh-What does… What does you, um… liking me in lycée have to do with whether or not you like this guy now—”

 “Because it’s completely different!” she said, “The way I like y— liked you, and the way I like him, it’s— it’s— it’s different!”

“Different how?” he practically whispered.

“You know how I was with you!” she said, and he looked confused, so apparently he didn’t, “I-I mean… Adrien, I couldn’t talk to you! I could barely get a single coherent sentence out, nothing I said to you ever made sense—”

“That was because you liked me?” he said, aghast.

“Yes!”

“I— Wait, really?” he asked, leaning in closer.

“Y… Yes!” she repeated, leaning back, face hot, “Y-You… Why did you think I— I was so…” she swallowed, “Adrien, I’m not— I wasn’t like that with anyone else—”

“You weren’t?” he gaped, “I— I thought… I thought maybe you had a speech impedime—”

“No!”

“Oh…” he leaned back, staring at her with red cheeks and letting out a breath, “... Oh.”

“You didn’t…” she swallowed, “... You didn’t have any idea?”

He stared at her for a long moment and shook his head dumbly.

“... Oh,” she breathed out, “... Okay. That’s fine. Well, anyway—”

“I wish you’d told m—”

“Anyway!” she said a bit louder than necessary, “As I was saying, it’s completely different with him!”

He stared at her, waiting for her to clarify.

“I… I can actually talk to him!” she said, gesturing wildly with her hands, “I’m so comfortable around him! I— I never get tongue-tied, I don’t… I don’t forget what I’m saying, or stutter, or want to run away, or start sweating through my shirt, or say anything so completely incomprehensible that not even I know what I was trying to say, I… T-Talking to him is like, the easiest thing in the world, because I’m just so comfortable around him, and I always want to be with him, and it’s not nerve-wracking and I just feel safe and good and I could talk to him for hours and hours…”

“So you…” Adrien offered, and Marinette was thankful that he’d spoken up, or she was sure she’d start rambling on about Chat Noir for hours. She had so much she could say about him. “You don’t think you’re in love with him… because he makes you feel comfortable and safe?”

“Yes!” she said, thankful that he understood, but then she realized he was staring at her, communicating through his eyes, and she felt her stomach drop. “B-But… when you say it like that, it sounds kind of stupid...”

“It’s not stupid, Marinette,” he said softly, his soft hands gently grasping at hers, and she sucked in a breath, “But… feeling safe and comfortable around someone… isn’t that its own kind of love?”

“Platonic,” she choked out, and he looked at her so kindly, “It’s platonic! Of course I love him. I love him so— so fucking much, Adrien, I love him more than I think I’ve— I’ve ever loved anyone before, but that doesn’t mean it’s… that doesn’t mean it’s romantic. Just because I love him, and just because he’s the most special person in the world to me, and because I want to be with him all the time, and listen to his stupid jokes, and talk to him all day long, and hold his s-stupid hand, and hold him , and kiss him, and just because I want to be with him for the rest of my life and be a part of his and have him at my side at all times and wake up with him in my bed every morning, th-that doesn’t mean…”

Adrien was just staring at her with his soft, kind eyes, listening as the stupid words tumbled out of her mouth. He didn’t say anything, and he didn’t have to.

“That doesn’t mean…” she sniffled, feeling her eyes well up once more, a warm tear streaking down her cheek, “I-It doesn’t mean that I…”

Adrien’s hands squeezed hers gently, reassuringly, and she felt her heart implode.

“N-no…” she sobbed, more tears spilling over, “N-no… I can’t… I can’t be i-in love with him, Adrien! I— I can’t , i-it doesn’t make sense—”

“Why not?” he whispered, his thumb brushing against her fingers.

“Because I… I don’t even know who he is!” she choked out, gasping in air and realizing that the words wouldn’t make sense, “I-I mean—! I don’t know him a-as well as… I don’t know him as well as I sh-should, and other people know him better than I do, a-and there’s so much about him that I-I’m just… completely clueless about!”

“How is that a problem?”

“Wh- What? Of course it’s a problem! I don’t know enough about hi—”

“But you can always learn,” he said, and she felt something in her shatter.

After all of these years, fighting at each other’s sides, keeping their identities secret and guarded, she’d never even considered revealing while Hawkmoth was still at large. It was a bad idea, too risky, and it had spelled the end of the world in at least one timeline before, but that had been so long ago. Years had passed, and that timeline was long gone, and as she sat there, crying and feeling a pain in her heart stronger than she’d ever had before, she wondered if it really was any safer to keep Chat Noir distant than it was to keep him close. She’d never felt more vulnerable, more akumatizeable than she did now, and Chat Noir was likely feeling terrible as well, and their partnership was suffering. 

At this point, wasn’t the distance more damaging than anything else?

She wanted to know who he was. She wanted to know him so badly. She wanted to know where he went when he got up so early, she wanted to meet his friends, she wanted to learn who his father was so she could give him a piece of her mind, she wanted to know how he drank his coffee and what he did in his free time. She wanted to show him her designs, even the bad ones, and she wanted to introduce him to her friends, and tell him about her day, and open up her world to him. 

She wanted him by her side on her good days, because he always made them even better. She wanted him by her side on her bad days, because he always knew what to say to cheer her up. She wanted to be there for him on his good days, because his smile was so wondrous and infectious and she wanted to be with it every chance she could. She wanted to be there for him on his bad days, because she would do anything to help make him smile. She wanted him within her reach, where she could text him or call him or bump into him on the street, and not have to wait until patrol, or bedtime, or a stupid akuma battle to see him. 

She wanted to know his name. She wanted him to know hers.

“But it’s too late,” she choked out, the weight of all the realizations she was making crushing her, suffocating her, and she thought maybe she was going to die, “I-I messed it all up. It’s… It’s t-too late.”

“Are you sure?” Adrien whispered, his hands still holding hers, and she was sure that that was the only thing keeping her afloat. 

“I hurt him… s-so bad,” she sobbed, “I-I know I did. He— He o-opened his heart up to me, and I ran. I ran a-and I’ve— I haven’t… I haven’t talked to him since, a-and I don’t want to hurt him again, so I shouldn’t—”

“Marinette,” Adrien said, his tone notably less soft than it was before, and she flinched, “If you don’t want to hurt him, you need to talk to him.”

“But…”

“Avoiding him is just about the most hurtful thing you could do,” he said, his eyes dark, and she felt like she’d been struck. 

And when Alya and Nino returned with the food and the four carried on for the rest of their day, Adrien’s words and all the realizations that she’d made stuck in her head, and she found it difficult to think of anything else.

She needed to talk to Chat Noir.

She didn’t care if he forgave her, she wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. She just needed to talk to him, to tell him how sorry she was, and if he never could love her again, that would be okay. It would be okay so long as she didn’t completely lose him, as long as he still remained a part of her life in any semblance of a way. She needed him. 

Because she was so in love with him.

And that night, after Adrien had hugged her goodbye, wished her good luck on her problem, and left with Nino, the first thing she did was head back to that stupid hotel room, hoping beyond hope that he was there, because he was always there, and he’d never not been. 

And when she touched down on the ground of the dark room, calling out for him and hearing no response, patting blindly at the sheets and feeling no bodies, she didn’t know what else she could do but collapse into the mattress, crumple in on herself, and cry until she fell asleep.

Chapter Text

She loved Hawkmoth.

Or, well, maybe not loved him, or tolerated him, or felt anything for him other than a vicious, seeping hatred that gnawed deep at her bones, but in that moment she was glad that he was around. She wondered if maybe the next time she had a murder fantasy about him, she would choose a comparatively less excruciating death for the man than usual. Maybe.

Because right now, this akuma was the only chance she’d get to talk to Chat Noir.

Ladybug saw him, her Chaton, crouching on a building and surveying the damage caused by the latest villain. She swung over and landed on the same rooftop, but she was too nervous to be near him, afraid that he may not want her there, so she kept a respectable distance.

He didn’t turn his head. He stayed where he was, eyes narrowed and focused, looking at the mayhem below. She kept her eyes on him.

“... Hey, Chato— Chat Noir!” She greeted nervously, unsure of how familiar she should be with him in these circumstances. He didn’t acknowledge her presence. “Just a bubblegum akuma, huh? This should be pretty easy! No need for any extra heroes! Just the two of us should be fi—”

Suddenly, he whipped towards her and launched at her, tackling her to the ground. She yelped out, her back hitting against the roof tiles, and she laid there still, heart racing, as he peeled his body off of her and onto his feet.

Her gaze snapped to behind him, where a truck-sized wad of magically chewed-up gum was settling into the spot she was just standing. Oh.

Maybe akuma battles weren’t the best time to talk.

“Thanks,” she breathed out, and he said nothing, whipping out his baton and— “W-Wait!”

He launched off towards the akuma, running head-first into battle, and she leapt up onto her feet and after him.

The battle lasted about four minutes. 

And as Ladybug threw her lucky charm into the air, a world’s smallest cat figurine, she saw Chat Noir pulling out his baton, about to leave, about to disappear and they hadn’t even talked yet.

“W-wait!” she yelped, stumbling towards him and grasping his wrist, “What about— you know! Pound it!”

She held her fist out with the hand that wasn’t currently holding him there, forcing a wide grin on her face, and he was just standing there, back still turned to her, and she felt sick to her stomach.

“... Come on,” she managed out, “Pound i—”

“Oh, so we’re doing that again?” he sneered, finally turning to face her.

“Hah… What do you mean?” she asked stupidly, as if she wasn’t fully aware of what he meant, as if they hadn’t forgone their routine pound it since that night in the hotel room. She kept forcing the smile, as if he would decide to indulge her delusions.

He rolled his eyes, raising his hand up and smacking his knuckles haphazardly against hers. She muttered out a “pound it” under her breath, but he said nothing. He tore his wrist out of her grip, turning back around and moving to press the button on his baton to extend it and leave—

“Wait!” she yelled a bit louder than necessary, and he stilled. “I— I want to talk! Can we please—”

“You want to talk,” he parroted back, tone flat.

“Yes,” she said, clasping her hands together with a clap, “Let’s talk—”

“So you’ve decided that it’s time for us to talk,” he said, still not turning to face her, and she stilled. “What if I don’t want to talk?”

“W-Well… If… If you don’t want to talk, then…” she said, “... Then I’d wait for you. Until you do. However long it takes.”

It was true. She would wait until the end of the world for him, if she had to. Whatever it took, no matter how much it hurt.

He was silent for a moment. He pressed a button on his baton, and for a second she thought he was going to take off, but instead he collapsed it and placed it behind his back. He turned back around to face her, and she sucked in a breath.

“I can talk,” he said.

“Y-You can?” she gasped, unable to hide her smile, “Okay! Then let’s—”

“But not now.”

“Huh?”

“I have somewhere to be,” he said, deadpan.

“Oh,” she said, “... Okay! That’s… That’s fine. When will you be free—”

“I don’t know.”

“Okay,” she breathed out, “Um… Then…”

“Maybe tomorr—”

“I’ll wait for you!” she said.

He blinked at her. “... What?”

“Until you’re done with your thing,” she said, staring at him, “I’ll wait. However long it takes. And… whenever it’s over, then… you can come, and we’ll talk.”

“I seriously don’t know how long it’ll be. It’ll probably be a few hours, but I don’t know how many—”

“That’s fine!”

He stared at her for a long moment, as if he were appraising her. She straightened her back and stared right back at him, hoping she looked as determined as she felt.

“Uh… alright, then,” he said, and she let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding, “Where are we meeting?”

“The hotel, of course,” she said.

He gave her a sour look.

“I mean—” she gasped, “Just because— it’s private! And we both know where it is! We don’t have to— I mean, I’m not saying we’re going to be using the bed or anything! The couch—”

“Fine,” he said, pulling out his baton and turning back around, “I’ll see you then, then.”

“Okay!” 

Right when she was sure he was about to take off, he suddenly stilled, hesitating for a moment before glancing back over his shoulder at her, “It’ll be a couple hours, at least.”

She nodded dumbly, and he took off.

******

The first thing Ladybug did was go back to her apartment. After all, Chat Noir had made it clear that she didn’t need to start waiting for at least another couple hours. 

The second thing she did was immediately panic that something was going to go wrong, like she’s lose track of the time, or her phone would die and all the other clocks in her apartment would start running slow, or the kwamis would start another fire, or Chat Noir’s thing would end early, and then she’d be late. And if she was late, then he would certainly never forgive her, and if he never forgave her then she wasn’t sure what she would do.

The third thing she did was immediately head to the hotel room, a whopping ten minutes after her conversation with him.

The fourth thing she did was sit on the couch and put on a movie, because there really wasn’t much else to do.

The fifth thing she did was get up and pace around, because sitting still right now was out of the question. She was too restless, and she needed to move. She let the movie continue playing in the background, but she barely paid it any attention.

The sixth thing she did was fiddle around uselessly on her yoyo. It had web browser functionality, after all, so that at least distracted her for a bit.

The seventh thing she did was go to the restroom to splash water on her face. The counters were completely bare.

The eighth thing she did was sit in the bed and cry. That lasted a while.

The ninth thing she did was put on a second movie. She didn’t know when the first one had ended.

The tenth thing she did was resist the urge to text Chat Noir. 

The eleventh thing she did was try a bite of one of Tikki’s cookies. It was really stale. She threw the rest out.

The twelfth thing she did was rifle uselessly through all the drawers. All of his stuff was gone. She didn’t find anything very interesting.

The thirteenth thing she did was return to her yoyo’s browser. Apparently a new Ultimate Mecha Strike game was announced. 

The fourteenth thing she did was debate getting food. She couldn’t order delivery though, and she worried that if she so much as stepped outside of the hotel room, he’d show up and assume she stood him up. She’d just have to stay hungry.

The fifteenth thing she did was some gymnastics. She nearly broke a lamp and had to stop.

The sixteenth thing she did was retrieve a pen that she’d found earlier and draw on the back of the room service menu. She doodled some cats, but their eyes came out wonky so she scribbled it all out. 

The seventeenth thing she did was see if she could fill the entire page black. The pen ran out of ink before she could. 

The eighteenth thing she did was put on a third movie.

The nineteenth thing she did was wonder if Chat Noir was even going to show up at all. She wondered if she’d even have the right to be mad at him if he didn’t.

The twentieth thing she did was wonder how many nights Chat Noir waited for her, how many days it took before he stopped sleeping there. She decided that she maybe deserved to be stood up.

The twenty-first thing she did was write up a text to Chat Noir, telling him how sorry she was and how badly she messed up. She deleted it before she hit send.

The twenty-second thing she did was some handstands. 

The twenty-third thing she did was dispose of some broken glass.

The twenty-fouth thing she did was call Alya and check if the kwamis had gotten themselves into trouble. They were fine, apparently, but Alya asked her where she was and she hung up.

The twenty-fifth thing she did was return to the bathroom to pour herself a cup of water—

She heard boots hit carpet.

“I’M HERE!” she shrieked, dropping the plastic cup to the floor and scrambling out of the bathroom. 

There he stood, pushing the balcony door closed. 

“I’m here!” she repeated unnecessarily, forcing out a small laugh and clasping her hands behind her. She rocked on the balls of her feet, “Hi!”

He turned to face her. “Hey.”

“Was it…” she hesitated, mouth dry despite the water she just drank, “Did you… have fun?”

“What?”

“At your…” she said, gesturing vaguely with her hands, “... At your thing?”

“We’re not supposed to discuss our civilian lives.”

“Oh,” she sucked in a breath, “Right.”

“We’ve been pretty bad at that, lately.”

“Yeah.”

They were silent for a moment, standing at opposite sides of the room, staring at each other. Finally, he flicked his eyes away from hers, towards the TV.

“Did you want to finish what you were watching?”

“Huh?” she said, turning to the TV, which was still playing whatever movie she’d last put on, “Oh! No, no.” She rushed over to the coffee table, snatching up the remote and turning the monitor off. “I wasn’t really watching it, anyways… Ha.”

“How long have you been here?” 

“Not long,” she lied, sitting down on the couch. She forced a smile at him, hoping for him to join her, but instead he walked to the wall opposite and leaned back against it, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at her. 

He wasn’t glaring at her, at least, which she supposed was a plus. He wasn’t smiling at her either, though. She couldn’t read his expression at all.

“Um,” she finally spoke up after their collective silence became too much, “G-good… Good job today, by the way! That… that battle went by really fast! Very efficient!”

He said nothing, still staring at her.

“Cataclysming the street light as a diversion? What a brilliant idea!” she raved, “They didn’t even see it coming!”

Still nothing.

“And your form was great! So defensive but offensive at the same time, they didn’t know what hit them—”

“Ladybug,” he said, startling her.

“Yes?”

“Is this…” he began, his eyes narrowing at her, “... what you wanted to talk about?”

She swallowed against the lump in her throat, clasping her hands together on her lap and squeezing. “... No.”

He continued to stare at her, expression hard, and she felt like she was dangling at the edge of a cliff, hanging on by only a thread. 

“I…” she sucked in a breath, her eyes diverting from his for a moment before she forced them back, “... I wanted to… say that I’m sorry. I’m… really, really sorry.” His expression didn’t change, and there was a beat of silence before she continued, “I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

“So you’re sorry…” he said, and she sucked in a breath, “... that you kissed me?”

“Yes,” she said before she could think. His expression soured, and her heart constricted at the realization.

“I mean—” she gasped, sitting up straighter, “That’s not— that’s not all I’m sorry about! There’s more!”

“Why’d you do it?” he asked, and why did everyone have to keep asking her that?

“I don’t…” she breathed, “I don’t know. I-I mean— I know why, but it was a stupid reason, and I… It doesn’t matter why I did it, Chato— Chat Noir, I just shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Was it that bad?” he asked, and she reeled.

“What!? No! Of course not, that’s not what I meant—”

“Then why are you sorry?” 

“Because I hurt you,” she said, and his gaze fell to the floor, “I know I did. B-because I… Because I wasn’t thinking when I did it, and I… and I wasn’t thinking about how it could hurt you, because… I didn’t know that you—”

“You really had no idea?” he whispered to his feet.

She shook her head before realizing that he wasn’t looking. “I didn’t.” He didn’t seem to have anything to say to that, so she decided that she should keep talking. “And I’m s—”

“I’m sorry that I made it weird, then,” he said bitterly.

“No!” she gasped, “You didn’t! You didn’t make things weird, I’m the one who made things weird by starting it at all! And then I— I made it worse because I… I… Chat Noir, I’m so sorry that I—”

“You don’t have to apologize for not feeling the same.” 

“That’s not what I was going to say!” she nearly shouted, and his gaze snapped back up to her, “I’m sorry that I left. I’m sorry that I ran, and that I didn’t say anything, and I… I’m sorry that I’ve been avoiding you, because that was really terrible—”

“Why’d you leave?”

“Because I’m a coward,” she said, feeling her eyes grow hot.

He let out a bitter chuckle at that. “Ladybug, guardian of the miraculouses and superhero of Paris, a cowar—”

“Yes,” she said, spine straightening further, “Yes. I am.” 

“You’re not—”

“I am when it comes to this,” she said, voice beginning to quiver, “When… When it comes to… feelings, like these. I’m the… cowardliest coward. I get scared and I… and I run.”

His eyes fell back down, and she sucked in a deep, shaking breath.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” she choked out, “You don’t. I-I don’t… I don’t know if I— if I ever would be able to, i-if I were you. I was awful. Horrible. I-I hurt you, for no good reason, and you… you’d have every right to h-hate me. Or never want to talk to me again.”

He didn’t say anything, so she continued, “And I know things… they probably… th-they can never go back to what it was like b-before, and that’s my fault, but it’d be okay so long… so long as y-you’re still a part of my life, because I… I don’t know what I’d… what I’d ever do w-without you, Chaton, because you’re my… you’re my f-favorite person, the most important person in the world to me, and if I… if I lost you…”

“Ladybug—”

“I’ll do anything,” she choked, hanging her head and letting her tears drop onto the fists clenched in her lap, “Wh-Whatever it takes, whatever I need to do to not l-lose you completely. A-Anything, I’d do anything, because I would never be able to live with myself if you really h-hated me—”

“My Lady,” he said, voice soft and closer than it was before, and suddenly the cushions were dipping beside her. She looked up, and he was sitting there on his knees, reaching for her hand and grasping it in his own, “I could never hate you.”

“Okay,” she said, staring at him, and she wondered how she’d ever convinced herself that she wasn’t in love with him, because she wanted nothing more than to hold on to him forever and never let him go. 

“And I… I liked the kisses,” he admitted, brushing a clawed thumb against her fingers, and she wished she could admit that too, “Even if it didn’t mean anything to you, I… … I just wish you hadn’t left.”

She sniffled. “Y-Yeah.”

He looked at her, a sadness in his eyes. “Or avoided me.”

“I know,” she said, pulling her legs up onto the couch so she could turn her whole body towards him, “I know. That was terrible. I’m sorry.”

“It was,” he agreed, and his voice began to quiver too, “You… I thought you… I was scared that you’d never talk to me agai—”

“No!” she gasped, reaching forward and clasping their free hands together, squeezing both of his hands, “Never! I’d never— I kn-know it was awful of me, Chaton, but I’d never do that. You’re too important to me.”

He nodded, and the two were silent for a moment. She swallowed back the lump in her throat, willing herself to stop crying so she could focus.

“I don’t know if I forgive you,” he admitted quietly, “... But I will. Someday.” 

“Okay,” she whispered, willing herself not to start crying again as the silence hung in the air between them once more.

It was okay if he didn’t forgive her. It was okay if things were never quite the same, or if he had come to his senses and fallen out of love with her. It was okay as long as he didn’t hate her, as long as he was still a part of her life. She could live with loving him, madly and silently, because love just out of reach was a curse she’d long grown used to.

“... But I suppose you were right, My Lady,” he finally whispered, “As always.”

She swallowed. “Huh?”

“We should have kept the professional distanc—”

“I want to tell you who I am.”

He reeled back as if struck. “What?”

She stared at him, determined and never more certain of anything. “I want you to know my identity.”

He gaped at her. “... Pardon?”

“I want to reveal my—”

“Are you serious?”

“Yes,” she said, straightening her spine, “And I— I’d like to know who you are too, of course, but only if and when you’re comfortable—”

“Why now?” he breathed out, and she wasn’t sure she’d ever seen his eyes so wide, “Why… Why do you—”

“Because I’m sick of it!” she yelled, and he stilled, “I’m sick of it! Aren’t you!? We— Maybe sharing a bed was a stupid idea, Chaton, but the stupid ‘professional distance’ was even worse, wasn’t it? Do the benefits even outweigh the costs anymore? I’m so sick of pretending like it’s okay that we don’t know who we are when you’re one of the most important people in the world to me—”

“Right now?” 

She nodded. “Whenever. If it’s okay with you.”

He blinked, turning his gaze to look around the room as if to check for something that wasn’t there. “I…” He turned back to her. “... Okay.”

“Okay,” she took a deep breath, closing her eyes and steeling herself, “Spots—”

His hand slapped over her mouth. “Wait!”

She blinked her eyes open, staring at him confused. He removed the hand.

“We…” he said, hesitating and glancing around one more time, “... Let’s do it together.” He grasped her hand once more, and she shuddered at the butterflies in her stomach. “And then… open our eyes on three.”

“Okay,” she whispered, inaudible over the pounding of her heart in her ears. She watched as he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, and she closed hers as well. They squeezed each other’s hands.

“Spots off,” she said over his “Claws in.”

“One,” they said in unison.

“Two.”

“Three.”

Marinette had never wanted anything more. She was as sure of it as she was that the sky was blue, that grass was green, and that Hawkmoth was a dick. And yet, her eyes remained squeezed shut, and she felt frozen, petrified, heart racing, and she wondered if he was looking at her, finally seeing her—

“Marinette,” he gasped.

She already knew that he knew her. She’d interacted with Chat Noir as a civilian many times before, so it shouldn’t have come as a shock, and yet her heart bloomed at the knowledge that he recognized her. He recognized her, he knew her name, and a silly part of her wondered if she would recognize him, too.

She just had to will herself to find out.

She forced her eyes open, looking to the stranger sitting before her, and the sight of blond hair nearly made her cry on the spot. She looked to his eyes, his green eyes, but any relief was overshadowed by the fact that… that…

She shrieked, scrambling back and tumbling off of the couch, the back of her head bouncing off of the coffee table with an “OW!”

“Marinette!” Cha— no, Adrien shouted as he scrambled to his feet. She held her hand to the back of her head. “Are you oka—”

“How long have you been Chat Noir!?” she shouted, gawking at the man who was holding his hand out to her, and he was Adrien, Adrien was the man, but the man was supposed to be Chat Noir, but right now he was Adrien and that didn’t make sense—

“Forever?” he said, startled, “Well, I mean, not forever! Since I was thirteen—”

“Adrien,” she choked out, “You— You’ve been Chat Noir this whole time—”

“You’ve been Ladybug!” he countered, gaping at her, “Marinette! You’re Ladybu—”

“Oh my god!” she cried out, scrambling up to her feet without the help of his outstretched hand.

“It makes so much sense!” he exclaimed, stepping back and staring at her, his eyes wide with what almost looked like wonder as he pushed his hair back in his shock— his hair that was shorter than Chat Noir’s, but the perfect length for the man that’d been sleeping in her arms for months, “You…! Of course you’re Ladybug!”

She couldn’t return the sentiment, because it didn’t make sense to her. It didn’t make sense at all, because if Adrien was Chat Noir, that meant that she’d fallen in love with him twice. It meant that the two men weren’t two different, hugely important people in her life, but one single colossally important man, and that was too much, too overwhelming, and she thought maybe she might throw up. 

But if Chat Noir was Adrien Agreste, then she had talked to him in the past couple weeks. They had talked, because Adrien was at her apartment, because they were trying to cheer him up, because he was sad because—

“Oh my god,” she choked out, “I’m your shitty coworker!?” 

“I never called you shitty!”

“I did!” she gasped, “Multiple times! Constantly! To Alya and— and— oh my god! Wait, I thought you and her were having sex!”

His face went red. “I— I never said that! I said we were sleeping togethe—”

“Oh my god,” she cried out, dropping back down onto the couch cushion and covering her face in her hands.

He was cute. He was so damn cute. He was lovely, and he was perfect, and she loved him so much, and she’d been the one to break his heart. The woman who was toying around with Adrien’s feelings was her, and worst of all he was Chat Noir too. She’d hurt him— him, the two most important men in her life that were also the same one person all along, and she didn’t know how she could ever be able to forgive herself for that.

She felt the cushions dip beside her, and she could feel his presence. His overwhelming, intoxicating, terrifying, wonderful presence. 

“Wait…” he breathed out, “I… I’m the guy you were talking about last night?”

She was going to die.

“I… I…” she stuttered, lowering her hands enough to peek at him, and he was staring at her like she was the most interesting thing in the world. She didn’t know how to answer him, but she didn’t have to. It was pretty clear.

“I give the best advice,” he declared, his lips turning to a smile as his eyes practically sparkled, and he looked so obviously like her Chaton in that moment that she wondered how she hadn’t seen it sooner. 

“Yeah…” she rasped out, finding herself smiling at him despite everything. He always made her smile. “... You do.” 

“I’m the guy,” he repeated, placing his hand on his chest.

“Ye—” she began, but then she realized what he’d meant.

“You’re in love with m—”

“No!” she shrieked, scrambling back up onto her feet, seeing the flash of horror across his face, “I mean— A-Adrien, it’s okay! You don’t have to worry about that right now—“

“What’s the problem?” he asked, expression hurt as he rose to his feet as well, “You… Are you… Are you disappointed that it’s me?”

She gaped at him. “What?”

“I thought,” he breathed, staring at her with wide eyes as he nervously twisted the ring he always wore— oh god, that was his miraculous. “You— You said you liked Adrien, though, right?”

She couldn’t believe this was happening.

“You said… back in collège and lycée—”

“I lied,” she blurted, her eyes locked on his.

He sucked in a sharp breath, stepping back—

“I never stopped,” she choked out, feeling her eyes well up. “Adrien, it was— it was never actually past tense.”

“What?” he whispered.

“I never— god, Adrien, I’ve been in love with you ever since you gave me that umbrella,” she said, grasping her hands together before her heart, “Because y-you’re so kind, and sensitive, and you’re so sweet, and y-you care so much for people and I… I’ve always loved you so so much… I always have, I always will, you’re… you’re so incredible, and wonderful, and I’ve always wanted to tell you how I felt but I never could…”

He took a step towards her, but she took a step back.

“You drive me crazy,” she choked, “I think about you all the time, I… I hate being apart from you. You… Adrien, I… I… I memorized your skincare routine.”

“You did,” he agreed, a watery smile on his face as he took another step towards her. She took another back.

“A-And then I… I fell for Chat Noir, too, but I don’t even know how or when, because h-he’s always been so special to me…”

He reached his hands out to her, but she recoiled away.

“But that doesn’t mean…” she sniffled, “That doesn’t mean… A-Adrien, I hurt you…”

“I don’t mind,” he whispered, voice desperate, “I don’t— I don’t care! I forgive you. It’s in the past, I forgive you, it’s okay—”

“Did you know that girl likes you back?” 

He blinked, eyes wet. “Wh-what?”

“That girl,” she choked, hugging her arms around herself and stepping back again, “Y-Your… Your friend, you were talking about. The artist— oh my god, it was Kagami, wasn’t it? I forgot she does illustrations now.”

“Huh?”

“I could tell you liked her,” she said, raising a hand to wipe at her eyes, “Y-You were talking about her… s-so much, so fondly, and you said she got… red in the face near you, a-and she probably likes you back, and she didn’t take a-advantage of you o-or hurt you like I did—”

“Marinette—”

“—So before… before anything happens between us, I…” she sniffled, “I-I just, I wanted to make s-sure you didn’t lose your chance with Kagami, because you deserve someone like that who… who’ll make you happy—”

“It wasn’t Kagami.”

“Okay, well, then whoever it was,” she stilled, “Wait, who was it?”

“Marinette.”

“Yes? What?”

“You—” he began, interrupting himself with a laugh, and she blinked at him. “Marinette! I was talking about you. Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

“... What?” she gasped.

“I was talking about you! Your designs and…” he said, gesturing vaguely to her, and she felt like she may pass out, “... And you. I honestly don’t even remember what I said about you, but I—”

“It was a lot,” she whispered, blinking away her tears.

“All good, I hope,” he said, and he was looking at her so affectionately, and she wondered how a single person could have such a great effect on her, because her entire body was tingling and numb and too hot and too cold all at once. 

He took a step towards her, reaching his hands for hers, but this time she was too frozen to step away. He took her hands in his, grasping her fingers and closing the gap between them, and she was mesmerized. 

“There’s nobody else, Marinette,” he said softly, and she sucked in a breath, “My Lady, it’s always been you. And I— You’re not gonna run again, right?”

She shook her head.

“I love you,” he whispered, and she closed her eyes as she felt his forehead press against hers, “It makes so much sense that you’re Ladybug, Marinette, because you’re incredible, and you’re so creative, and so intelligent, and so… miraculous.”

She huffed out a small laugh at that. He pulled a hand out of hers, and she missed it until she felt his fingers caress her cheek instead.

“I’ve been in love with Ladybug since the day we met,” he continued, and she stuttered out a breath, “I never stopped, I never could. And… And knowing you’re Marinette, too, I… I didn’t think it was possible to love you more, but I do. I’m so in love with you.”

She nodded pathetically against his forehead and reached up to cup the hand at her cheek. She turned her head, pressing a careful kiss to his palm.

“I love you, too,” she muttered against his wrist, shuffling closer and leaning against him, feeling his lips brush against her head, “I… I missed you so much, Chaton. I-I don’t… I don’t even know how to sleep without you, anymore.”

“Me neither,” he whispered against her hair, and she sighed. “I’ve slept terribly. I hate being alone, but Nino’s couch sucks.”

She sniffled and chuckled against him. “Does that… Does that mean we… can we go back to using the hotel?”

He hummed at that, and she found herself holding her breath.

“Well…” he said, wrapping his arms around her, “... There’s not much of a point, is there?”

“Huh?”

“I know where you live now,” he snickered.

“My bed’s a twin,” she snorted, “And the kwamis are nuisances. Loveable nuisances, but nuisances all the same.”

“Okay, fine,” he said, “You know where I live.”

“You’re inviting me into your bed, minou?” she teased, chest warm as she turned her head up and brushed her nose against his jaw.

“I suppose so,” he hummed playfully, “But if you’re going to try to have your way with me again, bedbug, you should at least buy me dinner first.”

“Dinner…” she whispered, blinking her eyes open. She was sure he meant it as a joke, but… “Have you had dinner yet, Chaton?” 

“... No.”

“Me neither,” she said, pulling away to look at him, “Do you… wanna go out?”

“On a date?” he gasped, beaming down at her in such a Chat Noir way. She’d have to get used to this. “My Lady! You really are trying to seduce me.”

“Well—”

“Yes!” Plagg hissed, floating just beside them, “Let’s go out! Get a cheese platter! The fridge is empty, I’m starving!”

“Plagg!” Tikki scolded, “They were having a moment!”

“Yes,” Marinette said, ignoring the kwamis and gently tugging him towards the door, “A date. I want to treat you. It’s the least I could do. If you want to, that is.”

“You know I can never say no to you.”

******

Marinette patted blindly at the furniture, inching her way towards the bed in the darkness—

Thump. “OW!”

The bedside lamp flicked on, and she huffed.

“My Lady…” Adrien yawned, leaning over his bed with his hand outstretched to the lamp, “... You could have just asked me to turn the light on.”

“I didn’t want to wake you up,” she sighed, limping over and crawling back into the sheets.

“I was already up,” he mumbled, opening his arms up for her, “... You woke me up when you left.”

“Sorry,” she whispered, scooting into his arms and hooking her arms around his neck, “I had to pee.”

“I s’pose I’ll forgive you…” he said, voice laden with sleep as he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers. She returned the kiss, ending it with a sigh as Adrien snuggled right back into her, burying his face into her collar.

“... Minou…” she whined.

“Mmf….”

“Your lamp… It’s still on.”

“Maybe I just like seeing your face,” he mumbled against her.

“You’re not even looking at me,” she said, gently kicking his leg.

“Maybe I like knowing I could if I wanted to.”

“You can look at me all you want in the morning. Turn it off.”

Silence.

She sighed, wiggling out of his grip—

“Nooo…”

—and crawling over him, reaching over towards the lamp—

His arms clamped around her middle and threw her back down on the mattress.

“Hey!” she shouted, and soon she was being pinned down under his weight, “Bad cat! Bad!”

“Mmmf,” Adrien said very coherently, lying limp on top of her. 

She hit his back. “I hate you. Turn the light off.”

“You loooove me…” he crooned, and she rolled her eyes, “You told me so. You can’t take it back.”

“I do. You’re right. But I still think you should turn the light off. Also, you’re crushing me. I can’t breathe.”

“Sounds like you’re breathing fine to me...”

“I’m being suffocated,” she sighed.

He went silent, and she realized that she had to accept her fate. She supposed there were worse ways to die than having the love of your life sleeping on top of you.

She squinted through the light, which admittedly wasn’t very bright, and turned her head to look at him. He was so close to her, but she could still make out some of his features, like his tousled blond hair and maskless brows, and she couldn’t help but smile.

She pressed a kiss before his ear, raising her hands to brush her fingers through his soft hair, and as he started to snore she knew that there was nowhere else she’d rather be. 

“I can turn the light off for you, Marinette,” Tikki said.

“No…” Marinette muttered, closing her eyes and relaxing against the sheets, “Leave it on.”